Last Girl Ghosted(15)

But then I met someone. Someone smart, funny, kind—he made me laugh. He made me feel something. I felt like I could be myself with him. I felt something I haven’t in a while—hope that there was still time for love.
But then, one night, he called me and said he was in trouble. He traveled for his work, and he was stranded overseas. He’d been robbed, lost his wallet. He was in the hospital. Could I wire some money? I did, of course. We’d been seeing each other for a while; he was always a gentleman, very generous with gifts. He always paid for everything. I didn’t hesitate. I thought the sum was high, but I’m financially comfortable and I knew he’d pay me back.
I guess you know where this is going. He disappeared. Once I wired the money, I never heard from him again. All of his online profiles disappeared, even the one on the dating app. His phone was disconnected. I went to what I thought was his house. It was an Airbnb. He never lived there.
I’m so ashamed. How could I be so stupid? Of course, I didn’t call the police. Or tell my children. I mean, what a fool! I went online. This is such a common scam, and I, a lonely, financially secure widow, am the most common type of mark. But now the world seems so dark, and I feel so alone. His lies. I believed every single one. I did tell my best friend, and she thinks I should pursue it. Call the police. Hire a private detective. She wants me to “take my power back.” Whatever that means. But I feel so hopeless and sad. I’d rather just try to forget. Dear Birdie, should I track him down or just put this behind me?
Sincerely,
Forever Alone?
Funny how the universe works, isn’t it? Many times, the letter I choose has some connection to something I’m grappling with in my own life, at least figuratively. But this one hits a little too close, and I feel a rush of anger on behalf of this woman.

Dear Forever Alone,
First, you’re no fool. Those of us who take a chance on love are brave and hopeful. Love hurts; sometimes the loss and disappointment can be truly crushing—which you clearly know. I think you are a hero for trying to get out there again after your husband’s passing. Many people after experiencing loss just close themselves off to love. But not you! You marched bravely into the fray. And please don’t give up. While there are many scam artists and predators out there, of course, there are many more good and honest folks who want the same thing you do—friendship, companionship, a little romance. So—don’t give up!
Yes, the sweetheart scam is a common one. And you are certainly not alone in having fallen for it. Unfortunately, it’s the good and openhearted people, those with the most to give, who are the most vulnerable. Because they think everyone is as honest as they are. This man—he’s a coward and fool. And beyond that—he’s a criminal. I think I know what your friend means when she says she wants you take your power back. And I agree. I think you should file a report with the police at the very least. And if you are so inclined, and have the means, I think you should hire someone to track him down. We have a private detective to whom we can refer you, no charge. It might not be possible; con artists tend to be very good at covering their tracks. But it might be a worthy exercise. And in the best case you might get some justice and prevent him from robbing someone else—of their money and their hope for finding love.
Stay strong. Stay hopeful. True love is out there waiting for you.
With warmth and respect,
Birdie
When I’m done with my letter, I polish it, rework it, think about it a bit more. A tweak here, there. As I hit Send, a sigh moves through my body, a kind of release. I feel much better than I did before. Which is often the case, and very much why I started doing this in the first place. I am also imbued with a sense of purpose, my own words ringing back to me.

You know what, Adam? You don’t get to just slink away into the shadows.

You don’t get to ghost me.



eight


Sitting in front of the fireplace in my living room, I call your phone again. This time, it doesn’t ring at all. Instead, there’s a harsh three-note tone, and a recorded message informing me that the number has been disconnected.

Disconnected? No.

A few more tries convince me that this was not a misdial on my part.

A gully is opening in my center, as I open up your Fakebook page again—only to find it gone. I hit refresh a couple of times; it was still there this morning—just a couple of hours ago.

But now, bold white type on a gray screen announces: This user is no longer active.

My fingers travel clickety-clack across the keyboard. Back to Torch.

We joked that your profile on the dating site was a kind of nonprofile, designed to scare away anyone not on the same wavelength. There was that unflattering selfie where you look brooding and your nose seems too big for your face. It is, in fact, too big for your face—in an oddly attractive way.

What does that say about you, I wonder? you pondered on our second date. That you found my not-trying-to-the-point-of-being-antagonistic profile appealing.

We’d just had burgers at the Shake Shack in Madison Square Park and were sitting on a bench outside the playground watching the city kids play and run and shout.

I really like Rilke? I offered, sipping on my chocolate shake.

You have a way of looking at me that is unnerving and exhilarating at the same time. It’s like you’re searching me with your eyes. You demand my gaze and then look deep. You’re present. So many people aren’t. People are sleepwalking, my father used to say. I hate it when I agree with him.