The man mall. The woman
warehouse. I had shopped online for months and my self imposed deadline for
finding love or signing off had arrived. I had met some interesting people, but
if I had to experience one more meet and greet over coffee or cabernet only to
realize I had to tell another that this just didn't work for me, or worse, he
told me, well, I just couldn't handle it.
I couldn't help making a final
cruise around the site, grinning at my favorites, who had their own favorite
someone elses, who in turn had their favorites, to make sure I hadn't missed my
dream date.
And there was The Guy: Cute,
looked happy, and he had written a book!
So what if he lived a couple of states away? If we fell in love it
wouldn't matter. We would move anyway, to the country, where we would spend our
days writing, breaking only to glance adoringly at each other. Just like that
Chevy Chase movie where they move to the sticks and he struggles to write even
though he's already a writer, and she's not a writer but gets inspired by a
squirrel or something and whips out a best seller.
I sent him an email, saying only "You. Me. Writers'
group."
We spent months getting to know
each other through emails. We sent each other writing prompts and shared our
creative processes. We shared parenting and ex- spouse stories. We sent each
other updated photos of ourselves, our homes, and even kids and pets. He had a
current photo of me and liked me anyway. Winner winner.
The time to meet in person
finally arrived. I was excited but not really nervous, as I was comfortable
with The Guy. He would drive to my home and we would just hang out like old
married folks with nothing to stress over. I realized that even after months of
emails, I didn't know much about his book and reminded him to bring me a copy.
My friend Jack, whom I had met
on the same site months before, insisted that I give him this guy's full name
and phone number in case I disappeared. Said you can't be too safe.
The Guy arrived, looking just
as expected. As we settled on the couch to have a drink and plot dinner plans,
he offered up his book, with the inscription:
"Deb,
Remember, it's just a story.
T.G."
The title gave away that the
book is about online dating. Just as I started fanning through, looking for an
interesting part to comment on, the lights went out. Not all of the lights, not
even all lights in the living room. Just the lights in the area we were in.
Certainly just a power surge, even though this had never happened before.
The Guy said writing the book
really helped him to release the anger he'd built up during his marriage.
Fortunately, we soon went to
dinner, where I discovered that communicating online is writing, not talking.
The Guy was so shy that he hardly spoke at all. He had no suggestions, no
preferences, no opinions.
Jack kept making annoying datus
interruptus calls to my cell until I answered and assured him that The Guy was
not a sociopath.
Behaving like a gentleman, T.
G. made the long drive home that same night. I had absolutely no idea how he
felt about me or global warming or brands of beer, but he seemed nice enough. I
snuggled into bed and read his book.
The book is about a man who
responded to his horribly abusive marriage by meeting women online who reminded
him of the wife, lying to them about who he is, and then meeting, torturing and
brutally murdering them. The plot was good really, with plenty of twists, but
the parts about slicing womens' breasts off, or cutting them open as you might
to dress a deer, just didn't do much for me.
A low-budget self published
tale, the horrific grammar and punctuation made the whole story especially
frightening for me. I had learned enough about The Guy, through his emails (if he was
telling the truth) to know that this story mirrored his life in many ways.
The protagonist thought the
first killing would be enough to free him from his tortured past. The Guy thought
writing one book had healed him. The protagonist found that he had to continue
the killing to find relief.
I couldn't handle the thought
of a sequel.
This dating chapter had to end, and I was happy to sign off and leave my "matches" to the other single ladies.
