Me:I disagree. I think it’s really beautiful that love is left after you’ve forgotten so many things that made them real because that’s what it is, right? They no longer feel real. They almost feel like they were never there. They happened in another time, another life, another world, and then you’re reminded that at one point, you were their entire world. You always want to think back to that moment and as time goes on, it’s harder to grasp. I lost my mom when I was younger. It was horrible. No way could we have seen it coming. One minute she was there and the next, she collapsed on the floor. Brain aneurysm. Nothing could be done. Now, if I close my eyes and really try to imagine her, I always see her knocking on my bedroom door, smiling at me as if I just cured her horrible day, and she’d swipe my hair away to give me a kiss on my forehead. I have to really focus, and if I get lucky, I can get a quick whiff of her perfume. For a split second, it feels like she’s with me. It’s like getting a second with her all over again.
“Shit. That’s a long message.” I debate sending it. I want her to know I relate, that I understand.
I press send before I can think better of it and pick up my latte to distract me. The warmth seeps into my palm and I look out the window to see the snow still falling, the people still hurrying by, and the world existing. With and without our pain and grief, life goes on.
I’m ready to move forward. I’ve been stuck in a loop that I’ve created for myself. One that doesn’t allow change or happiness. I think this woman is the answer to help me step out of the darkness I’ve created for myself.
Miss Wrong Number:Yes! That. Exactly that. I have this one moment that I dream about sometimes. I don’t know if it’s real, but it’s of me and my dad. He’s teaching me to ride a bike. It had training wheels, of course. He surprised me with it. It was a Barbie bike, hot pink with purple tassels on the handles. Oh! And a little basket up front.
Me:Can’t forget the basket.
Miss Wrong Number:Never! Because anytime we were outside, he’d pick flowers, put them in the basket, then bring them home to Mom. I dream about it all the time and maybe it’s something my mind made up, but I’d like to think it happened. That he was outside with me almost every day, picking me up when I would fall and cry. He’d always wait until I was done and he’d say, “We can stop. We can go inside, but remember pain is temporary, and learning something new can last forever.” So I never quit. I always wanted to learn something new.
Me:That’s really sweet. I love that he brought your mom flowers. I can bet that something similar to that memory happened or you wouldn’t know so many details.
Miss Wrong Number:Maybe it’s him speaking to me in my dreams.
Me:Maybe. I’m open to all possibilities.
Miss Wrong Number:Do you believe in ghosts?
Me:Hmm. I don’t know. I’m open to it. I need to see it to believe it, and I’ve never seen anything like that or had an experience. Evidence is what proves something real to me.
Miss Wrong Number:Oh, we are totally going to watch a ghost hunting show then. They are my favorite! I totally believe it. I want to believe it. How sad would it be if we closed our eyes into darkness for the last time and that would be it? I want there to be more.
Me:That sounds nice. I like that. I haven’t thought about that before. And okay, I’d love to watch your show with you. You just say when and where.
I choke on my latte when my finger presses the button to send the message. “Oh, shit. No, no, no. How can I unsend? Where can I unsend?” I whisper in horror.
I wasn’t thinking. I was so interested in her, in our conversation, that it felt natural to say, but what if she doesn’t want to see me? What if that’s not what she wanted?
Miss Wrong Number:I’ve actually been wondering a few things about you and this arrangement we have. I like that we’re getting to know each other without knowing what we look like, but I do want to see you one day. What if we get to know each other for the next few weeks? And if things go well, we meet?
I blow out a relieved breath. I feel like I’ve been let off the hook and…I’m happy. I smile to myself, my fingers twitching over thescreen as I think about what to say. I don’t want to appear crazy excited even though I am.
I most definitely am. But I don’t want to run her off before I get a chance to see her in person.
My phone vibrates again.
Miss Wrong Number:You’re killing me here. I’ve been waiting, holding my breath, and now I need to breathe. Do you want to meet me or not? If not, let’s call it, because I can’t keep talking with you and pretending I don’t like talking to you. Or seeing your ridiculously hot, photoshopped body (I mean, come on, who looks like that?) And pretend I don’t want to run my hands down those abs. I want more. I’m sick of going on these horrible dates.
Wait. She’s been going on more dates? I can’t be mad about that. That wouldn’t be fair of me. She has every right to find what she’s looking for.
But I want to be what she’s looking for.
I continue reading her message. And I want to fall in love, get married, and have a van full of a children. If that’s not something you want or have been thinking about, then let’s stop this nonsense. Every time I go on a date, I wish I was talking to you instead. Just put me out of my misery already.
I chuckle, relieved. And I need to hurry before she never talks to me again.
Me:How many kids are we talking when you say a van full?
I chuckle, hoping that’s answer enough to stop her worry. I’m asking because I’m curious. I want a big family too.
Miss Wrong Number:Depends.
Me:On what?
Miss Wrong Number:A compromise might be on the table.
