My week of complexities
One day last summer, having had a fun packed weekend swiping other people’s Tinder, I decided to put myself out there and started talking to this really cute tall ginger guy. We hit it off really well. Others were popping up trying to cut us, mostly entertaining, however the ginger guy was really clicking with me, not letting off having interesting discussions, sometimes cheeky, other serious, other inquisitive. We kept on chatting til late. And the next day he got in touch again. Same again, long chats for many hours. By the third day, we were messaging and realised he was going away for the weekend so assuming we would have no contact, wished him fun.
We kept texting until and through to the following evening during his flight and as he landed in customs. I fell asleep shortly after and woke up the next morning to messages and a voice message saying how much he is looking forward to meeting me when back. I had just woken up, 6am in UK for rowing training when more voice messages and texts were coming through. I had to arrange catching up after he would wake up, he wanted to continue chatting when I had to go out. He explained he was meeting friends in Minnesota to see Coldplay, and after the gig, there he comes around and there he is again with numerous texts. We spent the weekend chatting between me going to training and him going to bed in a different time zone. Whether he was out at the dinner or the gig, he was in touch soon as he had the chance. Funny me having just come back from a holiday in Cornwall staying in Port Isaac I was streaming Doc Martin and his number kept popping up on my phone interrupting the series. I thought at this rate it would take me months to watch it. Seeing the messages and his interest was really sweet, I started greeting the pic on his number every time it would appear. I even thought this guy will go down as the American in the sleeveless red top that kept popping up in the Port Issac’s Cornish landscape. I would say ‘hello baby’ and then switch off the tv so I could text him avoiding the rest of my neighbours seeing I was chrome casting my texts.
He came back to London, we were hot on it, getting more romantic sharing what we would like to experience together. It was really sweet. But there was one thing I could not understand, why this guy that invests his time in me is not actually asking me out?
I must admit I contemplated shutting the conversation down. He is over cautious I felt, something not quite free flowing as I would have expected at this stage. It’s been nearly a week of texting 24/7, practically having a virtual relationship, why not meet? I probed him if he is shy, he admitted a little, yes. We carried on chatting, romanticizing about the things we would like to do when we would finally meet. The walks, the park, the riverside bar. His last message landed in my mailbox as I had again fallen asleep late for texting til early Wednesday morning. I woke up the next day and his contact details lost from WhatsApp. I must say it took me by surprise and reminded me how exposed and vulnerable we can be sometimes. He didn’t return that evening. A colleague had mentioned dropping a picture online for identification so off I went. Dropped his pics and off they went into Google. At first, I had to squeeze my eyes and take a step back from the screen to have a walk about to regain my focus. An hour later I knew most about the guy, a well known american sport player. The benefits of noone watching NBA in England. I had a fake name for a accomplished athlete. There online, I found a forum amongst other things where a bunch of girls are ripping him to pieces about his dating routines, a few years ago. For a split second, I judged him but then I stopped. This boy is a child of this earth as everyone else and given he is high profile in the US I can understand how it can be difficult meeting someone that is not after his multi million cash or self promotion. Who am I to judge him? Surely I have come across as a dick to people I broke the heart of. His ladies just have an audience and therefore talk. My exes can talk too but who really cares in the end?
I asked myself how would’ve managed now, knowing who he is. I would have definitely made his challenge trice as hard. Call it my insecurity, call it his easy access to women and anything really… I know, money can’t buy love and he is probably putting on a brave face managing weird attention whilst seeking out to be loved. In many ways, don’t we all?
Update 31 August
So he returned and hey ho, off we went onto a daily ping pong of messages. On a standard evening, we spent 3-4 hours together exchanging around 60 text and voice calls. On a light evening, 25 messages, on the understanding I was ‘beat’ from training and although he wanted to chat more, he would let me rest.
More messages kept flowing in the coming days. I can’t wait to meet, missed our chats etc. The magic was in full spin. So here we got to, when are we going to meet? Date, time and place set, checked in with each other the night before, all set. Until the day itself came. Sent a quick ‘how are you getting on’ message, and nothing. I was at work, which would have met him nearby. Nothing. I read on the news the next day he has just been flown back to the US to test train for a well known NBA team. That didn’t work out. Nor we ever spoke again. Who said dating pro athletes was ever fun? A well known rocker’s wife once said basketball players in the US are the worse to entertain the idea of a romantic relationship with. She’d been married to a rock n roller, with all the divorces, flings and dramas to tell her story in perspective.
The guy I was talking to, is now settled back on the southern West Coast sand, doing something else in sport, retired from the NBA. Once, there was a saying
‘your voice gets me to attention’, to the soundtrack of My Hero by the Foo Fighters.
Isn’t fame a gift that never truly gives yet always pays?