I spend a lot of time having imaginary conversations with people I used to date. Specifically people who broke up with me. More specifically, people I didn't go out with long enough to technically break up with me, but who, in lieu of letting me know they no longer wanted to see me, simply never called me back.
These mental confrontations never go how you might expect. In my head I never run into the person when I'm out at a bar wearing something that smashes my boobs up to my chin and looking so devestatingly hot it will either make them go home and hang themselves in despair or fall down at my feet and beg forgiveness for ignoring me. No, the scenes that run through my head when I'm sitting on the subway or zoning out at work tend to go something like this:
Said person and I bump into each other while I'm wandering around the village on my lunch break or on my way out to dinner or something. It's mildly awkward , but I maintain my composure acting chilly and polite and in no way bitter about the fact that I haven't heard from them in months. We talk for a few minutes, I mention my new job, and then . . . and then that's usually it. We say goodbye and I get the satisfaction of knowing that the whole encounter was probably more uncomfortable for them than it was for me because they're the one who was a spineless asshole and I got to look like a mature adult.
I used to think my creative limitations when it came to these little fantasies was a little sad. Where's the part where I kick them in the crotch with my leopard print stilletto? Or at the very least sneak in a casual mention of my supersexy new boy/girlfriend who feeds me peeled grapes and rubs my feet in between giving me 50 orgasms a day? Then last week I actually did run into someone I used to date. Well, kind of. I was walking to the subway on the way home from dinner in the East Village when I saw a girl I'd gone out with for a month and who, when things started to look like they were going somewhere, suddenly fell off the planet, only to reappear two weeks later to let me know she "wasn't in a place to be dating anyone."
She was with a group of friends and didn't see me. I made an uncertain attempt to make eye contact, but she was talking to someone and didn't notice. And that was it. After four months and several hours spent rehearsing what I would say if I saw her again, those 20 seconds were all I got. Not that I'm disappointed. Seeing her again hurt, but it would have been worse if we'd actually talked. She would have been polite and I would have been sad and reminded of how it feels to be rejected by someone I thought I could really like. Because that's how these things go in real life.
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