Saturday, August 27, 2011

The Case of the Missing Case (Or The One That Got Away)

I like to think that I take a little something away from every hoodrat I date. But this one took something from me. It's one of those lessons you continually try to learn in life and swear that there won't be a next time.

She was a nice girl in the beginning. They all are. It's only a matter of time before you find out their real self. Our courtshit started off so innocently before ultimately ending with a more aggressive than passive series of text messages.

Our story starts like all good stories, we had met on the interwebs. We saw a movie for our "do you match your profile picture" first outing. It probably wasn't the best sign that I was thinking about the girl I was meeting the next night while I was at the cinema. Thankfully for me, telepathy isn't as widespread as iPhone 5 rumors. After a dance lesson in the park--not a euphemism--we parted ways.

She texted me that she had an extra ticket to see her favorite artist, Ben Harper. I was already in the city and waited outside the venue. She ended up being an hour late, but we got in and enjoyed the show. Here's where the story begins its fateful turn. As we walked to her car, she told me that she burned me a few CDs and that her parents were out of town. She followed up that tidbit with an invitation back to her parent's place. I have watched enough Lifetime movies to know how that plays out. I had plans the next day that didn't involve finding my way out of a forest preserve.

I respectfully declined her offer as she drove me to my car. Once there, I felt the guilt of refusing her and having the CDs she burned me. I suggested she might like Elizabeth & the Catapult and grabbed the CD from my back seat, which doubles as a music library, and handed it to her. The CD happened to be dedicated to me and signed by the artist. The group isn't huge yet, but I think they will be. Plus the CD had what Antiques Roadshow calls good provenance. I'd gone with my boss to see the show and bought the album afterwards. The Elizabeth expressed the difficulty of removing the cellophane. Having interned for a jazz mag and opened cases of CDs, I rapidly defeated the shrink wrap in less than a minute and handed over the CD. It is safe to say she was impressed.

The girl and I went out a few more times but my motive shifted to that of a reconnaissance mission. Inspired by the Navy SEALS recent efforts, I just wanted to get my CD back. She'd stopped contacting me for a while and I didn't reach out to stay in communication with her. A week went by and I texted asking if I could get my album back. She testily replied that of course I'd get it back and something about my not wanting to see her.

At this point I didn't want anything to happen to my defenseless hostage. I said I wanted to see her again and that I was just really busy. The busy part was true. In all honesty, I didn't mind her company. I think we were looking for different things. She was looking for someone to dump naked in the woods and I was looking for my CD. We agreed to meet for coffee and I reminded her to bring the CD.

The beezie shows up with the CD and no mother truckin' case. Who does that? Who separates things that aren't even theirs? Certain things go together: alcohol and shame, Jersey Shore and syphilis, a CD and its case. I asked where the case was.

"Oh. It's on my coffee table in the living room," she explained.

I informed her of the item's aforementioned provenance and that the case was signed. As she sipped her americano all I could think about was my now abandoned CD case. It had its life mate taken from it, likely with no explanation. We walked back to her car and she asked me why I hadn't contacted her. I surprised myself when I used the "let's take things slow and be friends" explanation that I've heard too often in my life. We awkwardly hugged and parted.

Fast forward one week without any communication. I decide it's time to get the case back. My text was polite and said something about hoping she was well before suggesting I stop by her house on my way to a friend's. She quickly responded with the following:

"Or I could mail it to you so we don't have to see each other k?"

Surprised by the tone, I polled my coworkers on the appropriate response. I decided on "That works too. [office address]." Her next text said it was clear I didn't even want to be her friend and that she deserves better. Yes. And I deserve to get my CD case back. IT HAS PROVENANCE!

That was several weeks ago. I'm starting to think she isn't going to send it.

I wish I had known she planned on stealing more than my kisses.

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