Two years ago, I met Perry on OkC – Conversations flowed beautifully – which is critically important to me. We got each other’s jokes, understood the sarcasm. We’d have long, easy conversations, and the silence was comfortable. He came to Canada for the first visit, probably a few weeks after we met. We stayed in a hotel. I was disappointed because, in addition to being short, he was also skinny, but muscular. We got along well – he told me about his trip over the border and having to show our text messages as proof to the border agent why he’s entering Canada.
We had an excellent weekend free of weird, awkward moments. We spent our time watching movies, talking and getting to know each other – why waste a hotel room. One night, we had a lovely dinner at a charming little spot nearby. By the end of the weekend, I told him how I felt – I didn’t see it going anywhere. But at the same time, because we got along so well, I felt like I was being shallow (his height and the distance, but mainly his height, were the only things in the way). He said he couldn’t imagine not seeing me again – I thought that was sweet 🙂
We left with the understanding that whatever happens, happens. Two weeks later, I was on my way to New York. During that time, we never stopped talking – I mean never. We texted throughout the day, and I couldn’t wait to chat with him in the evening. We never ran out of things to talk about.
I was going to visit him. Am I crazy? The mix of anxiety and excitement, maybe a bit of terror, was intoxicating. I’ve only known Perry for about two months, and I’m heading off to Upstate New York – If I was going to New York City it wouldn’t have been so bad because I know the place, I have family there. In preparation for the trip, he sent me:
- pictures of his truck, with the license plate visible
- picture of his driver’s license
- his address
- the names of his parent’s and their address
I sent all that info to my friends – they still thought I was mad for going through with it (and to make me feel at ease they joked about serial killers and pick-up trucks and Upstate New York). Got my passport sorted, packed my bag and boarded the Megabus Friday after work. When the bus pulled up at the crossing, the driver instructed us to grab our stuff, we couldn’t leave anything on the bus. Then we had to single-file it into the office where we’d wait to be interviewed by a border agent.
“Next!” I walk up to the counter.
“Hi.” I smile and hand him my passport.
“Where do you work?” I tell him.
“Reason for travel?”
“I’m going to Rochester.”
“Who’s in Rochester.”
“I’m visiting my boyfriend.” (what was I supposed to say? “Some rando I just met.”)
“How long have you known each other?”
“About two months.”
“How did you meet?”
“On Ok Cupid.”
“Texts, emails?” I show him messages on OkC and our texts where we are planning my trip.
“Where are you staying.”
“Address.” I whip out my phone again and franticly search for the address.
“I’m only staying for the long weekend.” It was the 4th of July.
“Do you think it’s a good idea to stay at a guys house you just met!”
“Well, if he wanted to kill me, he could do it in a hotel.” Ugh! Asshole!
I take my passport, grab my backpack off the conveyor thingy and head back to the bus.