Chasing Ghosts

There are a lot of things I regret, like when I shouted at Ma when she was just asking me if I’d eaten yet after Dad died. I regret not spending more time with him, because he felt like a ghost even before he passed.

But I don’t regret my time with you, painful it might have been. There were moments of brevity where it felt like I was flying. You made me feel so special in those precious hours.

Now, I stare at my phone wondering if it’s broken because you haven’t called even though you said you would. Each buzz sends an electric shock down my spine. My heart races thinking it might be you, only for it to falter when it’s just another Instagram notification or a text about another sale I don’t care about.

I pass the hours, hoping that you’ll call, calculating the time difference in my head. I wonder if you’re thinking about me too, but I know you’re not, at least not anymore .

In the early days, you would text me all the time and you’d tell me you liked spending time with me. I liked knowing exactly how you were feeling. There was no ambiguity, no guessing where I stood with you. Now, it feels like I’m playing 20 questions just to find out your mood for the day and asking you a question feels like playing Russian roulette.

It’s strange how someone who once felt so safe now feels dangerous . I remember thinking on our second date that it felt like I’d known you forever, but now you feel like a stranger. When I try to pull closer, you pull further away, shutting me out, slamming the doors on my yearning fingers.

And so instead, I replay our first date and chase that high. You were so patient with me, and didn’t mind that I was an embarrassing 40 minutes late. Instead, you’d talked about how nice it had been to just sit outside. My heart melted to think you’d carve out that time for me.

I thought I’d won the lottery. I laugh when I think about how you told me you were a Cancer, and I told you Cancers had been terrible for my best friend. To which you quipped with dripping charisma, “Just because a Cancer didn’t work out for her, doesn’t mean it won’t work out for you .”

“But I’m an Aries and so technically, we’re enemies,” I told you playfully, “but enemies to lovers is my favorite trope.” It didn’t matter what the stars said when all of them were glittering in my eyes, convincing me that this was a sign you were my Sun.

You showed me your watch, cherry blossoms swirling, and I thought to myself maybe it’s foreshadowing the closeness we’re blossoming.

Those first few dates felt like a movie. When we kissed in the garden under a lit arch of wisteria after you said we should probably go because you were feeling shy, our teeth clinked, and it wasn’t the best kiss, but the way you looked at me was i ntoxicating . It felt like bliss, and I wondered if I’d met my husband because I was so happy just to be close to you. I’d bared my soul to you, and you were still there, welcoming me with open arms with my jagged scars and all.

Diving deep didn’t scare you. You told me you wanted kids. I told you I wanted to be childless and barren, and you said your partner was what mattered the most to you—meeting me made it seem like all the things that had mattered before didn’t matter anymore. I didn’t believe that kids was a dealbreaker someone could easily give up, but you said it so convincingly that I questioned maybe it was just because they weren’t you . You made it sound like our connection was so great and so special, nothing else mattered, and I felt like I finally found the safety I’d been craving… After all, how could someone who would give up kids for me ever hurt me?

And you made it feel even more like a dream when you asked if I’d ever been to Bali because you wanted to go there for our fourth date. I’d never been to Bali before, but I also never felt like the universe had meant for me to meet somebody because it had truly felt like we’d defied the odds. How could I be so lucky to be with someone so patient, kind, attentive, and funny and who wanted to take me on a romantic getaway? Was this heaven? Because I don’t know if I was ever deserving.

With you glistening, shining so brightly, everyone else felt like they were painted in dull colors because how could they even begin to compare to you? You looked at my checkered past and saw beauty.

In hindsight, maybe I was just caught in the fantasy of you.

So when you told me you hated my favorite jacket, I decided to brush it off, just like when you told me you didn’t like hair down there after the second time we’d been intimate. These were things I could change for you. It’s just hair and it’s just a jacket. No big deal. Was I really going to let something so menial deny me from my future husband, from star-defying love?

So I threw away the jacket I’d loved and ripped out the hair you hated in exchange for the possibility of seeing you smile. But it was a poor exchange because you didn’t say anything, and there wasn’t even a glimmer of excitement in your eyes. You didn’t look at me when I stripped down to nothing for you. Maybe I shouldn’t have expected so much. Maybe now I just no longer disgust you — but why , then, won’t you look me in the eyes? And our moment of what I thought would be closeness is gone before I’ve even registered it starting.

You tell me you’ve finished, but I haven’t even arrived at the race. But I’m happy just to be close to you, to feel like maybe I’m closing that ever-widening distance. I send you some photos of myself, thinking maybe you’ll look at them like I look at yours when I miss you. You tell me you hate the shoes I’m wearing in a photo I thought you’d be staring at my face and thinking how pretty I looked that day in my sundress. You don’t, but you do tell me you like how my hair has been fastened in one of the photos I send you, and that counts as a compliment, right ? That means you like me still. You’re just particular about clothes, right? Cinderella put on a gown for her Prince Charming, and she got her happy ending. It’s not like I was particularly attached to those shoes you hated.

You didn't call tonight even though you said you would. I fall asleep feeling hollow and full of rage. But I’m trying to be the bigger person and trying to make this work because I miss the version of you that I fell for — the one that made time for me, told me they liked me for me, was kind, and saw the glass half full. I see snippets of him in your silence, hallucinations I’ve willed into being to fill the sinkhole you left when the texts turned from a dam-bursting stream to a trickle from a leaky faucet.

“Hi,” you finally say after I text you, “I miss your voice” the next day. Hearing you talk feels so good, even if it doesn’t sound like you’re as excited to hear from me. You used to smile, even though you hate driving, when I was in the passenger seat with your hand on my thigh because you wanted to be touching even in those moments. The glances you sneaked me while I told you to keep your eyes on the road made me feel like I was a treasure more rare than your limited-edition cherry blossom watch. If I just say the right thing , maybe you’ll look at me that way again.

And so I cling to that version of you, trying to keep things light even though every fiber of my being wants to fight.

But something has upset you again. Your stocks aren’t doing well, and I tell you I’m sorry, even though it’s not my fault because I hate seeing you stressed. I miss seeing you smile, really smile.

“Is there something you wanted to talk about?” you ask stoically, as coldly as the city you claim to hate to live in.

And I can’t hold it in anymore. “You didn’t call yesterday,” I blurt. I don’t mean to let that tumble out. It’s supposed to be a light call. I hope you don’t get upset again. I try not to cry because I’m supposed to be fun , and only you have the permits for pain.

“I have a busy job. I can’t call you every day,” you retort. You’re not even looking at me when you tell me this, too preoccupied with something on the TV, even though you don’t think I can tell or maybe you don’t care that I can. I miss when I could keep your full attention. Maybe if I’m better for you, I’d get all of you, not just a quarter of a teaspoon.

You’re probably just stressed. I shouldn’t think too much of it. After all, you did say that you hated video calls, even though you had no problem video calling me before without a video playing in the background. Maybe I was more interesting then. I can be interesting again.

I tell you with my best smile plastered on my face, “I haven’t asked you to call every day, just to give me a call when you have a chance,” because maybe you’re just confused since you’re so stressed all the time from the job you love and hate.

“I can’t be spending hours on the phone with you every day,” you tell me, even though I’m lucky if I get a call from you on the weekend. Did I misremember? Maybe I’m acting crazy because you sound so reasonable, and after all, I am on those medications, so you won’t hurt from pieces of you leaving me when we’re joined as one.

But I need to know, even if it shatters me, and so I ask you if you even want to spend time with me at all, because what was this all for if you didn’t? Why was I digging through a burial ground if the person who wanted a future with me is gone forever?

“I remember when you used to like talking to me. When did I become a fucking chore?” I spit out, and regret it almost immediately. I guess the fire in my star sign couldn’t help but burn. After all, Aries is the god of war, and I’ve been trying to be so peaceful.

Then you pull the trigger and you tell me we barely know each other and you aren’t going to spend what little free time you have on something that isn’t a sure bet, as if those days we spent together in your city were nothing — as if those hundreds of messages we exchanged and those texts where you told me you’d noted my favorite flowers were peonies for the future were for my coffin. Maybe your legs grew tired of chasing me so why does it feel like you’re running away from me all of a sudden?

You throw out a lifeline, “We can talk about this after spending more in-person time together.”

I look at when the next bank holiday is because you’re out of PTO even though you could take a few for a trip with your buddies in September. But friends are for life , right? I’m a TBD, so it’s justified. And so I ask about Labor Day weekend and you say that could work. You don’t offer to fly out to see me like you’d promised or take me to Bali like you said you wanted. I just have to be patient… right? This is just the conflict in our romantic comedy until we find out there’s been some big misunderstanding before we reignite our flame. The fire I burn for both of us will warm your icy heart. It has to , because if not, it means it’s stopped beating and I refuse to fail at CPR too when it feels like I’m never good enough for you.

With trembling fingers, my stupid gambling heart books that ticket to you because I wonder if the you from our first few dates will be resurrected if I come out to see you.

But….That version of you does not make a resurgence. Your eyes are vacant when you greet me, and you’re preoccupied with your phone. I wonder why I’m here when it feels like you wish I’d disappear. In the end, I feel like another one of your fancy watches, but at least they get to be on your arm, and you’d protect them from harm. So maybe I’m more like the expired cookies in your pantry — forgotten till they’re no longer good.

Even after all this, I don’t regret our time together, and those good moments will cling to me like a faded tattoo. What I do regret is… chasing a ghost and never learning how to perform an exorcism.