Stone Dead with One Text

Open Mouth. Insert Foot.  I could start and finish with those four words, but what fun would that be?  I met Dr. Adonis innocuously online. 

His initial message conveyed a sharp intellect and he sent a picture of him from a conference, standing in a blazer with several other men. I wasn’t sure whether he was my type, but he was cute, and witty. As we exchanged messages I learned that he was intelligent, successful, attractive, and single. 

He seemed interested in pursuing me, but sporadic.  I woke up one morning to find a message with a picture of him wearing a low-slung towel.  Just the towel.  I revised cute to rather nicely made.  The text had come in the middle of the night and I wondered at the timing. I looked through his messages and observed that his communications would come in clusters and seemed sprinkled throughout all hours of the day.

I asked what he did.  He told me he worked at a local hospital and sent me a picture in scrubs.  I figured that this accounted for his unpredictable timing.  Whether he was a nurse, a tech, a doctor, or an attendant, they all work long, rotating shifts.

Our first planned date didn’t make.  He asked me to meet for drinks on Cinco de Mayo. I said it was a perfect day for margaritas at happy hour.  He had to work that night, so he countered with coffee.  I told him I already had plans for dinner, but agreed to meet him afterward.  In the end, I got stuck at the whim of a friend and wasn’t able to meet him before he had to leave for work.  I worried that might end things between us, before they started.

He asked me out again and we agreed to meet for lunch on his next day off. 

That morning, I stood staring at the dresses in my closet.  I wanted to look sexy for a date, but professional enough for work.  I decided on a printed wrap dress that would show my curves, and manage to pull off both. 

He chose a pub near his house that he liked, which was just over the road from where I work.  He texted mid-morning to confirm and I immediately replied. 

At 11, I check my appearance in the ladies’ room and head to my car.  When I arrive, I look back at his photo, hope he’s true to it, and get out of the car.  He’s waiting at a table on the patio and I recognize him immediately.  He’s tall – I maybe come up to his shoulder – chiseled, and well-muscled.  I notice that he moves with a lithe ease and an air of confidence.  When he speaks, his voice purrs like warm amber honey.   

“I’m Mark,” he says as he hugs me.

“Constance.”  He looks at me momentarily with narrowed eyes because I hadn’t given him my real name.  I rarely do, and I explain the name I gave is just what I use online.  He accepts my ruse and we sit.

After we order, we engage in some customary get-to-know-you chit chat.  It turns out that he’s a surgeon, a dad, and has just gotten divorced.  We’re both well educated professionals and single parents, and seem well matched intellectually and physically.

“Congratulations or condolences?” I ask.  He looks surprised.  I grin.  “I think I had that same reaction the first time someone asked me that when I got divorced.  I know it’s hard when a relationship ends, no matter the circumstances.  What I mean is, do you feel good about being out of the relationship or do you wish it hadn’t ended?”

“Oh.  Well.  Congratulations, I guess.  She’s a good woman, but we just aren’t really compatible as partners.  It’s difficult right now, though, because we are still trying to sort out custody of the kids.”

“That’s tough,” I sympathize.  I sample one of the appetizers. “Will you tell me about your work?”

He laughs, “Sure.  You know, mostly, I save people from their own stupidity.”  I guffaw at this and he continues, “No, really.  It’s kind of a running inside, well, not joke, because it isn’t funny, but something like that.  An inside perspective, maybe? 

“For example, I had a patient last month that came into the ER with her boyfriend.  She knew she was highly allergic to shellfish.  One of his friends had brought over a platter of shrimp. They got high and ate it. And she landed in with us.  That sort of thing.”

“Wow.  That’s pretty bad.” 

“Tell me about yours,” he says.

“Okay.”  I explain the details of the project on which I’d spent the morning working.  “It’s a bit of a challenging puzzle, but I’ll figure out a good solution,” I conclude. 

He asks me a few questions and the check comes.  After he settles it, he walks me to my car.  We embrace and he bends to kiss me.  His lips are both soft and firm on mine.  He teases my tongue with his, then straightens, looking down at my face.  My heart beats faster and I feel my cheeks blush.

“Would you like to see me again?”  He asks.

“I would.”  I rest my head against his chest.

“Good,” he says, releasing me. 

After I’m in my car, he turns to walk home.  The last view I have of him is him turning back to look my direction as I turn into the street. 

We exchange a little text the following day and the next morning my phone chimes.  “Are you available to meet again this week?”

I’m excited about him and at his interest. “Good morning.  I am.”  Then I say, “Did you save anyone from their own stupidity last night?”

As soon as I hit send I wonder how that will be received, somehow knowing that I should’ve thought more about my response before I replied.  Nearly immediately, I realize that I don’t really know him well enough to follow-on to what he was saying about his own profession.  It occurs to me that he could have had a difficult night, or worse, just lost a patient. 

He never replies.  Later, I send a bumbled apology and say that I hope he has a good night.  Still, he doesn’t reply.

I continue to think about him over the following week.  I stare at a pair of concert tickets I bought.  I purchased the pair so that I could invite someone to go with me, but still haven’t asked any of my friends.  I think of Adonis.  ‘It’s worth a shot,’ I decide.

“I have concert tickets for Thursday night, would you like to go?”

That evening he replies, “Sorry, I’m not going to be able to do that.”

He is polite enough not to leave my invitation hanging - at least I know I’m clear to invite someone else - but doesn’t say anything to further the conversation.  The message between the lines is clear: he isn’t interested anymore.

I’m crushed, not because he did anything adverse, but because I’ve managed to kill what seemed like genuine interest on his part with one ill-advised text.  I realize the possibility exists that he fell off the face of the planet for some other reason, but find that unlikely.  On one hand, I think that if one text is enough to kill his interest, then maybe it was too fragile.  On the other, I realize that in the early stages of dating things like that are all one has to go on.  It’s unfortunate, but I understand.

The lesson? Don’t respond impulsively to texts.  They matter.