His name was Trey Peters. I had finally found someone normal, and from a dating app nonetheless. My usual attraction to broken people I wanted to save was exhausting. Some may call that a hero complex; I call it needing a hobby.
Trey had a job, attended school, and wasn’t doing anything illegal. He was perfect. However, most people want to see someone more than once before dating them. This was devastating news to me since I figured meeting once for coffee was the equivalent of moving in together. But I met him before, so I could do it again. I didn’t need to explain my history of ghosting everyone who gets close enough to know the real me. That was the Old Me. I recycled her into New Me. I was no longer the gal from Texas that couldn’t shake off rumors she earned in high school. Now I was 18-year-old Siena living in New York who could be and do anything she pleased.
The second Date Trey planned was to chow on some ramen at around 6 pm in a few days. He even switched restaurants, so I had vegan options. Dinner would be a more intimate setting compared to when we got coffee. No walking the New York streets and talking without having to stare in each other’s eyes. No lulls in the conversation filled with the weird sights and sounds of the city streets. But I was done hiding, so I agreed. Lackluster excuses were no more.
“I’m just so busy with school.” When translated means, “I’m busy getting way too high by myself and dancing with the lights off. Sorry!”
In general, Trey didn’t text me much. Since I despise anyone who’s as clingy as a puppy dog, I didn’t find any problems with this. I’m more of a cat person.
As the days crept towards the Date, Old Me found her voice.
You hate eating in front of people.
What about the awkward silences?
Maybe he’s too normal.
He’s going to think you’re a pig.
Old Me thought ghosting was the answer to everything. I reminded myself she was gone.
The day before we were set to go to dinner, Trey sent a confirmation text. I found myself unable to answer. Saying I was a new person and being a new person is different.
So as a safety net, I would wait and see how I felt last minute instead of saying no now. But as I let the text sit unanswered, I felt… free. I didn’t have to answer to anyone or make myself miserable for someone else. I was independent, and I was horrified of being vulnerable.
The day of the Date arrived. A few hours before 6 pm when we were to meet, it was clear Old Me was not yet buried. I silenced my phone and tucked it away to avoid any texts or calls. There would be too much shame in texting him the truth now. I drowned any pesky thoughts out with blaring music.
6 o’clock came and went, and I found myself alone in my apartment. I wanted to scream, throw pans at the walls, rip my hair out.
How could I be so selfish?
How was I so insecure?
But there’s no reversing time. Bracing myself, I checked my phone. A half-hour before we were supposed to meet, Trey, who hadn’t heard from me in days, told me he would be at the restaurant and hoped to see me there. I deleted our texts in hopes of deleting my guilt as well.
I haven’t heard from him since. In the end, I’d say he dodged a bullet with me.
You’re welcome, Trey.
Writing With Siena 