When you’ve been emotionally hurt, and hurt badly, your mind will go to extraordinary lengths to keep that from happening to you again.
Nowhere was this truer than in my mind.
Once, again Brain felt it necessary to apply the brakes. He had conceded I had fallen in love, and he spent many long nights of reminding me that just like every man I’d ever been involved with before, “this man,” as Brain referred to him, had yet to articulate his feelings.
“I would remind you,” he said emotionlessly, “no one, including your father, has ever looked you in the eyes and genuinely told you how they felt about you. I don’t want to see your life-long heart’s desire to love and be loved put everything you’ve worked so hard to accomplish at risk of decimating your well-being.”
Of course he was talking about my emotional well-being, but that didn’t stop me from thinking, “Accomplished?” My business down the pipe, my life savings gone, no chance of finding anything but part-time poverty wage work, an empty, lonely apartment, and a lifetime of living off Social Security to look forward to, and he was worried about jeopardizing my well-being?
“Do you have any idea,” he asked looking straight at Griselda,. “how insane it sounds to say that you’ve fallen in love with a man you’ve only had two-dimensional, electronic contact with?”
“Regardless of what you and Griselda want to believe and think you’re feeling,” Brain pressed on, “ you need to keep in mind that you’ve never actually met this man.”
“Do you have any idea,” he asked looking straight at Griselda,. “how insane it sounds to say that you’ve fallen in love with a man you’ve only had two-dimensional, electronic contact with?
“This entire ‘love affair’ is built entirely around meeting someone via a hookup app, which I should point out hasn’t proven to be very reliable at all, even for something as simple as meeting someone for coffee here in Palm Springs, much less from two-thirds of the way across the continent.”
It was true, my success ratio for in-person meetings with guys I’d struck up conversations with using GROWLr was piss-poor at best. Way too many of the local users preferred to simply engage in sexting and collecting nude or other related types of photos. The few face-to-face encounters I did have never amounted to much more than a pleasant conversation over coffee; the exception, of course, being horny guys in an, wait for it, “open relationship.”
He was right about something else too. For as long as I can remember, all the way back to my childhood, I’ve longed and wished for the supportive, affectionate, embrace of another man.
No matter how frightened I was as a child, my dad was never there for me other than to criticize me or tell me to stop behaving like a girl, and my strongest memories of those days are the looks of sheer and utter disappointment on his face when I failed to do something perfectly, like throwing a ball on my very first try.
Although, later in life I would learn there was what he believed was a very good reason for keeping his sons at arm’s length; it still hurts to this day to even to think about it.
And yes, I have longed all my life for someone I’ve cared for to say those three stupid little words, I love you, to me. Believe it or not, I’ve never had that said to me by anyone other than family members.
I was growing weary of this constant struggle between my 14-year-old girlish heart and my obsessively logical mind. I looked at Griselda and I looked at Brain and I realized it would require much deeper thought before I could make any decision about how to proceed.
“We’re going to sleep on this,” I told them. “Put The Boys in the Basement on it and then we’ll talk more about what to do after we hear from them.”
The Boys in the Basement is how I refer to the rarely seen keepers of my subconscious mind. In my previous life as a database developer I would from time to time run into some truly vexing problems. Over time I learned to stop working on them, go home, relax and go to bed. Frequently the next morning, like a pair of shoes mysteriously repaired by cobbler elves, there at the top of my mind the Boys in the Basement would have left a solution.
The Boys in the Basement were very good at trolling the dark recesses of my mind and coming up with things that Griselda, Brain, and I had either completely forgotten or just never thought about. They were also the keepers of all things in my life I’d like nothing better than to never remembered again.
Then I said, they also added the following recommendation, “If nothing else he’s hot as hell. Go for it!”
One night of waiting turned into two nights, then a third. Finally on the morning of the fourth day I awoke to an image of a message from The Boys, which I shared with Griselda and Brain.
I explained to my heart and mind that The Boys had done a thorough and thoughtful comparison “of this man’s appearance, demeanor, tone of voice, facial expressions, as well as the sound of his laughter with those of the gentlemen we had previously been involved with, and we see no reason not to extend him an invitation to visit.”
Then I said, they also added the following recommendation, “If nothing else he’s hot as hell. Go for it!”
I joined Griselda in letting out a big cheer as we both threw up our arms and hugged one another vigorously. Brain, deep in thought, kept mulling over the message as if looking for a flaw in its logic.
Finally he spoke.
“All right,” he said calmly and authoritatively, “if we’re going to do this, and by that I mean pursuing a relationship with this man, we must take things one step at a time and not get ahead of ourselves,” he turned and gave Griselda a stern look, “and by that I mean NO fanciful daydreaming about weddings and happily-ever-afters.
“As I said we take this one step at a time. First we determine if he has an opening in his class schedule that will permit such a visit.”
I already knew the college would be closed for a week in late June for what Jon called a “Reading Week.”
“Then we ask if he’s still interested in coming to Palm Springs and spending some time together.
“If the answer to both those things is yes, and I agree it’s highly likely that’s what his answer will be, then, and only then, will we go forward with searching for flights and planning for a visit.
“One last thing,” he was starring more intently than ever at Griselda, “ABSOLUTELY NO spontaneous or planed exclamations of deep affection such as I love you or other such statements of any kind are to be made before, during or after this visit.
“Those are my terms or the deal’s off.” It made perfect sense to me. I had no problem agreeing. Griselda on the other hand was a bit reluctant, shuffling her feet and staring at the floor. When it became apparent Brain would let us go no further without unanimous consent to his conditions, she finally, reluctantly, agreed. I’m pretty sure she had her fingers crossed behind her back as well.
Griselda quickly regained her composure and control of me. Moments later I was blissfully video chatting with Jon and when the moment seemed right I asked if he still wanted to visit. He said yes without hesitation and within less than a half an hour we’d set the dates and I’d found and booked a round trip flight from Toronto to Palm Springs.
“Because I’m not the one using the ticket,” I said to him, “they want me to furnish your full name as it appears on your Passport.”
“Hold on,” he responded, and within seconds a scanned image of his Passport popped up in the messaging app.
His passport contained all the usual information, full name, date of birth, and place of birth, I stopped and blurted out “Johannesburg, South Africa?”
Next Up: Griselda Unchained
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