Ch 12 202301 Sick Boy 🤦♀️
Skittered, he hops onto a plane and patiently sits through an eight-hour flight drinking kitsch airplane whiskey and breezing through a cheesy autobiography by Forrest Griffin. Finishing the last few pages, he sets the book down and fixates on the pleasantly groomed and dimly lit night view outside the portholes. Then he suddenly realizes, ‘Fuck, this is absurd.’
Soothing himself, he explains, “I met her online. Dating app, to specify. We met three or four times. Each and every encounter was an ultimate love bombing, to describe it in a Gen Z dating jargon.”
Sighing, he continues. “First day we met, we talked for hours. Okay, actually, she talked for hours. I listened, and I listened well, making sure she felt safe to open up. I try to be a soft boy, you see.”
“Even after she came over to my place, we talked about the most intimate things - those personal conversations you think you can only have with someone you’ve known since four or five years old, where you watched her grow from a girl to a woman and realized that you want a relationship with her as she had become such a big part of your life. It was a confusing inconsistence. But now that I think about it, maybe such intimacy was possible only because of the stranger she was. It felt safer to share such private details - I could walk away any minute. And this was a brutally mutual feeling, you see.
Anyway, the topics ranged of many, from how I most recently cried watching an animation on dogs, the passing away of her closest friend from mild depression, my 12th birthday at New Jersey City Hall, and the time her date stood her up at the last hour before prom. Such random, distinct pieces of us. But that was it. They were of measly and fragmented ones which I simply could not piece together to complete her as a person. No building blocks, just decor. I had no idea who she was.”
He fixates back outside the window. It was a shame- he was chasing the idea of being in love. He was not in love, nor did he want to be in love. Rather, he was madly impersonating the hopeless romantic - hopping on to a last minute flight with the sole intention to spend one heavenly yet delusional week with her- no responsibilities, pure delight. He clearly knew he was intentionally and only getting into the most emotionally unavailable relationship - cross that, a situation-ship. But he let his emotions take over, and every time a sudden realization hit, he blurred it out with his trusty AirPods and a small walk in the backyard park.
Two days into the visit, his AirPods were out of battery, and he could nearly draw a whole map of the park solely by memory.
He continues to look around, edging off the sheets of the bed. The faintly-lit hotel, half-empty bottle of cheap wine, open luggage bag with tried and tainted clothes, two overly-sweet unfinished take-out coffee, and a few coldly neglected receipts. He mumbles to himself, “This is absurd.”
