A romcom

I waved at you when you smiled at me and I saw it all happening so fast. No, nothing bad happened. Just something insanely good. But sudden, very sudden. It was the classic story about a boy meeting a girl and it ended the same as ever. With a botched love story and two and a half broken hearts, him, me and his cat. I know that you probably don’t want to hear a story like this. It’s been told way too many times, but I’m still going to tell you. Maybe you’ll thank me later, maybe you won’t. 

So we met at the bus station when you smiled at me while I was sitting in the window. I had seen you around before. We rode the same bus to work every Monday through Thursday. You were never there on Friday, which I found odd, but also incredibly luxurious. Even though I wasn’t in favor of the ‘9 to 5’- workdays in this patriarchy, I was still a silent participant in it. The fact that you were never going to work on Friday meant that you weren’t. I loved you for that even when I had never seen you longer than five minutes.

You can probably tell from the beginning of this story that it was bound to go horribly wrong. I mean, I loved a guy for something when I didn’t even know that to be true. For all I knew he could take a ride with a coworker. Or worked from home. Or was sent to a different location. But I didn’t care. In my mind he had stood up for himself and had taken the fifth day off. In my mind he was the pinnacle of the modern society that I so badly wanted to be a part of. 

So when you finally smiled at me, after months of seeing each other four days a week, I plucked up the courage to be courageous and waved at you. I just waved. I was so proud of myself. This initial excitement would soon turn into panic and doubt, of course. I was a woman in the 2000’s. Generally we don’t take initiative in our romantic relationships. We just let them happen to us and once someone shows interest, then we decide whether we feel the same way or not. Or maybe that was just me.

Okay, it’s probably not as black-and-white as I put it right now, but it’s close. And in my case it’s spot on. Because I don’t ever take the lead in anything. I just sit there and let life happen to me. But not in a peaceful way, like the one you just imagined. I let life come to me with fear and resistance in my heart, my legs, my stomach and above all, in my head. I basically hate the life I’m living because I didn’t choose it, but I am too afraid to do something about it.

There is a lesson here, right? I can feel it. There is something huge that I can learn from this situation, but I just can’t put my finger on it. Maybe you could tell me, but since you’re only reading this and have no way of reaching out to me, I guess not. Still, it would've been nice if someone just could’ve told me exactly what life lesson I could take from this. Just someone who magically appears out of thin air and interrupts everything to tell me what I was missing in that moment. Maybe even in the form of a musical song. But life rarely is that kind.

By the end of the bus drive, I had made myself crazy. And not in a cute way. I was properly insane. Ready for the institute. When I arrived at work it took only five minutes before I told a coworker, who I always gossiped with, my incredibly interesting story. I had enough material to speak about it all morning, and so I did. I’m joking, of course. Within a minute I told her what happened and she was laughing uncontrollably. In that moment I realized how stupid I must sound which brought me back to earth. I looked at my coworker in shame while she laughed at my anxiety induced panic. For a moment I was offended, but then I joined her. After all, it is a pretty funny story.

We were still laughing when our coworkers started to get annoyed that we were holding up the coffee machine. I can’t believe that I let myself get so hung up on everything. I told my therapist about it that same week. I was hoping she’d bombard me with some helpful insight, but as always she just smiled and asked more questions about my feelings. Like I am supposed to come up with solutions for my own problems. What am I paying her for? I have friends who will listen to me whine about every single thing in my life without having to spend a small fortune for their time. Maybe I should start offering to pay them. It can’t be fun having to hear me speak about all of my disasters or the opportunities I let slip away. 

However much whining I do, I did calm down from our appointment and I happily made one for the following week. After all, it sounds quite mature have a therapist. Who knows what underlying diagnoses are waiting for me. When I talk enough about my problems, maybe there will finally be a disease found. There is just bound to be something wrong with me. I know that sounds really ungrateful, and it’s true. I am. It’s just that everyone has some form of trauma, depression or attention disorder these days and I just want one too. I just want to feel included. God, I just know that that is not a healthy way to think about things, but I can’t stop thinking about it. It just happens. And it would feel worse if I lied about it. Can you imagine? Me saying that I really don’t want to have any sort of dysfunction, but secretly hoping I would find something incurable? That is sick. At least I’m honest about it. 

But honestly, I don’t know if that makes it any better. 

But I was telling you about my super romantic love story with a guy I didn’t know. Let’s get back to that. So the next day was Thursday, so I was expecting to see him at the bus stop that morning. Normally nothing ever happens like I want it to,  but today was different. Just like always he was standing there, looking at the numbers that indicated how many dreadful minutes it would take until a bus driver decided to show up. I had been so nervous getting ready that morning that I arrived fifteen minutes before I actually had to, which, in my case, was the same as breaking a world record for being early. I thought he must've been nervous too, because he was even earlier than I was. Although there was no way of knowing that. He was always there before me. I would just have liked it if it were so.

When he saw me there he walked straight over, looked me in the eyes and slowly pressed his lips on mine. I yielded by his touch and let my heart take over. I let all reason go. 

Nope. That didn't happen. Can you imagine? That would’ve been some story, huh? But something like that would never actually happen, only in my dreams.

He just smiled at me, like he always does and then looked in the distance to see if the bus driver was unexpectedly early today. Which we both knew he wouldn’t be. Maybe I had imagined it, but I thought he greeted me with a little more enthusiasm than he normally did. It was something in his eyes. Or maybe his smile? Anyway, I was sure there was something there. Something there hadn’t been before. Oh god, am I quoting Beauty and the Beast? Have I sunk so low already? 

After a minute or five I was sure I had imagined there was something more, until I saw him fidgeting with his coat. Nobody fidgets when they’re confident or at ease. Do you think I’m crazy? ‘Cause I thought so. But after another (very long) minute he walks up to me. Just as my bus pulls in. He couldn't have timed it worse, but he also couldn’t back off now. So without any smalltalk or introduction he just straight up asked if I wanted to go out with him someday. He mumbled something about having wanting to ask this for a long time, but I hurried him and said yes. I didn’t have time to give him my phone number or anything so I just said: “I’ll see you Monday.” 

Which was an incredible spontaneous sentence that also was a complete lie. I knew I was in for the worst three days of my life. Because I knew, and you should by now too, that I definitely would not be able to keep my cool until Monday. I couldn’t even keep my cool until the next day. Of course I told everything to my coworker. He has a name, but I’m not willing to disclose that yet. And no, he isn’t gay and he’s also not going to give me a massive make-over before my big date. 

Somehow I made it to the next day without going completely insane. When I walked up to the bus stop only to stop dead in my tracks. Because he was there. I saw my dream of him being the pinnacle of anti-capitalism being shattered, when I realised he didn’t have his bookcase or laptop bag with him. It was just him in normal clothes. I walked up to him and managed a semi-funny, semi-witty remark along the lines of: “I’ve never seen you here on a Friday.” Which he countered with: “I never knew you paid that much attention to where I was.” Which, of course, left me speechless, because how could I tell him that I was such a hopeless romantic that I had played out every possible (over-the-top) scenario in my head. At least twice. 

When I didn’t reply he said that he didn’t get a chance to ask for my number yesterday. As if I wasn’t utterly aware of that. He said he didn’t want to wait until Monday because he wanted to text me over the weekend and that he hoped I would be at the bus stop today. I was so surprised, because I never thought anyone  would actually say that in real life. This only ever happened in my daydreams. He actually went out of his way to wait for me, when he wasn;t even sure if I would come! As if in a trance I gave him my number. He hugged me and wished me a good day at work. I wished him the same. It was only after he left that I realised that he was just going back home. 

Over the weekend he did exactly what he said he would. He texted me and I texted back. I read and re-read every message that I sent at least three times to make sure that it wasn’t stupid or weird. Which I knew most of my messages tended to be. He asked me what kind of date I wanted to go on and when it would be a good day for me. I wasn’t about to tell him that my life consisted of work and seeing my family a couple times a year and so I told him I had to check my calendar. I suggested Thursday and he said that worked for him too. I thought that he may have as little of a life as I did. But that probably was just wishful thinking. 

Let’s fast forward to Thursday, shall we? I don’t feel like telling you about the days leading up to that because I was just a nervous wreck. I had no idea how long it had been since I last had a date. And I secretly pitied him for willingly taking me on. He had no idea what was coming. He had suggested that he would cook me dinner at his place and I agreed. I knew that it could be a way to get me into bed on the first date, but I was okay with that. No matter how nervous or insecure I got (and it could get really bad), I had never slept with someone on the first date. Not that I had had very many, but I was still quite proud of that. So I had no problem going to his house because I knew I would just leave if he turned out to be a dick. I almost couldn’t fathom that he would be, but that was just because I had romanticised him to death.

Luckily he didn’t turn out to be a dick, an asshole or any other curseword you can come up with. He turned out to be a true gentleman. He didn’t even ask if I could stay over. He didn’t offer me more drinks when he knew I came by car, none of that. And I know that is actually the bare minimum of human decency, but I still think it’s worth mentioning. He had cooked an amazing lasagna and bought a matching wine. He even lit some candles to set the mood. It’s sufficient to say that I could not have imagined the romance better if I tried. Not in my wildest dreams. 

We talked for hours and not once did I feel insecure or uncertain. It was like he had this confidence over him that made me feel confident in myself. Of course I still misspoke a couple of times and I made a fool of myself too. That was to be expected, but no more than I normally would. And that is a big improvement from my former dates.

After dinner we went to the couch to talk some more and I actually forgot the time. At three in the morning I got back into my car and headed on home. Before I left he had asked if I wanted to do this again someday and I could hold myself back from blurting out ‘YES, PLEASE’. I found my dignity just in time and said that I would love that. And that I had a  really nice time. He agreed. When he walked me to my car I felt a sudden burst of reckless confidence and I turned around and kissed him. Me. Kissing a guy. Of my own initiative. I felt like God herself had come down and gave me wings. 

When I was driving home (No, I had not drunk too much wine and I also wasn’t lovedrunk) I went over all of the events of that night. I might have been blessed today, I was still me. But to my surprise I wasn’t spiralling. I had loved tonight. Even with all my mistakes and times where I messed up. I had simply loved it. Now you might think I’m absolutely crazy  but I felt like he could really be the one. Yes, I hear it. I thhink I’m crazy too. But I’ve never had a date like this. He was such a gentleman.

I really saw a future with us on the drive home. I hadn’t been sure about anything in my life like I was sure about him. And so I drove home on a pink cloud filled with hearts and sweetness.

The next months were straight out of a movie. A rom-com movie, of course. We went on many more dates, not just at his place. We went all over the city together and made a million memories. At least. All my fantasies and daydreams actually came true. Sure, there were moments where it was though and our differences came to the surface. But we always worked them through. I learned about his family and his hometown, which, surprisingly, wasn’t that far away from mine. Most importantly, I learned that he really did stand up for himself to take the fifth day of the week off. And because of that I found the confidence to do the same. From that day on Fridays were our days. We would spent them together, from morning to nightfall. And it was wonderfull. 3 years went by like that. We spent every waking moment we could together. Moved in and started talking about kids in the future. Moving cities, changing jobs, as long as we could be together.

One Friday morning we woke up. Usually that meant sleeping in, making coffee and sometimes even waffles. So that the entire house would smell like sweetness. But now we woke up in a strange bed. I looked at him, hoping to find some explanation in his eyes, but he looked just as weirded out and scared as I did. I looked around to try and see some clues as to where we were. The entire room was cold and white, there was nothing indicating a warm home. I saw a sink, a mirror and a door to a small bathroom. There was a beeping monitor and little lights flickering. I looked back at him only to see he was gone. You were gone. How?

I blinked some more to see a white thing coming towards me. When it came into focus I recognised a doctor. The next few minutes I remember only vaguely. I was sure this was another daydream of mine when he told me I was in a car accident and had been in a coma for three years.