Oh God! I need a drink! Where the hell is he? Am I being stood up?I teetered on my ridiculously high-heeled shoes, the ones I was regretting changing into from my sneakers, as I looked around for the 50th time. No sign of Paul. Did he get cold feet? Where the fuck is he? He was so adamant he'd meet me at the airport. Sounded over-joyed to meet me at last. And now, no show!
I dialled his number. No reply for 10 seconds. I waited till the line went dead.
"You're an idiot!" an inner voice screamed. "It's a scam. He took your money and vanished."
I decided not to judge in haste. Those three video calls were real, weren't they? He's a real person, not someone press-ganged into working at a scam centre. So here I was, in Black Mountain, North Carolina, jetlagged, dead tired, confused and barely conscious after nearly 40 hours of travel. I was going to handle this, I told myself. Don't panic! Do the next right thing. Be methodical.
I found a yellow cab outside the terminal and gave Paul's address. During the ride, I was trembling, at war with myself. One voice railed, "You stupid cow! You let yourself be duped, sent him $600. When you get to his address it will be a vacant lot enclosed in barbed wire. Serves you right for being so dumb!"
A calmer voice responded, "Let's not jump to conclusions. This man could be the love of my life. Let's play this through to the end." The back and forth continued for what felt like hours, but was probably just 20 minutes. We arrived, my voices and I. I grabbed my bags and staggered to number 1/24 Belmore Crescent.
The moment of truth! Would he answer?
I banged hard on the faded green door to the downstairs apartment. I felt ultra stupid, standing with my bags on each side of me in the empty street in an anonymous town in the boondocks. Maybe I should have told the driver to wait in case I needed to retreat, especially since my bladder was clamouring for release. I felt stranded, a whale washed up on a beach. Thank god for the local SIM card in my mobile.
I knocked again. Then again. Maybe he had to go out? But he knew I was coming. Why wasn't he there? I started to think of possible explanations. Why, why was he doing this to me? The wait was agonising. I began to form Plan B. I'd fly to the Grand Canyon. I'd always wanted to go there. The trip would not be 100% wasted. Never mind my pride.
Luckily, I had not told anyone about Paul. He was my guilty secret. So I would not be a laughing stock at the department. This was small consolation. Me, the lecturer in psychology, scammed like someone with zero brains. Maybe I should have told my friends. They'd have tried to talk sense into me. But of course, I would not have listened. I know what they would have said, "This looks very fishy. Don't you think he is a scammer? He's good looking and younger than you, so why would he choose you 10,000 miles away? You're just a money cow for him."
I was on the point of admitting defeat. The cold wind whipped through my thin jacket. I was fading with fatigue in my bones and my stomach felt twisted. I picked up my bags. The door opened.
Paul.
"Paul?" I said weakly.
"Yes, that's me. Oh, you are Flora. I had a bad night. I slept in. What's the time now?"
I had no idea, except that it was daylight. The absurdity of our interaction hit me. Here I was, meeting "the One", and instead of sparks, this.
He noticed my bags. "Uh, come in. The place is a mess. I meant to tidy up, but I got distracted." It was messy indeed, with newspapers and food wrappings lying around. A stale smell and something crunched underfoot. Not the welcome I had expected. I marched into his living room and plonked my aching body on his sagging sofa.
"Well!" I said, not knowing what to say.
"Yes?" he answered casually. "I guess you have come a long way, haven't you?"
I nodded.
The silence between us was like a malign living presence. The dim neon light buzzing above, the musty, drab green walls, plus his demeanor combined to depress me. The shabby disorder of his flat emphasized the absurdity of my situation.
He offered me a herbal tea. I accepted. While he was in the kitchen, I replayed our three month, long-distance relationship. We had shared jokes, possessed a similar low-brow taste in music, recommended films to each other and related our daily stories. But did these commonalities mean something? Or were they just props that covered up the lack of real connection between us? It was looking more that way now.
I knew the key. That I wanted to be wanted. For someone to be really, really interested in me, in what I thought and what I felt. Our daily messages felt like oxygen. I'd wake up, eager to read what he had written. I hurried to reply. Meeting up had seemed like the obvious thing to do. I did not think to question his motivation - that he liked me was enough.
Now, seeing him in person made all our previous contact seem insubstantial. What had it been? A gradual growth of intimacy, or was it my deepening addiction to being valued? Was the connection real, or did I mould it out of wishful thinking? Of course, I hated being alone. It was a disease I had suffered for years. Paul was the cure. Or so I thought.
As he returned with our teas, I felt water and fire in my gut, doubt and desire. But desire for what, exactly? He was physically attractive, though there was something of resignation in his face that I had not noticed in the photos. He smiled, toasted me with his chipped cup. Neither of us knew what to say. It had been easier, much easier, to exchange messages. The loss of distance opened a gulf between us. I had been attracted by his confident facility for language, but that was only in writing. We both disliked small talk, but what else could transpire between us? Our different backgrounds, education and nationality had been refreshing. In person it was a different story. I had the silly thought that we could exchange little yellow notes with each other.
I watched myself, as though I were a person taking part in one of my studies. I used to predict what people would do. Got rather good at it. This frumpish, middle-aged woman on the faded couch, what would she do now?
I could not even guess.