How the hell were you supposed to save a man's number in your phone? Typically, I would label a guy's name as ex A: "Dude from Chinese Class" or ex B: "Guy who wants to fuck me #12" (family members and guy friends excluded). Considering that none of the men that I've had feelings for, have ever truly expressed wanting to date me or be more then the occasional (but only when convenient for them) fuck buddy... I was having a dilemma. The small existential crisis I was having over what the man's name should be in my phone was definitely over-exaggerated.
But over exaggerating and over analyzing is what I'm best at. One day, while sitting at a lunch table, surrounded by friends, acquaintances, and my current love interest, I mustered up the courage to ask, "What do you have me saved as in your phone?"
Mind you, he is eight years older than I am, the ways of old men (he's not really old but calling him old really irks his nerves and hey, it's only right that I get on the man's nerves a little) still cease to fascinate me, and the ways of my generation were (obviously) not his ways. He glanced at me, grabbed his phone in his hands and pulled up my name. My WHOLE name. I don't know why I was expecting romance or spice from the guy...
"It's your name. I have everybody in my phone saved as their name," he proceeded to scroll through his contacts, stopping on his mother's name, "See, even my mom."
I rolled my eyes. I would somehow find myself not only infatuated but too much in like with a man with whom romance was lost upon. I sighed but took a certain amount of contentment in the actuality of this side of him. In my head I made sure to note this moment. Lack of... pizzazz?
This was a man that was not new to the world of dating or love. It was in that moment that I also realized... I actually did have expectations. Some of them were childish, romantic, silly expectations but I had them nonetheless. I sat back in my seat and silence gripped me for the next few hours.
I was coming to terms with the fact that I was starting to get so comfortable with this man that I was actually starting to... expect things! Can you imagine the horror that exploded in my veins?
This conversation had done little to help me with my dilemma of what to title him in my phone. Plus it put me on high alert regarding my continuously growing feelings.
Let's talk about emotional baggage for a moment. My insane fear of love and heart break stems of from years of watching the women around me endure heart break. Much of my fear of trusting men comes from sexual trauma's. Many of which I have never even shared with my family. Over the years I've learned to forgive and accept that life just isn't fair. Things happen... some things you can control and others you just can't. I've gone most of my life trying to protect my heart, I need to know that I can control that, at least. But emotions are fickle mistresses. To some, a title in your long list of contacts wouldn't be this important. For me, this meant something more than just another man playing hockey in my vagina.
This was me trying to make an effort. This was me trying to not turn tail and run from something that could potentially be life changing.
I contemplated this for weeks. Changing his name over and over again. We had a talk one day, after the semester had ended and I'll admit, I was feening for him; we talked about his past. About the many, and when I say MANY, I mean many, women that he had gone through. Some he found love with, other's he thought he could save, some he used for sex, other's he found convenient... And it hit me. That dread that I had been trying to avoid. That inkling of fear that I had been fighting off so well. It punched me in the gut. He reminded me that he could hurt me. In a twisted sort of way, I guess I had forgotten that he did have that power over me.
I changed his name that very night, in a fit of tossing and turning and over thinking induced insomnia, to Inevitable Heartbreak.
Good idea? For the moment, yes. Sleep came gracefully after that. Several weeks with his name saved as such became a constant reminder that I had to be keep my heart on lock. It was a reminder that I couldn't give too much of myself...
Until the dreaded screenshot. Yes, I, idiot awkward girl, sent him a screenshot with his name plastered in it. My heart dropped. I screamed. My best male friend threw a crate of "I told you not to save him as that in your phone in the first place" at me. He never acknowledged it. I'm grateful, but it also knocked some sense into me. I had taken seven giant leaps backward.
I was supposed to be opening myself up, not reminding myself to close off. That night as I texted him back, scrolling through our long thread, I finally knew what to name him. Boo. Corny but simple and sweet.
