Infinitely Unlucky Valentine

It was January of 2010. On a whim and living a disatisfied life in the central valley of California, I packed up what few belongings I owned into my '97 Dodge Neon and hit the road, heading for a house in Peoria, Arizona; a nice little suburb of Phoenix. A friend of mine was living there rent free and offered me one of the three bedrooms in the house that his grandparents owned. They lived somewhere else and were selling this place but we were allowed to live there as long as the house remained on the market. Once it sold, we would have to leave. All I had to do was help with utilities. I was just coming out of an on-again-off-again relationship and felt like leaving the damn state might be the only way to keep that switch in the "off" position. After my 12 hour drive, I arrived and immediately felt the new chapter of my life starting to unfurl. I Spent the next week or so exploring my new surroundings and enjoying all the freedom that came with it. It wasn't long after I had arrived that a very cute girl from back home decided to reach out to me on Facebook. Apparently, she rolled in my circle of friends yet somehow we had never met. She wasted zero time in explaining that she was quite smitten by me. "Perfect," I thought. "I leave the state and this happens." But undeterred, she advanced on knowing full well that I had moved. Over the next month, we would Skype with one another on a regular basis. We spent hours, every couple of days, staring into our computer screens, sharing commonalities and digital affection. Near the end of January, she informed me that she was interested, to say the least, in coming out to visit. Feeling no risk on my end, considering we lived in two separate states, I saw nothing wrong with the idea and encouraged it. Two days later, she informed me that she had purchased her plane ticket and would be coming out Valentines Day weekend. Again, stupidly, I saw nothing wrong with this idea. On the day of her arrival, I waited at her gate, preparing myself for a magical rom-com style moment where she would run out, jump into my arms and we would kiss passionately in front of the whole world. That did not happen. Instead, we embraced in an incredibly awkward hug, as if neither of us had ever put our arms around another person before, and the kiss we shared matched the hug. Dismissing it as nerves, we laughed it off and continued back to my house. Our first night together was casual. We drank, we laughed, but we did not have sex. I felt like at least a day should pass before this stranger, who's flown out to see me, and I should become so intimate. The next day, we lounged around my house. I was 22 and she was 20, so the bar scene wasn't an option for her, leaving us with not much to do but smoke cigarettes in my backyard and listen to music. I decided that we would go out for dinner, giving me a chance to show her around town, at least a bit. I told her I was going to take a shower and that she could use it after me if she liked. When I finished my shower, her mood had intensely shifted. What had once been a fun and playful vibe had now become something very cold and silent. I pressed her to tell me what was wrong. Finally, she revealed to me that she was thinking of flying back that day. I asked why, recognizing that sparks hadn't exactly been flying across the room, but not imagining her experience to be so terrible that she needed to turn tail and leave immediately. She revealed to me that while I was in the shower, she had gone through my phone and found a conversation between my ex and I from a week or so prior, where we each shared that we missed one another. Fuming, I told her how awful it was for her to go through my phone and how she had completely disregarded my trust. I explained that I did miss my ex but that I had obviously left the state for a reason. She quickly changed her opinion and apologized. To help quell the tension, I apologized for not being more open about where my head and my heart were at. We forgave one another and got back into our groove. That night, after dinner, followed by drinks at home, we had sex. Or, attempted to, rather. During the sex, we couldn't seem to get into the same rhythm. Being a vocal and open person in the bedroom, I attempted to communicate with her about what motion we might try to get us on track. She said she didn't understand what I meant, so I tried to explain it more precisely. Without warning, while seated firmly on top of my lap, she started to cry. I was frozen. Not knowing what to do, I told her everything was fine but ultimately had to climb out from under her. She told me she was crying because she didn't understand what I was trying to say and she got frustrated. Again, we dismissed it as an awkward moment and went to bed. The next day was Valentine's Day. Hooray. We had seen ads around town for a japanese restaurant and decided that we would have our romantic, candlelit dinner there. She wore a revealing little dress and I put on a nice button up, tie, and vest combo. When we arrived at the place, we quickly discovered that it was the restaurant equivalent to a Panda Express, orange food trays and all. The entire place was full of families, all of which gawked at us, assuming we must be grabbing a cheap bite before heading to something much fancier. We sat at our table for barely a moment before deciding this location had been a complete mistake. Instead, we agreed on Taco Bell, got our order to go and enjoyed our Valentines Day Dinner back at my house. That same year, the film Valentines Day had been released and so we made it a point to see it after we ate. The film, to me, was fine. It wasn't until later that I would learn how she felt about it. The next day, I drove her to the airport, walked her up to security, shared a lustless hug and kiss and said goodbye. Two days went by without a word exchanged between us. Suddenly, on the third day since she had left, without any direct contact, I noticed that she had posted a status on Facebook. It read, "I really enjoyed Valentines Day. The movie. Not the actual day." Shocked and frustrated by her public display, I felt justified in responding. "Well, at least I'm not gonna cry about it." She called me an asshole and we immediately removed one another from our social media worlds. Just as quickly as we had established a connection, we were strangers once again. Sa La Vie, I suppose.