(For Janna) Can You Miss a Ghost?

Can you miss a ghost? 

        Yes.

If you are a regular reader of The Enchanted Forest, you know that I write about some quirky and esoteric subjects, often juxtaposing two unlikely sisters side by side to illustrate my point. And I always have a point, even if it may not be clear at first. Or at all. More than any other topic, though, I write about the most common theme in the universe, Love. I can’t help it. It’s been an obsession with me as far back as I can remember, which means at least since I was three or four years old. I’ve written about my personal failures and conquests with Love, my near misses (pun intended) with Love, and my dreams and fantasies about Love. I have made it something of a mantra for my own dispirited spirit: I’m in love with the idea of being in Love.

For whatever reason, though, large swaths of the population have become so allergic to uncomfortable conversations about Love they’ve opted out of them completely.

Too often I’ve exposed my heart and soul in the name of Love and, like poor delusional Don Quixote, tilted at my share of windmills trying to save princesses who didn’t want to be saved and rescuing damsels who were not only not in distress, but who were having a regular good time of it until I came along. Sometimes the humiliation of being wrong about Love is almost more than I can bear. My assumption, as I put down in words what I’m thinking and feeling, is that I’m not alone, that there are others here in the Enchanted Forest whose white steeds have run out from under them, whose mighty swords now drag in the pine needle detritus behind them, and whose flagging spirits are but a whisper ahead of Utter Despair.

You also know that I am a dreamer, with a capital “D.” As in, Dreamer. I still believe in princesses and fairy tales and happy endings, even though I’m slow and filthy from slogging through this cold, hard, dirty world. Yes, my horse ran out from under me long ago and is probably pulling a plow in some lowly serf’s field by now, or is gelled in a can of Alpo dog food. My sword? Shit, I don’t know. I haven’t seen it in years; maybe it was found years ago by some peasant and beaten into the plough share my white steed is pulling now. It’s not on the ground behind me, I know that. And my flagging spirit? Fuhggetaboutit! It only trails me because, like my shadow, it has no choice. Lost and alone as I am in this ever-darkening forest, I stubbornly (some would say stupidly) walk on, seeking my adorable, ghostly princess. But I had no idea what a ghostly princess really was until I met “J”.

We met on a popular dating site that I won’t name because it’s a nonsensical name that begins with Z, and I’ve had it with romantic nonsense. She called herself “J” and of course she was pretty. At 57 she’d evidently taken very good care of herself. Imagine my delight when I read her profile story and saw how closely it mirrored my own:

New to all of this dating experience so I’m a bit skittish and shy. Divorced in 2015 after a twenty-five year marriage … I’m looking first for someone I can trust, someone who enjoys going places but also enjoys a quiet night at home, and someone who is authentic. I retired from education after teaching for 34 years in the public schools.

I couldn’t wait to send her a message! I too was fairly new at the online dating scene, or if not exactly new, patently naïve. I too had been divorced in the not-so-distant past after a two-decades-plus marriage. I too had retired from education after teaching for well over 30 years.

She went on:

I am truly looking for the one guy that will sweep me off my feet and make me feel special. Texting first to get to know a little bit about each other. Then meeting for drinks/dinner to see if there is that chemistry spark. If there is, more dates planned for the two of us. I’m looking for a lasting relationship but taking my time to find the right person.

Sweep her off her feet— isn’t that what knights in shining armor do, sweep beautiful damsels off their feet?

So I took a stab and wrote a message to her:

“ . . . Hello, J.  I'm looking for a trustworthy and faithful woman, but despair I'll ever find one. I found your story all too familiar. :)”

To which she replied:

“Hello, Heath. I just read your profile too. Our stories do sound familiar. Dating nowadays is sure different than it was over 29 years ago . . . But I’m not giving up . . . I know there is someone out there for me. It may take awhile to find him or for him to find me, but in the end, it will be worth it.”

I wanted to know what the “J” stood for, and as I hoped she would, she told me right away. The “J” stood for Janna. Then I continued my thought about losing hope of ever finding my special someone:

“It’s easy to quit and tempting to wander off in the wilderness looking for the person who may be standing right in front of you. There’s a lot more to my story as I’m sure there’s much more to yours.”

“Oh, definitely!”

“Once upon a time . . . ?

“Lol! You did say in your profile that you are an author . . . So tell me about these enchanted forests and fairytales.”

“You were supposed to start, but okay. To begin with, I believe in them. Princesses, too. But that’s when I tend to bump into Reality and find myself wandering aimlessly on a dating site like this.”

“Oh, I believe in fairytales and happy endings. I’m just taking my time to find my Prince Charming because I’ve already been burned twice by guys on this site. I’m realizing that one is going to kiss several toads before she finds her prince.”

Thus began a whirlwind online message-fest such as I had never been a part of before. Every night for the next three weeks we talked, shared— took turns each night disappearing and reappearing later to continue our conversation where we’d left off. Slowly, very slowly— and Janna made it clear from the beginning that that was the pace she wanted our acquaintance to proceed —we shared our interests, asked about and told each other about our days’ activities, and then bid one another a sweet goodnight. 

If there was a theme that emerged from over 9,000 words of messages back and forth during those three weeks, it was a single word: TRUST. Essential to any relationship, absolutely, and critical to a budding one like ours. Janna had had some very bad experiences with men in recent years, and I too had been smacked around pretty badly by some very self-centered and unscrupulous women. One took me for over $16,000, but that’s another story. Janna was indeed skittish. I asked her for her last name because I wanted that sense of personal connection, nothing more nefarious than that, but she would never divulge it to me. And I, being the overly trusting soul that I continue to be in spite of the number of times I’ve been cheated and lied to, very quickly came to sense that Jana was a good woman and a sincere soul. I knew I could trust her. 

So, as our conversations and mutual interests multiplied, we came to a place in the road where I could loosen my armor, raise my visor, and share my full name with her by means of my website address and this blog, both of which contain my full name. She began reading blog posts here (and for all I know, she’s still reading them). She even found a short story of mine on my web page that I’d completely forgotten had a link to it. Everything with Janna was going beautifully— I had every reason to believe we were both smitten. Other than her overabundance of caution about letting me know anything but the most innocent and mundane “fun facts” about her, it seemed that if I just held onto the rope of patience she would eventually, albeit unhurriedly, draw me ever closer to her and into her confidence. Soon enough she would consent to an in-person meeting. The elephant in the room was that we were 380 miles apart.

Aside from doing everything I possibly could to persuade her that I was a man of integrity and honor, and that I would never in a thousand years hurt her, I worked diligently to help her understand that the distance was not a deterrent to me and should not be one to her either. When the time came and she was ready, I would gladly drive the distance from Eastern Shore, Maryland, to her hometown in Ohio, a straight shot on west U.S. 50. She, in turn, repeatedly assured me that she knew I could be trusted and that I had “always been open and honest” with her, yet she refused to lower the ten foot pole between us. Her caution and proclaimed protection of her heart bordered on paranoia. But again, given her past experiences, I was willing to move at her pace. I felt I was being punished for someone else’s sins, but I also felt Janna was the most extraordinary woman I had ever met. She became a habit, damn near an obsession. I couldn’t wait to go online every afternoon and evening just to talk with her. Several times, however, I suggested we hop over to text and/or email. So much private conversation on a public dating site made me uncomfortable. Plus, given what she’d written in her profile statement about “Texting first to get to know a little bit about each other” it seemed to me that over a hundred messages in three weeks more than qualified as “texts first.” But she balked, and I couldn’t understand why.

Then, one day it happened. I was in Washington, D.C., for the day and working on my laptop in a Starbucks on the George Washington University campus, a block from the Department of the Interior building. As was my habit by now whenever I would take a break from my work, I clicked on “our” website to check up on her and send her a short message. She’d been been sick over the weekend and I wanted to know how she was feeling. But when I clicked on Connections she was gone. Vanished! My heart nearly stopped beating. I was devastated! She had deleted our connection!! I was beside myself with shock and grief. I couldn’t believe she would do such a thing. Hadn’t we expressed mutual affection for one another? Hadn’t we been in constant and ever closer contact since the night we first met online? What the hell! Was this how you showed trust?

Stunned, I sat in a daze for several minutes, tried to gather my thoughts and my composure, and eventually took a couple of deep breaths. I told myself that I had been shot like this before, but never by such a wonderful, understanding, and emotionally timid, yeh, vulnerable, woman.

Several more minutes passed. In sheer panic and unrealistic hope, I clicked my way back onto the website on the chance— however remote it was —that her vanishing had been a mistake, a technical glitch. Lo and behold, she was back! Words cannot describe the relief I feltI My amazing Janna was back! I wrote to her immediately to let her know what had just happened and how much it had scared me. If it had been permanent, even by accident, I could never have contacted nor found her again. And though she’d never asked for them, I had always wanted to give her my phone number and email address, and this was the perfect excuse for me to do just that without looking as though I was trying to force my information on her.

In her reply that night she said she understood how such an event could be so upsetting to me, and that she was sorry it had happened. I was still perplexed as to how it could have happened— and why it had happened only to her and no one else before or since —but now that she had my contact information I felt immense relief. Should such a thing ever happen again, she would be able to get hold of me easily. And so our happy and constant exchanges continued as before, though she continued to be extremely protective— dare I say defensive —about not letting me know any more about her than she had already shared. When I described what I thought a perfect day with her would look like if I were to drive to her town so that we could finally meet in person, she said it sounded like a “nice way to spend the day.” Whoa! She was open to the idea now? Wow! We were almost there! Two days later I told her I was going to be driving up to Bethel, New York, over the upcoming weekend— without her, obviously —and suggested that if she texted me now and then as I drove, it would be like having her there in the passenger seat with me. Her answer? “Maybe . . . possibly.” OMG! Her walls were beginning to come down, if only by inches.

The next day it happened again. I clicked on Connections to find her and send her a short message before I left for New York, but she was gone! Holy Christ! Not again! Worse than before, something felt horribly wrong this time. Instinctively, I knew this was no glitch, no accident. She had intentionally deleted our connection.

I was heartbroken. Devastated. Destroyed. How could she do this to me? To us? Why in God’s name would she do to me the very thing she’d told me other men had done to her? I still don’t know or understand what happened or what I said or did to drive her away. I’ve heard it said that hurt people hurt people, and maybe that’s what happened. I honestly don’t know. Had our conversation become uncomfortable for her? If so, she never gave any hint that she was not on the same page with me. Of course I went through all the stages of grief— I’m not through yet —but have yet to get a grip on how two people could be so quickly and forcefully drawn toward each other, only to have one of them suddenly vanish for no reason and without regard for the other person’s feelings. My heart has been taken, and I’ll never know why, but I feel in that moment all the trust in me died.

Then, yesterday, I was educated. I had heard the expression “ghosting” many times before, and I thought I knew what it meant. But it turns out I didn’t. Ghosting is what Janna just did to me. There doesn’t have to be a reason, there doesn’t have to be any concern for the other person’s feelings. Apparently, if you ghost someone you just do it. Is it hard for the ghost? Is it fun? No one seems to know. Damned if I know. I don’t want to know.

What I do know is this: if Janna were to return tomorrow, with or without an explanation for why she disappeared the way she did, I would consider taking her back, though it would require a couple of stiff drinks. I’d remind her that she had a chance to fall in love with me and was, I think, on the verge of doing just that. But for reasons only she knows, she chickened out. I’d tell her that if I left tomorrow morning, I could be in her hometown in time to take her to dinner tomorrow evening. And not long ago I would have done it with pride and dispatch. All she had to do was say “Yes.” But now?

        Yes, you can miss a ghost. But that doesn’t mean it will last.