Right, Left, Right, Swipe Right Into My Heart

Right, left, Right, I swiped with no interest.

Right, left, Right, I judged myself for the resistance.

Resistance in accepting this form of searching was pointless.

Love, I think not. Just hours and hours of messaging relentlessly and left utterly joyless.

Joyless at the repetitiveness. What would I ever find on this social media, dating app concoction?

If only I could accept the dysfunction.

A dysfunction is my ability to make a good connection. To bond beyond the first or second message.

If only I could accept the ugly falsity of dreams of a prince charming in his golden carriage.

“Hi there,” I read his message. It was just another message.

I went on his page, he had two pictures. “Oh, the mystery,” I thought in utter facetiousness.

I went on to message him with, “I’m well, how’s your day going? I love your profile picture!” How else would I respond to pictures that reflected sheer sheepishness.

“Thanks, my day is fine but a bit stressful. Yours?” he responded with irritating vagueness.

He was mysterious, I wanted to press for more details, more to determine whether he had saneness.

It was a back and forth cycle of little to no progress. The usual progress.

But his mysteriousness derailed my attempts at personal progress. Mysterious and methodical in his every message, an evasiveness that qualified him to be part of congress.

A three-day cycle. A way to fill up my empty space.

Then on the third night he asked, asked and sent me into a complete daze.

“Mind if I call you?”

He wanted to hear my voice after days of avoiding detailed written discussion. What was this subtle cue?

Was he actually interested?

I wouldn’t know until he actually called through a phone number not listed.

What an internal plight!?!?!?!

I sat at that restaurant on that third night, sat and looked at the menu, and looked at my phone, and waited for the waiter or him. Which one would win the race against time.

“Do you know what you want to order?” the young man asked me as I sat looking at my phone. He had an unsavory tone.

Would he?

Would he sound young? Would his tone be unsavory?

Then it happened. One, two, almost three rings before I answered.

“Hello,” I said. I said it and waited for the sound. Any sound of his stranger voice.

“Hello...” he said. He sounded unlike any other man I had ever spoken to. He sounded years and years past being a boy.

Brooding.

Mysterious.

Menacing.

Alluring.

Sophisticated.

He sounded like an assortment of well-rounded.

“Let me call you back when I finish eating,” I was forced to say. I didn’t want him hearing me chew like an uncouth horse.

He accepted with complete patience. He was letting things take their course.

I was impatient in my desire to once again hear his voice.

Where was the food? I sat and fidgeted and thought to myself as I saw the server walking past me. I looked at him as he walked, discontent with his job and it’s inability to provide him with a Rolls Royce.

Where was every bit of “chill” I had seemingly acquired over the years?

Twenty-five minutes later, one wrong check my way, and a very disappointing Tikka Masala later, I had my fix of Indian food, a bad fix. I could only hope my call back to him would end more dear.

“Hello,” his voice said as he picked up right away. He wasn’t playing anymore.

“Hey, just finished dinner,” I responded, hoping my voice didn’t give away my internal praying.

Praying that it would go fine. Better than fine.

Praying this would be a keeper. A stranger I swiped right on who I could finally call mine.

“What did you eat?” he asked, that voice...

Brooding.

Mysterious.

Menacing.

Alluring.

Sophisticated.

He sounded like a consistent assortment of well-rounded.

“Chicken Tikka Masala,” I responder, a voice lacking his vocal poise.

Child-like

Boyish

Annoying

Obnoxious

All words used to describe my voice time after time.

This sunk in as his voice of pleasantness said his next phrase, “Do you usually have dinner at this time?”

“Heading home,” I responded as I walked in the dark. Darkness is what took over. He had me in the dark.

He wanted to know about me. I didn’t want him to know it all.

I wasn’t tall.

I wasn’t brooding.

Masculine dominance is something I was never exuding.

The call ended thirty-seven minutes too short.

A call fill with short questions and my not short answers.

Thirty-seven minutes where we were both verbal dancers.

Through each question and answer he took control. But if I am being honest, this was the case from my right swipe.

The right swipe. Perhaps the left swipe was the right swipe. If only I had the right.

The right to happiness. To come ahead, just once.

Just once ask the questions, or give the answers, that would allow me into his heart.

I was tired of the dark.

If only one of him could allow me into his heart.