It's reminded me that kindred spirits aren't so few and far between.
And I feel like I'm back in school making new friends.
Which is kind of adorable and ridiculous and I love it.
This past week I worked with someone new who, after my first day asked, "Can we keep you?" Which of course made me feel like the coolest girl in home room and also like a really adorable kitten.
Friday I worked with her again and the whole day was sOooOoo slow that we spent much of the day gabbing and catching up.
Again, like we were in home room.
And I told her the story of Me & The Phantom, which when told in full to a stranger reminded me how utterly absurd it is.
Soooooo much drama for soooooo little time together.
It really is the stupidest love story of my life.
(Sorry, Phantom. You're cute & sexy & uber intelligent. But you're a fucking idiot when it comes to relationships.)
Now, most people that I've shared the saga with all have a similar response--
Move On.
He's just not that into you.
You deserve better.
Etcetera etcet..
But this girl, this woman who'd been married for 17 years decided to be unlike the rest of the rational women in my life.
"I just don't think it's over between you two. From what you've told me, it just doesn't sound over. It sounds like he's still grieving and working through his stuff. Just wait and see what happens. Wait and see if he comes to your show."
Her hopeful romanticism made me smile.
I feel like that's the way I spent my youth.
Believing in the power of love.
More than all things.
That if it was meant to be it would find a way.
But as she defended her theory,
'He changed his profile picture on Facebook to the picture I took of him in March.'
"That's because he still loves you."
'He met his friends for brunch, his actual friends, but he won't meet me.'
"That's because he knows what will happen if he sees you and he's not ready to be with you yet."
I realized that I didn't want to believe in the hope she was suggesting.
Because I had for three months and all it had gotten me was feeling like a fucking idiot for believing in a connection with a man who didn't even want to meet me for a fucking cup of coffee.
I felt really foolish.
I felt like a twat waffle.
I didn't want to subscribe to a theory that might make me look like an even bigger dumbass.
And that surprised me.
Because I would have thought that having someone who doesn't know me find hope in the tragedy of my broken heart would have inspired me.
But I just wanted to dismiss everything she said.
"Ok what if you're finished with your show and changing out of your costume and there was a knock on the door. And it was him. And he just handed you a single red rose and then walked away."
'Well I at least deserve a fucking bouquet, come on.'
"No! A single rose is so much more romantic! But what would you do? What would you do if he did that?"
Silence.
'I don't know.'
"And what if there was a knock on the door but it wasn't him it was your best friend."
I looked at her.
I realized she didn't mean Sheldon, she merely meant if the Phantom didn't show up but someone else did.
But if it was Sheldon at the door I knew exactly what I'd do.
I'd throw my arms around him and hug him so hard he couldn't breathe.
But imagining The Phantom standing there with a rose didn't make my heart throw my arms around his virtual tall, lanky self at all.
It just confused me.
I genuinely had no idea what I would do.
There was too much hurt.
Too much disappointment and confusion, distrust and anger to imagine something so romantic.
I thought the reason we couldn't be together was because of his traumatic brain injury and his broken face.
I thought since he recovered from that and admired how frighteningly honest I was that it meant we would finally come together.
But he just didn't want me.
And that made me never want to see him again.
What would the romantic gesture even prove anyway?
That he suddenly realized he'd been wrong and he didn't want to live without me and he'd stand there with a boom box over his head blasting Peter Gabriel because my life was secretly a romantic comedy?
No.
No way.
I don't buy it.
My life doesn't work that way.
I have bad taste.
He was the wrong guy.
And I will probably never hear from him again.
That's my movie.
"Just wait. Wait until your show. You'll see," she said.
I looked at her and smiled.
'You know. I hope you're right. I really do. I hope you're right so I can tell you you were right. Because that would be amazing.'
And I meant it.
Because buried under all my pragmatism the hopeless romantic teenage girl in me lived on.
I had wanted to see him because I didn't want to have hope that he'd see me perform and be so moved by my talent like he had been the last time he saw me that he'd lean down once again and kiss me because he "couldn't help himself."
But I did.
I did believe that could happen.
In spite of myself, a part of me hoped he would show up, even though I told him not to.
Because he would just have to.
Because something in him would compel him to come after me.
And if he didn't?
Then everyone else would be proven right.
And I would be better off.
But if he did?
Then maybe I wouldn't have been such a fool for holding on all this time.
And that would make for a really fantastic story.
But either way, whatever he chose to do, wouldn't change what I had to do.
Which was to move on.
And magically, wonderfully, on the heels of his refusal to meet me, I had the best first date I've ever had since The Phantom.
So I had no idea how I'd feel if he stood before me with a red rose because I was already thinking about someone else's brown eyes.
And that, friends and enemies, is more powerful than any romantic gesture.
Timing is a fickle beast.
And he who hesitates?
Loses their FancyFace.
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