Mr. Unavailable #113: Visions of Sundance

See The Phoenix Rises, Paper Perfect and More Nouveau, Please for the background on this one. 

Around 7 a.m., with plans to meet Eva for her birthday breakfast and then pack and head to my cousin’s in Boston for Christmas, I told him I had to go.

“Maybe I should stay an extra day,” he said as I started to get up.

“You should stay,” I said.

“When are you getting back?” he asked.

“The afternoon of the 26^th. When are you leaving?”

“My flight is at 6 p.m. on Christmas….Maybe I can stay another day.”

“You should.”

We went back and forth like that a few more times. Ultimately, he didn’t stay, but he did keep in touch while he was still in New York. For example, later on Christmas Eve, he texted me while I was on my bus to Boston from his bus to Jersey to see his parents. And then later that night in Boston, my cousin and I were in the kitchen giggling about the whole thing (“He came to New York to buy a grand piano?”…”How much is one of those things anyway?”…“He goes to Sundance every year? Every year?”) when he called.

I took my phone upstairs to talk. After complimenting me some more, he went on a neurotic Woody-Allen-like ramble (he is a Jewish doctor from New Jersey): “I should have called you earlier. We could have spent more time together…I don’t like the bus. It isn’t safe. I don’t think you should take the bus anymore. Take the Acela. I’ll chip in….You’re very passionate. You’re very affectionate…So am I? Well, why wouldn’t I be? I like you, you like me. Of course I’m going to be affectionate…”

I’m not sure if I mentioned it before, but I like it when people talk a lot. I find it soothing and entertaining. On some level, it doesn’t even matter what they’re saying.

He continued. “I don’t understand why so much is based on merit. It doesn’t mean anything. My family kept all these old awards and certificates of mine and I don’t know why. They’ve got them all up in my old room. That’s why I didn’t stay there. It’s just yucky. It really bothers me that these awards and things mean so much. I was teenager of the year when I was in high school. What does that mean to me now? Nothing. When I was a resident, none of it meant anything. We were all the same… I wish you were here. I have your necklace. That would have been the perfect way to get you back here tonight: ‘Oh, you left your necklace, now you have to come back.’ We could have gone somewhere and sat by a fire and had a glass of wine. But you’re in Boston.”

“I am,” I said, simultaneously soothed and entertained. “Are you leaving tomorrow? Don’t go,” I added, sounding uncharacteristically interested.

“Should I stay?”

“You should stay. I want you to stay.” There it was again.

“I’m working on Tuesday.”

“When do you think we’ll get to see each other again? Do you think you’ll come to New York soon?”

“I was thinking maybe we could meet somewhere,” he said.

 “That would be fun,” I said as visions of Sundance danced through my head.


On Christmas day, he sent one last text from New York: Merry christmas. On way to airport, happy I got to see you.

Signs of Hope: He texted and called and complimented me.

Red Flags: Things that start fast also die fast. Especially if they’re long distance.

Turning Point: After I left him that morning. I was happy when I left him, but my feelings only grew more sappy as the day wore on, as if my imagination were injecting reality with a hefty dose of fantasy, i.e., Sundance.

Diagnosis: For him: I know his dating record is pretty spotty. I know this because it looks a lot like mine.
For me: Never mind dating records. This is suddenly so exciting.