how very lucky to be a girl

In the beginning, there was Steven. He was my first “internet boyfriend”. You may recall that I wrote about him briefly at the start of How Very Lucky.

Our first date took place at the old Knitting Factory on Houston, in a dark corner. It was a magnetic meeting all the way up to the presentation of the bill, where we learned our hero had no money. Rather than do dishes, I paid for that date. But he walked me home and kissed me, and after hours of the easiest connection, laughter and then a really great kiss, I could forgive the no-money thing for one night. I agreed to a second date.

Our second date was at Angel’s Share. This hidden, nondescript gem tucked away around the corner from St. Marks Place was perfectly romantic. And this time, our hero came equipped with a wallet (and inside the wallet, actual money). I think I may have brought him home with me that night.

So began our 4 month courtship. He was a good boyfriend. He was thoughtful. He was supportive. He was quiet without being a pushover. He could take a back seat and relish in observing me in my antics just as easily as he could assume control of any situation. He liked my friends and actively engaged them. He would send flowers just “because” or ship a book to me that he thought I might enjoy. He took me to out of the way, interesting dives and to dinners he couldn’t afford, walks in the park, concerts and wintery street snowball battles and Broadway shows most couldn’t get tickets to. He was interesting and interested and we had fun together. He did everything right.

Until one day. The day he unraveled.

Katie and her husband were in town visiting. We’d spent the day together, joined by Steven, and had dinner plans at an expensive restaurant. Steven was between jobs, so I didn’t invite him. I knew he would want to pay, and I didn’t want to put him in that situation. I told him that we had dinner plans and that I would call him afterwards.

After the check came to the table, I reached for my cell phone. I had 11 missed calls. Wow. I was popular! Who called? All 11 were Steven. It had been 2 hours. I wondered if there was some kind of emergency. I didn’t listen to the messages, I entered his number to call him back immediately. But before I could do so, my phone rang again. I answered to find a frantic Steven on the other end. Where was I? Why hadn’t I called? There was a fury and loss of control in his voice. I didn’t understand what was going on. I calmly explained that I thought I’d told him we had dinner plans and that I would call him after our meal to join us for drinks, apologizing if I’d been unclear. He’d already worked himself into a stupor at this point and was talking to me like a rabid pitbull. He couldn’t hear me. I told him that I was going to hang up so that he could calm down and that he could call me back when he was prepared to speak nicely to me. And I did.

That was the trigger that launched speed dial. He called my cell phone 132 times and my home phone 57 in the next four hours. He left dozens of exasperated (and exasperating) voice mail messages. I was shocked and confused, and scared. Who was this person? I’d never seen this side of anyone, and certainly not of him.

The last phone call of the night, and I answered. He was a hurricane tirade by now. It took everything to keep my patience and be gentle with him, and then I was done. “Steven, you need to stop calling me now, before I say something to you that you do not want me to say.” He pushed. “Steven, this is over. We’re over. I don’t want to see or speak to you ever again. I don’t know what happened here tonight, but this is crazy and I want no part of it.” I hung up. And disconnected my phone for the rest of the night. He showed up at my apartment the next morning. Thankfully, Katie’s husband Joe was there to run interference. Although I knew in my heart of hearts that Steven would never hurt me, I was rational enough to take all the precautions I could think of, notifying my landlord and work security of the situation to ensure that he would not be granted access, and filing a report with the police.

This was only the beginning of a stalking that lasted as long as the relationship had. And it was my first, and hopefully only, lesson in how to deal with it. I had tried everything. I tried to be gentle, logical, responsive, non-responsive, see him, not see him, speak to him, write him, accept the flowers, send the flowers back. Nothing worked. The only choice was non-contact. I could not engage. At all. I changed my number, blocked him from my e-mail and IM, eventually moved to a new place with no listing. I’d moved on. That was nine years ago.

To this day, I think back on the situation and him with great sadness. I don’t think I ever thought that Steven would amount to my life partner, but I’d always liked him. I thought he’d be a part of my life, and it always made me sad that he was crazy. That I’d made him crazy. That this thing happened, that I couldn’t have foreseen, imagined or understood that meant that I could never speak to him again.

I logged in to AIM yesterday. I don’t do that very much anymore. Somehow, his e-mail was no longer blocked. And no sooner does my connectivity establish then there is an immediate IM from Steven. It’s been nine years. He’s still in his fury. He’s still pursuing me. But he no longer remembers how to spell my name.

There was a time, nine years ago, when his name would flash on my computer screen and every hair stood up on end. Fight or flight instinct took hold of me back then, and flight always won. This time, I felt nothing.No need to run, no desire to speak to him. No curiosity, no annoyance. Nothing. I responded with a quick hello, quietly blocked him again, and logged off.

It made me think about a recent post that Simone Grant wrote about an old relationship and moving on. We’ve all had one. Like a campfire that ends, but whose burning embers stay lit long past the morning. A relationship where you say goodbye but can’t move on for a while. It made me grateful for endings and fresh beginnings. And it made me wish that Steven could find his.