There are some emotions that are so deep, so private, so personal that they can only be adequately expressed in an away message. Your crush doesn't like you, no one understands you, daddy never hugged you enough and now he's dead. At any given moment, everyone's buddy list writhes with so much drama, heartbreak, and angst that they might as well change the name to "emo messages."
Niral and I have made a competition of finding the biggest trainwreck away message whenever we're both online at work. They range from semi-cryptic (where only the emotion is obvious, but the cause gets glossed over - like smiley faces) to the restrained (lyrics to Mariah Carey songs or terrible quotes from Grey's Anatomy) to a hot, tranny mess (using phrases directly or indirectly aimed at a specific person - e.g. "Have some manners! You don't give someone a dirty sanchez and leave before the poop dries"). Yes, I realize there is another group that considers themselves "deep." Don't get me started: they go on babel fish and translate their tranny messiness into Italian or French in hopes that it will make their problems look like a thinking man's dilemma. In actuality, it screams, "Dear god, someone please ask me what this means."
Like most things, it's all fun and games until it happens to you. For the past month I've been seeing a boy pretty regularly. We talked everyday, had great conversations, had better dates, birds were singing the sky was blue. Then he ended things the way 99.9% of gay men end things - they just cease all contact without warning. It's not the first time it's happened to me - and I know very well it won't be the last - but I really liked this guy. I got a little worked up about how things didn't work out and before I know what was happening I was on babel fish translating things into French. The desire to put something in my away message was so great that I actually had to sign off to prevent myself from showing my full frontal emotional nudity to anyone with my screen name.
While I was desperate to find a more appropriate way to deal with my ride on the tranny mess express, Suzanne confessed to me that she wasn't sure if she liked the boy she had started dating. Their relationship started around the same time I had started mine and she too had spent a lot of time with her guy. What exactly was she doing if after a month of intense dating she had only begun to think she maybe might like him? Why was I so quick to get emotionally involved, while she was able to remain detached for so much longer? I realized it wasn't what she was doing, but what he was doing. As most boys do, he lavished Suz with attention. And when someone gives you the type of attention you want, it's tough to tell if you like the person or the attention.
Suzanne has been dating boys much longer than I have, and somewhere along the way she must have learned this. I suppose I didn't know him long enough to say that I actually like him, but at the very least, I knew enough to make me want to know more - unfortunately, the feeling wasn't mutual. The frequent calls, texts and emails pretty much killed the level of mystery and distance that's needed for the beginning stages of any relationship. While I'm not entirely happy with how he chose to end things, I can't blame him for wanting to. He's had enough.
What really kills me is that it wasn't always that way. At the end of our second date, we were leaving the restaurant and he suggested we take a walk instead of going our separate ways. We walked and talked for 20 blocks until we reached Columbus Circle. As we made our way down to the subway, it was clear to me he didn't want to go, even thought it was the natural breaking point. On the train ride home, I remember thinking that I liked him in a way I had forgotten it was possible to like someone. Now we've reached the final breaking point but I'm the one who doesn't want to say goodbye. Add insult to injury, I'm not much better than the away messages I used to make fun of: instead of writing a three line away message while mascara streaked down my face, I've labored over a six paragraph post.
At least it's not in French.
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