The Sasquatch Journal

Low Fidelity

Remember “High Fidelity,” when John Cusack’s character contacts all his old girlfriends in a covert attempt to figure out where everything went wrong in his relationships?

Well, that happened to me this weekend, except I only talked to two of them, neither were ever officially my girlfriend, and I wasn’t doing any soul-searching, it was more of a random coincidence than anything else. So really, the comparison to “High Fidelity” is flimsy…Alright look, I confess that I just wanted to start this out with a “smart” cultural reference, so I can feel better about blogging about my romantic relationships, something I usually avoid and/or make fun of. Oh well, I’m unemployed and bored, allow me this small pittance of self-indulgence.

Anyway, I did indeed talk online to two women of interest from my past, one I hadn’t spoken with in about 5 years, the other for about 12 or 13 years. I don’t think Rebecca and I had chatted since our awkward quasi break up my sophomore year in high school. On a five day choir trip to Tennessee and Kentucky, we “ended up” sitting in the same bus seat basically the whole time (A.K.A. I used all the strategic seat positioning tricks I had in my repertoire) and flirted most of the time. And of course, since I was 15, this mostly consisted of tickle fights, not exactly the most subtle of gestures.

But, when the trip was over…I wasn’t sure if that little flirtation would become anything more substantial or not. Sometimes those kinds of trips are like alterative worlds and everything that happens in them exist in a time warp, and when you get back home to normality, people act like those things never existed. (Come to think of it, this is also the basis for Las Vegas’s shady new TV ad campaign.)
Well, my friend David forced the issue for me. Despite my protests, he walked right over and got her phone number for me while I just stopped short of hiding behind a car in embarrassment. But after David told me she was interested, I wasn’t embarrassed enough to throw the number away. I called her the next day.

Our “relationship” lasted maybe a week. We talked on the phone a couple of times, sure, but when it came down to actually DOING something, I didn’t really want to mess with it. She asked me to go to a pool party, and when I made up a lame excuse to get out of going…that was about that.
This wasn’t exactly heartbreak here, if you read my previous essay, you know that Street Fighter II meant way more to me at this point than girls…well, check that, romantic relationships.

So I shouldn’t have been too awfully surprised when she couldn’t recall who I was at first when I messaged her this weekend. But after some brief memory nudging, she did remember. Rebecca, I discovered, has been married for a decade now (she got married right out of high school) and has three children and still resides in good ol’ Springfield, Illinois where she helps run a webhosting company or some such.

This was a little jarring, but nothing compared to the shock I got when I chatted on IM with Caron and found that she is living much the same life as Rebecca. Married, two kids, and living in Springfield, Illinois. Especially jarring because I knew her as this crazy cool folk-singing hippieish type from Omaha, Nebraska.

Now the story of Caron and I is interesting because I’ve only actually hung out with her on two short, separate occasions about a year apart from each other, yet in those few short house we felt strongly drawn to each other. It was almost like one of those magical movie romances (like “Serendipity,” a way more fanciful and ridiculous John Cusack romantic comedy from what I’ve read) without the happy ending.

The first time I met her was my junior year of college (1998! Yikes!), and she was a friend of a friend of one of my roommates at the time, visiting Columbia for the day from Omaha. I don’t even remember what we did that evening, but I know I could not stop chatting with this girl or stop thinking about her.

I guess that attraction was evident, because my roommate from that point on referring to her as “Ryan’s girlfriend.” We began emailing each other a little bit, but after awhile we sort of drifted away… (It was college and we lived a state away from each other.) However, the next May, when my roommate casually mentioned that “Ryan’s girlfriend” would be in town that day for her friend’s graduation, my heart practically stopped.
“Caron’s going to be here in like an hour…and I have to work!”
I had worked part-time as a cashier at a grocery store called Schnuck’s for almost a year, and I had a 5 hour shift that night.
I had a choice to make.

The conversation I had with the manager of the grocery store was hilarious:
“So, you mean you’re just not coming in?”
“Yep, it’s for a girl. I have to see her tonight. So I quit, I’m done.”
“Just like that, huh?”
“Yeah, and frankly, I don’t feel too bad about it, the job sucked. It didn’t pay well, I have to wear this stupid apron and stupid tie, and I don’t like dealing with customers. It’s a repetitious, dehumanizing job.”
“Well, Ryan…I have to admit, you got quite a set of gonads for telling me this.”
“Yes sir, thanks. Have a good night.”

Ah, freedom! I was free the rest of the night, then, for going to the graduation and hanging with Caron. I remember joking with her about throwing Skittles at the ceremony, I remember listening to her play guitar, but most vividly I remember the car ride in the rain we took…we were both sitting in back seat and chatting casually, when she asked, “So…are you dating anyone?” “Nope, you?” “No.”

The next ten seconds was about the best awkward silence ever. I thought I was in love for the first time ever.
I really did think we were going to date after that night, even if she lived in Omaha and I lived in Columbia. We began to talk on the phone and IM diligently.
After a time, I finally asked her is she did want to officially date. Her response was not one I liked, or had expected. “I’ll think about it.”

She was worried about the practicals. The long-distance thing, travel time, phone bills, gas…etc. What? I thought, this was supposed to be fate, right?
Days later, the answer came. The deciding factor was my general immaturity. She told me that I couldn’t “take anything seriously.” The relationship “wasn’t going to work for her.”

After that, we maybe talked once or twice on IM in the next two years. I once sent her a poem I wrote for her, but I didn’t get much of a response.
Friday night, when I messaged her on a whim was the first time I’ve talked to her like I said, in maybe 5 or 6 years.
Two months ago, she moved to Springfield with her husband and two kids, (and still making great music) and is doing quite well. It was a bittersweet feeling to see pictures of her looking older, long haired and beautiful with all of these strange people that are a part of her own separate world.

Meanwhile, here I am in Los Angeles living with three other dudes college-style, I goof around (I played KICKBALL today! Kickball!), and life for me isn’t radically different than when I was 22.
But, is that bad? Should I regret the choices I’ve made or the possible missed opportunities? Nah, I think life is much bigger than that, I don’t believe God has one narrow, fixed path (or The One, for that matter) for us that we will completely miss out on if we screw up decisions like that.
Plus, let’s face it. Kickball is really fun.

P.S. Blogger sucks right now. I can't pictures up to go with this post, and could only put up half the pictures I wanted to use for my Street Fighter article.