17 Sep 2009
Clean Cut
I’ve been scorned before. It’s something you have to risk
when going out with a new guy. It doesn’t really do any damage, except maybe to
your pride, but it still sucks. Always before, when going through a break-up or
a falling out, it has pretty much ended the communication after. Those rare
occasions when you stay friends are great, but hard to come by, even in the
friendly Midwest. But every time something ended in my case, it was very
straightforward, one or the other. Until I got to Ireland.
I met a guy at the George about a month ago, we’ll call him
Mr. Mixed Messages, and we had a great time. A few days later, we hung out once
more, just having an alright evening. The next day during my break, I sent him a text message asking what he
was doing that weekend. No response. I tried one more time a few days later, again
to no response. That’s alright, I thought. Obviously, this wasn’t meant to be.
I can live with that. Move on. Delete the phone number.
A few weeks later I get a phone call from an unknown number.
“Hello,” I answer.
“Yeah, hi. Who is this?” Responds the voice on the other
end.
“Um…you tell me. You’re that one that called me,” I retort
with much incredulousness.
“I got a text message from this number asking what I was
doing this weekend.”
“…Mr. Mixed Messages?” I inquire, disbelieving. I sent that
text weeks ago!
“Yeah. Who’s this?” No chitchat. Straight to business.
“This is Steven. I sent that text a while ago. I’ve deleted
your number since. Apparently you’ve done the same.” Ouch. Not unexpected, but
still a little rough.
“Yeah.”
“Um…should I resave it?”
“Don’t bother.” Click.
Well! I realized that Mr. Mixed Messages and I had parted
ways, but that was still a little rude. But I put it behind me, no need to
dwell on the ugly past. Until I found out we were members at the same gym. And
we tended to go at the same times. At first, it was the:
I’ll-just-workout-over-here-and-avoid-the-situation type of thing. Then I
thought: “Why bother?” I shouldn’t alter my routine for fear of an awkward
encounter. So the next time at the gym, I kept to my customary rounds and
indeed ran into a sweaty Mr. Mixed Messages.
I did not expect the following conversation. He was…glowing.
He couldn’t have been happier to see me, to inquire about my well being, to
find out my weekend plans. WTF?
But wait. There's more. This past weekend, I ran into him at the
Dragon. Back to before. No communication. Completely ignored any sign of the
existence of an American nearby.
I don’t mind recognizing that a relationship isn’t going to
work out, especially early on in the game. But I like consistency. I don’t
think this is an Irish thing, turning the charm on and off like that. It seems
like this is an isolated case. Be that as it may, I’ve discovered once and for
all, that a clean cut is the best way to end things. If I learn anything from this back-and-forth,
I’ll know how to act the next time I’m in Mr. Mixed Message’s position. And it
won’t be like him. So it’s time to rip the Band-aid off my pride, (apparently
they’re called plasters here) and quit worrying about mixed messages.
Looking forward to no more confusion in the gay community,
An American in Dublin