In the process of writing this blog, I forced myself to name all the names, to consider everyone I went out with, to spend some time assessing what went down. Some stories are dramatic, some are funny, others are painful, and still others are…mysterious. I looked over my list of “blog entries to write,” and The Scientist loomed on the page, an air of mystery wafting my way. You see, we had gone out a few times, talked extensively while he was doing some international travel, and I had thought there was a fair amount of mutual interest and attraction. The sexual tension was high, but we hadn’t crossed that line yet.
Then he disappeared. Poof. No more texts or calls.
Not one to pursue someone who isn’t interested, I let it drop, but I always felt unsettled by it. The unresolved ending bugged me in a narrative sense. I don’t need endings to be tidy, but I’d like to at least know that what I’m looking at is an ending. All this was going through my mind, and then after 3 months of silence, he texts me. Asks me how I’ve been. I almost immediately set in on him, wanting to know what had happened (this was my chance for closure!). He explained that he was concerned that I was still into My Ex, and that he didn’t want to ask me because he didn’t want to seem insecure because he was not insecure (he made sure to point this out).
I immediately let The Confidante know, and we laughed at this man who felt the need to tell me how “not insecure” he was.
And then I kept talking with him.
Because I liked him, had always liked him. What can I say? He was charming, but guileless. Intelligent and sweetly self-conscious. And yet…what happened when I resumed contact? The same old shit, of course. And it wasn’t long before I remembered exactly why he was problematic: he was entirely too flaky and uncommunicative. The obvious choice was to ditch The Scientist, so of course I slept with him instead. And of course it was fantastic because it would have been too easy if he’d been lousy in bed.
Flash forward a few weeks. He’s broken plans twice for seemingly legitimate reasons, but I’m losing patience. We make plans to go to dinner and a movie because “I owe you that.” He’s on his way to my place. Then he texts me that he’s “dealing with Georgia’s finest. I’m close, though.” And that’s the last I heard from him. Seriously. All I can guess is that he was arrested. If I ever hear from him again, I promise to get the whole story to include here, if for no other reason than for narrative resolution.
But really, the reason I want to know is that a sick-selfish part of me wants to make sure that he suffered a little for this. That the cost of leaving me hungry and date-less for a third time was at least moderately unpleasant.
**Update: The Scientist texted me almost a full four days after disappearing. The story he told me was difficult to believe (particularly for The Confidante and The Voyeur, who both promptly pointed out all the holes and warned me against continued contact), that he’d been stopped by the police for rolling through a stop sign. The details are fuzzy, but what then happened is that he argued with the cops, who then searched his car and found a loaded gun (which he had a permit for). They never asked about a permit and arrested him for “carrying a loaded firearm, with aggravated circumstances.” He explained his prolonged stay in jail by saying that he didn’t have anyone’s number memorized, so he had to wait to convince a guard to find his phone, unlock it, and pull his mother’s number so he could get a lawyer. Yes, I see the problems here, and I had already made up my mind that I was done before he texted this shoddy explanation, but I’ll refer back to the last paragraph of my post for my rationale for not blocking his number quite yet.