Part the Fourth: She has a 'crush' on you

This post is way, way overdue. I don't know why I delayed so long in writing it; maybe some youthful pride was welling in my bosom and I thought I could assuage it by putting off the inevitable. The faithful FCN few had to know sometime; I couldn't keep my secret forever. The moment would come, my embarrassment would be known by all and the lack of sympathy would be palpable. As part owner of this blog, I know how it works and I know I deprived you all by not being forthright about it in the first place, but, heck, better late then never, right?

My love life is your love life and, like most communal things, it is pitiful. As always, any tips or advice are appreciated. Condemning and criticizing words will be read, but are not appreciated. Please comment accordingly.

A month ago, I was “dumped” by a young woman who once told her friends she had a crush on me. Now I am trying to get her back... but I am getting way, way ahead of myself.

Luce and I met at a small place by the movie theater during finals week and I my vocal analysis was right on: Blonde through and through. Energetic is probably the best word to describe her and she was very outgoing. She had my picture on her phone and had set it as her wallpaper. She looked athletic and she told me she played tennis for our school. Luce told me she grew up in the Bay Area but went to college in the valley to get away from the city. Our conversation was comfortable and I enjoyed letting her do the talking.

Her favorite color is magenta which is a perversion of purple. She is claustrophobic and can't stand dogs. Her brother is in med school and she has a sister in the military. She misses both terribly. She has had too many sports injuries to count and likes to dye her hair different colors so she wasn't always blonde. She hates using the computer and loves the outdoors.

That's when it hit me like a frog's tongue on a fly: Was this the same “shy” girl who wouldn't approach me in person and sent her friends as emissaries instead? I must have stiffened physically because Luce stopped midway through a sentence on the merits of charging the net to ask what the matter was. I pursed my lips, glanced suspiciously from left to right, depressed my eyebrow and leaned forward. I took a deep breath and looked her in the eye for a second.

“Nothing...You were saying?”

Our conversation continued after a moments hesitation and I used the guise of interest to develop my theory. This couldn't possibly be the “real” Luce. The real Luce was quiet, sat in the back of the cafeteria and had Hispanic friends who used their mother's cell phones. The girl in front of me was a bubbly blonde who probably went to parties just to energize them. The girl in front of me was the star of the tennis team, not the outcast.

“So, what's your real name?” I bluntly changed the subject, deciding to use surprise to my advantage.

Luce smiled, obviously a lot more used to social dweebs than she let on. “Lucy, but my friends call me Luce. Why?”

Why indeed. My suspicion was beginning to look vaguely ridiculous and my hold on conversational authority was leaving me like so many lemmings. In retrospect, my curiosity was poorly conceived. Why...did I always have to make a fool of myself in two-way social interactions? Why...was I the one who got left holding the cheese? Why...was Luce looking at me like that?

Oh yes, her question. I answered with a joke that seemed to recover most of the ground my gaff had lost, but the rest of our interaction was without the comfort we shared early in the date.

Maybe that's because I spent less time listening and more time thinking about this whole sordid episode. Luce, tennis, the cafeteria, the cell phone picture, me. It didn't fit. Something was wrong. What kind of girl approaches a guy with expressions of affection before establishing any sort of relationship?

I decided the best course of action was the blunt one, so I continued bludgeoning our conversation around by asking the above to Luce.

“What kind of girl approaches a guy with expressions of affection before establishing any sort of relationship? I mean...what kind of girl...” I let my thoughts trail off like the curator in Night At The Museum and used descriptive hand motions to convey my confusion.

“You weren't going to ask, so I did.” Luce seemed so calm. How did she know I wasn't going to ask? Maybe I was thinking about it and just biding my time. And what did it matter anyhow? So this was an epistemological question, not one of romance and passion? I was a bet, a wager she placed with her friends? What about the proper role of...?

My thoughts were interrupted by Luce who stood up quickly. “You know what? You're just a pretty face. I try to get to know you and you just sit there dumbly and then try to lecture me on...” I think she “humphed” there, but the crack of her palm against my cheek made the memory fuzzy.

When I cleared my vision and mustered the courage to peek up from beneath my arms, I saw her Tundra zip out of the parking lot and onto the main road.

I got a few stares as I paid the bill and exited myself. But nobody saw as I sobbed softly in the front seat of my car. How could I have messed that up? Things were going so well! We were clicking!

That's what I get for focusing on the method, not the content. And she ordered the second most expensive item on the menu!

Maybe she was playing hard to get, as if it wasn't hard enough to get her for the first date. Or maybe I'm just an empty visage with nothing to offer the fairer gender.

I think you're supposed to call your date back the next day and follow up, say it was a great evening and lie about what an awesome time you had. Well, it's been a month and I haven't called her back. I have her number and sometimes I look at it like the man in the “maybe” lottery add.

You know what? I think I'll give her a call and see how she's doing. Maybe she has an opening this week and we can catch a tennis game or something. Now if only I can find my cell phone.