My newest date from the internet site was to be with Peter Pan. I stood in the sunlight shivering, thinking: “I should cancel, with a migraine this bad I shouldn’t meet anyone for the first time.” Worse yet, I was cold and shaking with alcohol withdrawal. I stood there with my cell phone in hand; all I had to do was call and cancel. No one in their right mind would go on a first date in this shape. But then I’ve never made any claims to sanity, and I was impatient to meet him. A voice in my head said it was okay. I felt at peace. I felt like I was waiting to meet someone I already knew. He’d spoken to me of a house, an extraordinary house that belonged to some friends of his, he would take me there. It was in Montmartre , and yet you’d think you were in the country.
He arrived, and yes, it immediately felt like he was someone that I already knew. I got onto his motorcycle; it felt good holding on to him and it was a delight to discover the streets of Paris Paris
It was a big house, there were several couches. “I need to lie down, if you don’t mind, I’m going through withdrawal, I’m very cold, do you have some blankets?” Peter Pan wasn’t the least surprised by my request; he simply brought two blankets and a pillow. I curled up on one couch and he curled up on another. There’d been several weeks when he hadn’t sent any messages. He explained that he’d been in the hospital, and when he got out, discovered that all of my messages had disappeared. I’d written to him, and accidentally clicked on the button “block this person from corresponding with you,” which was next to the send button. He’d searched through all of the files to find me again, which I was surprised he was even able to do. So clearly the interest was mutual. We got stoned and talked for hours, with long, comfortable silences. Our lives were strangely parallel. We were both raised with tremendous pressure to succeed. We both suffered from long periods of depression, and addiction. He’d survived what should have been an unsurvivable suicide attempt, was taking his first steps out of depression, back into the world, I was one of his very first steps back into the world. After a very successful education and career that hadn’t brought him any happiness, Peter Pan was changing careers, moving into the heart of his creativity, working on several creative projects. I too am just now finding my own way. At the end of the evening, he said: “This has been the strangest evening; it’s as if we’d always known each other.” As I was leaving, he gave me a big hug. I wasn’t the one who reached out; he was, so I went home with hope in my heart.
(30 July 02)
Three days later he hadn’t called yet, so I called. He sounded so happy to hear from me. We made plans to meet. He said he’d call to confirm when and where. He didn’t call, and wasn’t answering his phone. I hate it when men do this. The next weekend, it was the exact same story. The next weekend the same. Each time I called he sounded genuinely delighted to hear from me. Normally, I would’ve written him off, but I knew that he was just coming out of a long deep depression, and how difficult it can be to take those first steps back out into the world. So I waited until I was about to leave on a long vacation, and sent a cheerful note giving him my news and saying I hoped to continue seeing him as friends. He called immediately, very happy that I’d sent him the e-mail that I wanted to see him as a friend. He said: “I’m really sorry about disappearing on you, I was afraid you would want an immediate commitment. I’d love to see you before you leave, do you think it would be possible?” “I’m leaving the day after tomorrow, tomorrow afternoon will be our only chance to see each other.” “Okay, I’ll call you in the morning.” He didn’t call or answer his phone. Soon after I arrived in the US
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