Hope Dies Last

Facebook notification.

Hope, this week your profile was viewed 2 times. 1 person expressed interest in you.

Ha! My stats just went from 3% to 50%.

Kind of. 

Thank you arbitrary Facebook application. I feel like a brand new woman.

…Carrie’s career

…Chuck’s hairstyle and overall cuteness. 

…Summer’s wardrobe.

…Blair’s intelligence, snark and evil-ness. 

…Christina’s ambition

…Kate’s men

and Sydney’s silent crying, “I’m trying to be strong” upset face.

If you could mix and match TV characters’ best (and worst) traits to have as your own, who would you pick?

I don’t believe in fate.

I believe in timing.

So, to be honest,  it strikes me as a little strange that on Wednesday, while I had a number of other topics for posts, I chose to write about Real. I did not have any intention of going to The Bar any time soon but with the holidays approaching I knew that it would only be a matter of time before I would find myself there.

And find myself there, I did. Far sooner than I expected. As I walked in I hoped against all hope that he would not be there. It was busy and a casual glance around the place assured me that he wasn’t. When I reached our table I took a seat facing the bathroom my back to the entire bar. If I didn’t know any better, I would say I was trying to hide myself.

Ten minutes later, I looked up as the bathroom door swung open and straight into his eyes. He looked into mine. I looked away. Then it dawned on me.

Oh fuck. That’s Real.

And my eyes went back to him.

Whatdidtheinternettellmetodo?makethemproud.

He came over. To my table of four men.

Icouldn’thaveplanneditbetterevenifIwantedto

He stood over me, smiling.

I didn’t get up.

Instead I said, “Oh?! I didn’t recognize you.”

He said, “You look different too. You’ve done something to your hair.”

He continued chatting to me for about five minutes. I was polite, a little too smiley in retrospect, and brief. I was also extremely uncomfortable. I played with my hands a lot. He was cool. Much too cool. There was some silences that he attempted to quickly fill in perhaps understanding that I wasn’t going to. I answered in monosyllables, giving away nothing.

“So how have you been?”

“Great!”

“Drinking water again I see?”

“Yes.”

“I saw the video you posted on Facebook today.”

“Did you?”

I wasn’t entirely speechless. I asked him some questions too. Isn’t that what being polite entails? I wish I hadn’t. I wish I had said, “Dude. I really don’t want you talking to me. And stop being so friendly. You made a point of passively showing me you didn’t want that.”

Instead I didn’t.

Instead I was rooted to my chair. My body still facing the group of guys I was with, my head turned slightly to the right in his direction.

He stepped a little closer. I froze.

“It was really great seeing you” he said,  ”I’m sure we’ll bump into each other again.”

Fuckingvaguefuckhead

“I’m sure.” I replied failing to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.

Then he leaned down and planted one kiss on each of my cheeks.

I didn’t move. I didn’t say a word.

I spent the rest of the night with my back towards him. I laughed, I clinked, I played with a tendril of hair that had fallen around my neck.

When it was time to go, I stood up to  put my jacket on and noticed that he was still there. I think he was watching me leave. I think he was smiling.

And if he was, he would have seen a waitor chatting to me and then he would have seen a random, extremely drunk patron try to grab hold of me.

And if he did see that scene unfold before his eyes, then I’m pretty sure I know what his condescending smile was all about.

I did’t show him that I had noticed. I didn’t say goodbye.

As I left, I didn’t look in his direction at all.

Remember the whole Real deal?

If you’re new and don’t, you can read about him here, but let me summarize.

Real and I met at The Bar in January of this year. When I say met I mean he spoke and introduced himself to me first. We hit it off. Two months later, we ran into each other again and I gave him my number.  When I say ‘gave him my number’ I mean my best-est ran after him–calling his name–to hand him a wet wipe with my number on it.

That night, we find out that he is in both a long term and long distance relationship. Yet he still came back to The Bar sat with my friends and I and told me that we should hang out. Throughout March and April we kept bumping into each other, exchange coy hello’s, but he never called.

I stopped going to The Bar as summer began but at the end of May he sent me a message. During May and June we talked, by phone, by chat, by messages, and began making plans to get together. At the end of June, he fell off the face of the planet. Began to ignore all my messages as if he never knew me.

Now that winter is surely settled, I know that I will begin going back to The Bar. But I don’t know how to deal with Real if I happen to run into him.

This is where you come in. All you lovely, intelligent, objective ladies (and some gentlemen) need to help me.

For various reasons, I don’t trust myself to react in the way I should react if I was the type of person who respected herself and also? I’m afraid that the way I react will be motivated by my desire for him to want me. (I have pride and an ego, you see. AndIobviouslyhaven’tentirelyletgoyetGah.)

I don’t want to waste any time in my therapy session discussing this with my therapist because hello? I’m not wasting anymore time and money on some dude, you know?

So please, what would you do? How should I react the next time I see him? Pretend I don’t know who he is? Wave? Ignore? Tell him off? Don’t say anything at all? Don’t even look in his direction? What if he talks to me? What if he doesn’t? What if he waves?

See? I need help. Lots of it. My google reader informs me that there are 200 people subscribed to Hope Dies Last. I’m imploring you leave a message. Guide me. Ultimately, I would like to be prepared. I would like to do what a strong, confident woman would do.

What do you think she would do?

My sister was sexually abused.

She told someone about the abuse, and made it stop. 

I wasn’t on her team, I wasn’t her best friend, I wasn’t honest and I wasn’t brave. 

This is my secret.

This is the remorse, the regret and the guilt I carry with me.

This is my secret.

***

To my fellow blog-secreter. I hope that by sharing this you feel that now we all share part of your remorse, your regret and your guilt. I hope that makes you a little bit lighter.

You can read other blog secrets here.