This Is Not A Ghost Story
True, this is not a ghost story.
This is, however, a ghosting story.
Ghosting is a relatively new term in which two people end a relationship, but only one of them knows it has ended.
That person who doesn’t know has been ghosted.
There are many ways to reach out to someone. Not reaching out is very deliberate.
Being ghosted applies to relationships, potential relationships, and friendships.
The term may be new, but I think this has been going on for years.
I picture a man out west going to the Pony Express office in early 1861.
“Anything from Betty, my girlfriend back east?” he’d ask the clerk.
The clerk would just sadly shake his head.
“Not today, Bob. Not today.”
So ghosting is really nothing new.
I’m sure I’ve been ghosted before the term became popular. The first time may not be classified as ghosting because that woman did send me an ending email.
Although I wouldn’t exactly call that closure.
I met someone on a dating app. We hit it off and agreed to meet for a drink.
We had a great time together, with excellent conversation. I walked her back to her car, a silver Jaguar.
At that moment, I was glad I had parked my ’95 Saturn in a parking garage.
We made plans for dinner in a few days. Until then, we continued our email conversations.
The morning of our date, I received an email that included this ominous line:
“My deceits have caught up with me. I can never see you again.”
It was like Charlotte Brontë just broke my heart.
I ran into her a few years later and asked her about the deceit. She said she would explain, but needed to answer her cell phone (it never rang). She disappeared into the crowd, and I assume it was for the last time.
One day I read a comment on my blog. A woman complimented me on my writing.
I wrote her back, and we ended up in a nice email friendship.
Every morning I looked forward to her emails. They were long, thoughtful, funny, and smart. She even helped me with my writing.
Eventually, we made a date for dinner. She lived out of state, so I made arrangements for a place to stay.
We finally met face-to-face.
She insisted on paying for dinner since I drove all the way there. We had a steak dinner in a strip mall restaurant.
One of the best steaks I ever had.
The next day, we took a ride to the beach. We had a nice, long conversation about all kinds of subjects.
I really felt a connection between us.
When I returned home, I noticed something over the next few days.
Her emails were getting shorter and less frequent.
Finally, I emailed her.
“I feel like your emails are getting shorter. It’s like you are ghosting me.”
Her next email explained the briefness of each message.
She ended it with the line, “I would never ghost you, Al.”
It was the last email she ever sent.
After that, I met a woman. We dated a few times.
One afternoon, we got into an argument over a misunderstanding about that night’s plans.
She called later, and we agreed she’d come over Thursday to smooth things out.
That was two-hundred-and-eighty-eight Thursdays ago. I’m pretty sure she’s not coming over.
I walk in a local park most days. One time, I met a woman and her dog. I thought it was fate. Without planning it, we’d end up in the park at almost the same time.
This led to a great many long walks, which led to long telephone conversations.
And by long, I mean hours.
Every single day.
No emails, but thousands of text messages between us, at all hours of the day and night.
It felt like we were moving toward something.
And then.
“I met someone to walk with in the park.”
I read her text and thought, “Great, she met a friend to walk with.”
It was the last text I ever received from her.
After that, she unfriended me on Facebook.
The few times I crossed her path in the park, she did her best to avoid me.
A year later, I almost walked past her. This time she stopped me. After a short conversation, she did apologize for how she treated me at the time.
I have to say, even with the apology, this one hurt.
Realistically, there are a couple of reasons I overreact in situations like these.
I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again:
Movies have ruined my love life.
Each time, the script reads the same. I meet someone and, instead of letting the movie unfold naturally, I skip the plot and go right to the romantic ending.
I really need to stop skipping the plot.
Apparently, it’s important.
Also, a psychic once told me I would meet the love of my life when I was older.
If that’s true, whoever is out there, we are running out of time.
With my luck, I’ll meet the love of my life at my own funeral.
“Hey,” a woman at the back of the funeral home will ask, “who’s the guy in the casket?
He’s cute.”
Ugh.
