The Zombie Italian Who Refused to Die

White-Zombie-1932

Well I had to do it. I had to stick the knife into The Italian. He wouldn’t die a simple death, he wanted the whole shebang.

He texted me between Christmas and New Year’s. This was the first I had heard from him since that horrible second date where he was all over the place, practically forcing me to eat his seafood special. He left for Vegas and I hoped and prayed that would be it – which reminds me he did text me once to tell me about the crazed woman who crashed into a group of people on the strip. I did reply to that vaguely, remarking on the horror of the situation.

But that was it. The last of things, and I hoped my silence had really conveyed more than simply quiet air.

My wishes were not granted. A couple of days later I received a “Merry Christmas”” text from, and conveniently forgot to answer. Yeah it was shitty of me. I mean come on, I couldn’t even convey a simple warm wishes back to him? See I knew, I knew that any form of communication was going to be a lifeline for this guy, so yeah I played what felt like the bitch by not responding. I hoped, just as before, that really now he would get it, and know things just weren’t happening.

A few days later though, he texted me again, this time asking how I was doing. That one? That one I didn’t conveniently forget to answer, I blatantly ignored it.

See, he was supposed to go quietly into the night and not make things weird. Uncomfortable. Please for the love of God, do not make this confrontational. But he sort of did. A couple of days later he texted one last time, asking “Is everything okay?”

My first inclination is to continue ignoring him, because I am a chickenshit.  But as quickly as that thought landed in my head, another one came skidding in, screaming NOOOO! Do not ignore! This is the guy who had no qualms about bringing me soup uninvited when he didn’t hear from me. There was no doubt in my mind he would have the cajones to show up on my doorstep to make sure I was alive if he didn’t hear from me one last time.

So I answered him. I told him I was sorry, but I just didn’t think this friendship was going to work out. I told him that I hoped he understood, and that I wished the best for him.

Inside I was saying please go away, please go away …  but he didn’t. He asked what happened? What was I going to say? Give him a small list of negatives that he may or may not be able to change? So I was vague, and said I didn’t think we connected. He took the knife and twisted it into himself a bit more, and said he really thought we did connect.

really?REALLY?

I apologized again, unsure of what to say and then he makes it worse by apologizing to ME. I’m dying a thousand little guilt filled deaths here. He continues telling me he thought we were starting off really well, and wow he was so wrong, and there must be something about him he is unaware of, because he doesn’t know what he did. And I flew further down Chickenshit Road, and did the whole “It’s not you, it’s me” routine, reconfirming the lack of connection.

Please let it go, please let it go…

But he didn’t. But he DID take the classy route, which is where I think his worst fan was won over. She told me how sorry she felt for him when this was all happening. He admitted it was hard for him to figure me out, but if I ever wanted to talk about anything he was available, and then he signed off Your Friend, M—. All I could do was say thank you and breathe again.

I hate hurting people. I know hoping to slip quiet and vaguely into the dark night isn’t the best way to handle things, but it had only been two dates. 1-1/4 if you really want to get technical about it. I sort of feel that the quiet slip is acceptable before the third date. Of course I made that rule up, so there is no doubt I would find it acceptable.

I told another friend about it who contacted me moments afterwards, one who had also thought him a bit squirelly, and she suddenly found herself bathing at the same sympathy pool as his worst fan. I swear, I can’t win.

 

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