Right Back Where I Started From

He's just not that into me. That about summarizes the whole thing as neatly as possible.

Everything seems like a great idea when you're on a Girls or Guys weekend. Even this ridiculous skirt I bought. Where on Earth am I wearing that? My next beach bonfire with Frankie and Annette?

But still, the Pollyanna in me wants to give the guy the benefit of the doubt, even if I am 99% sure I'll never hear from him again, I still think that 1% is enough possibility.

And the fact is, a few days later he does text me. (Again, another man who only texts. He must know Craig.) We are both home like losers watching a football game on TV. It's a week that I have the kids. I assume he does, too. Nothing particularly inviting. Just comments on the game. I wonder if the texts were meant for someone else. His brother?

And a few days later he texts again. We have a short chat late in the evening. Cordial, funny. No mistaking the texts as intended for anyone but me, but no mention of making plans.

I am anxious to stay connected. I am hoping eventually he'll feel warm and fuzzy enough to ask when I am free to do something (besides text, for Christ's sake!)But after dozens of texts he hasn't asked, and I am too tired to care.

I send one (almost) final text "Heading up the wooden hill to bed. Goodnight."

He writes, "I say that, too! My grandfather used to say it!"

Smiling, I write, "My grandmother said it, and therefore so did my Dad."

He sends back a smile.

And THOSE are exactly the last words between us. Nothing since. Not a syllable. Nothing happened. Nothing went wrong. It just stopped.

And the Nancy Drew in me wants to dissect the whole thing. Figure out my mistake (because I am sure it is mine) and swear on a stack of Glamour Magazines that I will never repeat the mistake again.

Did I come across as too eager? Too willing? Too desperate? My usual mistake is to be too aloof. Most guys have no idea that I like them. By not making that mistake did I commit a foul of another kind?

I know I wasn't clingy. Everybody knows a guy hates a clinger. Nobody wants to be around someone who is more like an appliance on an extension chord than dance partner. I gave him his Guys Weekend space. Did not infringe. Did not make a boo-boo face when I was not the obvious center of attention. Did not threaten to run off with the nearest member of the male species because he and the guys went to another bar. Did not assume too much. I was attentive but did not go overboard. I did not arrive at the pool on Saturday with his name tattooed on my collarbone (or his face tattooed on my thigh, thank you very much).

Was there interference from Chris? Did he need to not be bested by his best friend so badly that he made it hard for John? Would I have come between their friendship? My Dad always said (when he said anything that looked remotely like advice) not to lose a girlfriend over a boyfriend. Would it have just been too much of a harangue? Or am I just making excuses. Or is it really bad and Chris really is a pig and said that Trish the Dish said I was a bad investment. Trouble with a capital T. A four alarm fruit loop. Not the kind of person you want "around your children."

Or was there just not enough...something? Not enough chemistry. Not enough attraction. Not enough in common. Not enough time. Like a summer romance that makes no sense at all once you get back to school with your friends. Like that idiot Eddie (whose name was actually Rob, but who let me call him Eddie. I have no idea why) who was just as handsome as can be, and funny as hell, and loads of fun to be around, who, once I returned to school my Junior year, seemed like the worlds biggest waste of protoplasm ever. Baby Huey. A toddler in a man's body. All the mental agility of a houseplant. I remember writing him a letter telling him about my favorite class, Eng. 401, Shakespearean Tragedies. From what I'd written he'd thought I was an Engineering major. What????

So a week or two later, I erase all the texts from John from my phone. Remove his number from my contacts.

And I make plans to see Craig.