Two winters ago, when a relationship began to take a turn toward the serious, I remember going through my phone and purging the memories from the blips of romance I’d seen over the previous two years.
Jason asked me on our first solo date via text message because he was too much of a wiener to do so in person.
Tony sent a message in an attempt to smooth things over after I found out about his live-in girlfriend.
Bill wrote a message about what a waste-of-time prude I was when I wouldn’t put out.
On and on and on. All of the messages gave me a little smile, remembering why I chose my keep-the-course stance on being single.
But then, with legitimate romance on the horizon, I didn’t want a trace of the silly messages from previous attempts. I no longer wanted smiles from those bozos. Jason, Tony, and Bill (and others) found their messages unlocked and up for deletion the next time my man sent me one of the many messages I got per day.
Well, things quickly took a nose dive with the guy, leaving me only with messages from him. I saved one that was LOL-worthy and one drunken message about how much better his company holiday party would be if I was there.
Neither of those saved messages were laughable in the way that the previous ones were. Instead, they captured a particular feeling of being part of something bigger than just myself — a feeling I wanted to remember and to one day feel again.
Soon after, through, my phone was lost on a tour bus for a heavy metal band, and that was that. A new phone allowed me to start anew.
Unlike my previous phone, this one saves all text messages. I really don’t have the patience or inclination to delete anything from those who might have been previously woo-able. However, I’m looking at the names in my address book and recognize that it’s again time to acknowledge that the romance I’m currently entering makes me no longer care to have some numbers in my phone (even if they were just for caller ID purposes).
So long, Jimmy, and your drunken attempts at booty calls even though you know I’m not like that. Good riddance, Steve, and your flakiness. And thanks for the beers and conversation on one of my last nights in town, Todd.
Goodbye all of y’all. Hello new romance.