Looking for The One

The phone rang, and I ran my fingers through my hair in an attempt to make myself presentable before I answered it. Never mind that the person on the other end of the line couldn't see me - if I was going to be talking to HIM (oh pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease let it be him) I wanted to look my best.

It wasn't him.

I'm sure my mother - who it was - heard the disappointment in my voice.

I'd just met him, but I thought it had gone really well. I liked him and he seemed to like me. When he'd asked to see me again, I was elated. I tried on clothes for an hour before I was confident I'd come up with just the right look. Accessible, but not desperate. Grooming was kicked up a notch as I waxed, polished and buffed myself to a high glow. And it had gone well. "I'll call you", he'd said as we took our leave of each other.

But it wasn't him.

I talked - or rather, listened - to my mother as I retrieved the mail. And there it was. His return address. Oh, nothing about THIS could be good. I opened it before I was back in the house, my hands trembling as I unfolded his note.

blah blah blah - pleasure meeting you - blah blah blah - many qualified applicants - blah blah blah - cannot offer you a position at this time

"I gotta go, Mom."

I hung up the phone and reread his words, surprised that at my age they could still pack such a sting. I thought we liked each other. I thought it was going well. I thought we were such a good fit. We could've been beautiful together...

This of course lead to - of course he didn't want me - why would he want me? I'm too (negative adjective of your choice here) for anyone to want me. I am worthless.

When I felt up to speaking, I shared it with a couple girlfriends who were - to their credit - very sympathetic. "He's crazy!" "He doesn't know what he's missing!" "He doesn't deserve you!" "Plenty of fish in the sea!" That's what girlfriends say. It's their job. And it even sounded kind of believable while the margaritas were still flowing. "Bartender? Another round!" But the next day when I was home alone with nothing but a hangover to keep me company while everyone else was off having a job, well, that sting returned with a vengeance.

I was hurt, then I was angry, then I was despondent. The three stages of a premature break-up. I suppose there are more - revenge sex, acceptance, moving on - those don't all work as well with my analogy. Well, not revenge sex, anyway. Dammit, I can't even have good old fashioned revenge sex! That's the only good part of a break-up! What am I gonna do? Meet a bigger, stronger, better looking but not as smart company in a bar and interview with them right in front of him? Sheesh.

Soon, I know, I won't even remember his name.

But for now it hurts.

Once - when it really WAS a break-up scenario - I was lamenting my situation with my cousin. Her daughter, a toddler at the time who we thought was out of earshot, came over to us with a confused look on her face and asked, "Him not love Tam?"

"He doesn't love Tam." I answered trying to hide my tears from her.

"But", she said, scrunching her face further in her obvious confusion, "EVERYone's gotta love Tam!"

"Not everyone."

She shook her head and frowned, clearly unable to process this information.

But that was long ago and far away.

I'm happily married to a man I adore. I have a family. I have moooooooooved on. It seemed so important once and now it's just a little tagger on the end of a post.

That toddler is in her twenties and I've forgotten his name.


(his name was Scott)