It was my fault. I said I would go, would meet him, and then I did not.
I met him online, I know it sounds so trite, but I did. I thought him fascinating and the things he wrote excited me in ways I had never experienced. I never thought I'd find myself in one of those cyber relationships, but it happened, and I wasn't really sorry. As he pointed out, it was ultimately safe. We could do things I would never ever contemplate in the real world, but in the flickering light of the screen it was magic. He had his flaws, so did I but he was so kind and so supportive, that I thought we had a real friendship if a fragile one. We talked about other things, not just sex, and his distance meant he could be logical and helpful, and I really did value his opinions.
Inevitably, I suppose, we planned to meet. The idea terrified and excited me. I was to fly down. I'd pay my fare, he'd pay my housing while I was there. It came out about the same. I arranged vacation time. So did he. The closer the day came for me to book my tickets, the more scared I got. We'd chat online every night, and make plans, and I got more and more terrified.
Fact is, I'm a prude. Next fact is, I am totally a coward about physical intimacy. I wasn't a particularly popular girl, never was. I had friends and I did okay, but I was not the one guys dreamed of, or asked out or anything. Erick was a big surprise that way, but after all, he only saw what I wrote, he never saw me. We had never exchanged photos.
He's asked what I looked like, once, and I had answered, pretty honestly really. He'd just typed a laugh and said he was taller.
I wanted to meet him, I wanted to do all the things we'd imagined, but the idea scared me witless. Every day that brought it closer made my feet colder and colder. When I woke in the mornings, I expected to find chicken feathers on my pillow, the ones I was sure I was growing. I didn't know how to tell him I was having second thoughts, much less how to say I was having third, fourth and fifth ones too.
Then the situation was taken from my hands. My mother got sick, really sick. I got caught up in her doctor's appointments and the hospital and rehab. I did not make the reservations. I phoned him, to tell him. We did not call each other often, preferring the written word when we played together. I explained briefly. I did not need to say much, he knew as much about her health as I did.
"I understand," he said. He sounded, clipped, abrupt. I started to apologize but he cut me off. "We will not discuss it."
I was silent, startled by how cold he sounded. But then he began questioning me about Mother's doctor and what had to be done next. I answered him, and we stayed on the line quite a while discussing the possibilities for her. He sounded entirely himself when we hung up, and his momentary coldness faded from my mind.
I sat still for a long time, staring at the phone. I was sorry I could not go, really I was, but I could not deny my overwhelming feeling of relief.
I spent the next day running errands, doing things that Mother would need. It was convenient, my being on vacation. I felt a little self-pity, I could have been off being pampered and adored after all, but then my common sense kicked in; pampered and adored until he got a good look at me and ran screaming. At least I made me laugh.
He wasn't there when I logged in, and I felt let down. I decided to pour myself a small drink and read until I fell asleep. That way I could get up early and do housework and be virtuous. Not much of a trade for a wild vacation, but oh well.
