Peter Pan

It seems it upset some readers that I only write stories that make me look good. Well, this one’s for you.
In retrospect, its odd to write about it. I mean, this is not Your Average Shidduch Story. In my mind, it was a love story. On par with Gone With The Wind. A classic. So to write about it now, a year later, is strange. Its far removed from the emotion that, at the time, made it everything it was. So I don’t know what it will be.
But I do know its the most honest piece I’ve ever written.

The truth is, that when I saw him walking through the hotel lobby door the first time, all I thought was, “oh Gd, please not him”. He looked very tense, and his haircut was awful. Then, when he ignored me for the initial twenty minutes of our date and wouldn’t approach me to see if I was in fact his date, I could sense it was going to be one of those little nightmare shidduchim.
Ohh…where is my feminine intuition when I need it…..
The evening went rather well, he was clever and witty and made me laugh, all good things.
We even discussed Radiohead’s Exit Music’s notes. I mean what can be better.

So we went out again. And again. For 4 whole dates he spoke of nothing but himself. His life, his work, his yeshiva, his blue shirt, his hair, his past, his palm pilot, his website yada yada, truly a remarkable ability to focus of nothing but himself.

So I figured I got the idea of this guy and I’m not going to go out with him again. When he called me after that I told him I think he made his point quite clearly that he has room for no one but himself and that I dont want to go out with him again. Buh bye.
Quite surprisingly, he sounded disappointed. He asked me again, emphasasing his gorgeous foreign accent, promising to behave and to try and be less self-centered.

So I figured why not. Its the accent really.
But I told my flatmates I’m only going out again to make sure I’m doing the right thing by ending it.
What we call To Verify The Killing.

So I met with him again, I came to the date in a combat sort of mood.
He was charming.
I SPOKE, he LISTENED, and even seemed interested, it was all very calm and pleasant. I wasn’t just laughing in the background like before, as if I was a cheerleader in the crowd (GO YOU HUSKIES!!), I was actually a person in that conversation.
I came back to my flat and announced that there has been a change in plan.
I was really beginning to like him.
So we continued going out.

One day we were talking about getting together later that evening. I told him I was PMSing and very moody. It made him doubt the whole evening plans but I insisted. Wont let a minor possibillity of breaking loose and bursting into tears in the middle of the date to get in my way.
So we met. And he brought me three (I repeat, three) packs of chocolates to make it all better.
I think my hormones were shocked. I know my emotions were.

This went on for many, many dates, and by the 10th date knew I was in love. Yes, me, the queen of not feeling anything for anyone, the Master Dumper of unsuspecting yeshiva bocherim, in love. Bizarre indeed.

That he is THE ONE , it seemed shocking but appropriate. He was intimidatingly clever, and amazingly funny. He was sensitive to my emotional needs. He used to say such sweet things to me. Oh Gd, those words. I was someone’s for a while. I was a dear and a daaaaahling and all those wonderful things you can only dream of after being in seminary surrounded by women for so many years. I was his, properly. I was so in love with him, and I was ready to make that final commitment.

Then he disappeared. Vanished, into thin air. One day I was his… his date, his future, the next day, who knows what I was, because he stopped calling. Seeing as how this happened right after I had baked him a birthday cake, I had to wonder if somehow I had accidentally poisoned him.
I phoned him but his flatmate kept saying he wasn’t there. It was the same scenario, over and over.
I kind of got the hint but in my confusion, I didnt believe that this was happening.
I wanted to hear him say it; to tell me it was over so at least I would have some closure, whatever that means.
So I did what any persistent woman would do – I called and called until finally I got him on the phone.
It seems that after three months of dating we find out that he had a problem with commitment. Things that last forever scared him, and he had just then figured out that marriage lasts more than five minutes.

My heart was broken. I cried a lot and painted two of the most miserable paintings ever.
I wouldnt eat, I slept for days and wouldnt talk to my flat mates, and me being quite the very-talkative-never-sleeping type, that’s quite worrying.
The up-side of all of this misery was that I lost weight and looked the best I had in years; the down-side was that I wouldnt leave my flat so no one really saw me.

I tried to force myself to get over him.
I even went shopping. Hell, I said, the great thing about being a woman is that there isn’t a state of depression that a new pair of boots can’t make all better.
And it sort of did feel better for a while.
I seemed to have fooled everyone for a while, even myself.
Then cruel harsh reality set in, for the next two months I thought of nothing but him, I longed for him. People threw out the “time heals” jab; of course that didnt work for me – it was only getting harder to pretend that this relationship didnt affect me. I thought of him constantly. The desire for him grew bigger and bigger till it was too much for me to contain,
Till I couldn’t bear it no more
and I broke
in front of his face actually.
I made no attempts to hide my misery from him.
I know girls are supposed to play the game, be hard to get, be cool and detached, something. I don’t know these games. I wish I did.
I called him, I ICQ’d him, I smashed the fact that I’m broken, and hurt, and still so very much in love, into his face until he must have bled from the impact.
I in hindsight suppose that my actions were incredibly silly. I could have been the legend in his mind, the one he passed up when he should have made the commitment. He would have dated each and every new girl, comparing them to me. Alas, instead he began to think I was unsound.

I have to admit that I even think I became a scary nag monster. I actually ended up calling him up in tears, using the phrase “we need to be together, I’m sorry you cant see it now, but you will, and I’m planning to be around when you finally do”.
I mean how pathetic.
I can see it clearly now, and I have to admit, that as I was spouting all these horribly love-lorn, so-obviously-not-me, things at him, he was being very kind to me. He listened to me, he commiserated, he spoke kind words, he told me that it was just him; there are things that he needs to work through.
I’m sure that you have all heard the same speech before.

I suspect he was just feeling sorry for me, or he was beginning to be so scared of me, he didnt want to get me even more upset. So he saved his final humiliation. I’m not sure he should have, if I had known how he really felt I might have begun to heal a lot faster.
He was just so not definite. And that was the most horrible thing to bear. That maybe there’s still hope. Maybe he can like me again and I’ll feel beautiful and special like I used to when I was with him.

I used to have my own private conversations with him in my head before going to bed, telling him he’s my sweetness, my darling, my love for all time. Then sleep. Every night.
I knew the night is when I think of him, I tried to exhaust myself in order to just faint as soon as I put my head on the pillow so I wouldnt be able to think. My fake plastic love.

Eventually I gave up. I had to. For the sake of me being sane and healthy again, for I felt like I was properly about to lose it. Of course I didn’t walk away before he lost his patience with me. First I let him make me feel like a complete loser, I was ashamed of even breathing. I couldnt do anything right.
I believed his criticism.
It finally came down to him begging me, please do not write to me or call me anymore. PLEASE!
That was the first time he was actually being definite.
So I stopped.

It took me a while to let go. I had to realise that it wasnt me who gave up on him. It was him who gave me up a long time ago.

Now, I don’t know what about him, but I do know that things had begun to get much better for me ever since.
Okay so not much really.
Fine so not at all.
I still miss him.
There you have it.

And now I’m back on cheerful sunny shidduch-land, where the sun shines brightest of all, and boy, let me tell you its all just hip and jolly over here, pink fluffy bunny rabbits all the way,
They even serve free martinies for the golden card members.

78 Responses to “Peter Pan

  • Goodness Gracious
    May 14th, 2003 21:40

    Which part do you desire me to promise? I see clearly a number of alternatives.

  • She
    May 14th, 2003 21:52

    The tearing to shreds bit. Very emotional.

  • Goodness Gracious
    May 14th, 2003 22:02

    Chas v”sholom. To hurt another yid is a very immature thing to do. Figuratively speaking I can tear him appart post his photograph, I’ll print it out and rip it to shreds. I appreaciate your emotional receptivity and reciprocation to the poetic fruit of my amateurish cerebration. Glad to butter and serve in rhyme and prose for entertainment and education of all, young and old.

  • Goodness Gracious
    May 15th, 2003 02:15

    Said Wendy, said Wendy:
    “Oh pass me some Brandy,
    and bubble me Beer for a snack.
    And if it be possible, if it be handy,
    ferment Peter-Pan in a sack.”

  • Dovi
    June 14th, 2003 19:50

    It was very painful to read this story. Deep and emotional.

  • Mike
    June 16th, 2003 03:37

    This was very moving. Although I won’t reiterate all of the praises mentioned above, I would like to point out that to me this post was quite eye-opening. I’ve grown accustomed to hearing and reading so much “I’m too good to go out with a loser like him” man-bashing that, in my disillusionment, I had almost thought women were incapable of genuinely falling in love.

  • Postfix Notation
    June 16th, 2003 19:31

    The sagging firn fingers are shivering here.
    Here – the fluttering chirping birds.
    You live in a wild enchanted woods.
    It is impossible to leave.

  • Postfix Notation
    June 16th, 2003 20:28

    Let cherries wither like laundry in the wind;
    Let lilacs fall like droplets of rain –
    Just the same – I shall take you away
    To the collonaded palace
    Where the reed-pipes play.

  • Promptly answer me
    June 16th, 2003 20:44

    She, how did you learn english so well. How do you know that “tearing” is “to shreds”
    and not merely “to bits”. How did you get the hang of it, what’s you secret?

  • She
    June 16th, 2003 21:02

    Sheer luck.

    (It can’t be “to bits”? Really?)

  • Promptly etc.
    June 16th, 2003 21:34

    I don’t think so, or maybe it can but it don’t sound right. To bits can be shattering or breaking.

  • She
    June 16th, 2003 21:41

    I usually go by how it sounds.

  • Humbert
    June 16th, 2003 21:53

    Did you know that you current blog entry sounds like a famous poem by Robert Frost: called “Design”. Heal All is the name of a type of flower.

    I found a dimpled spider, fat and white,
    On a white heal-all, holding up a moth
    Like a white piece of rigid satin cloth–
    Assorted characters of death and blight
    Mixed ready to begin the morning right,
    Like the ingredients of a witches’ broth–
    A snow-drop spider, a flower like a froth,
    And dead wings carried like a paper kite.

    What had that flower to do with being white,
    The wayside blue and innocent heal-all?
    What brought the kindred spider to that height,
    Then steered the white moth thither in the night?
    What but design of darkness to appall?–
    If design govern in a thing so small.

  • anonymous
    June 22nd, 2003 22:28

    the saddest thing is that, it seems out of your writing here that you look back at the whole sage as a “love story”, while he probably remembers it as exactly the opposite…
    i’m sorry,
    take care
    and keep writing.

  • She
    June 23rd, 2003 17:46

    I do see it as a love story.

    And I hope that, with all that has happened, at the bottom line he’ll remember me as someone who loved him.

  • Oh my gosh
    June 23rd, 2003 20:10

    Was that peder pan himself? I promised he’ll be torn to shreds. First of all, it’s not “sage” but “saga”.

  • jay
    June 26th, 2003 21:33

    “Yes, me, the queen of not feeling anything for anyone, the Master Dumper of unsuspecting yeshiva bocherim, in love. Bizarre indeed.”

    I must have dated you. Or someone just like you. Sounds familiar. Looks like you got yours. What goes around, comes around. gilgulim.

  • She
    June 27th, 2003 17:17

    But of course.

    Thank you. So kind.

  • Rachel
    July 18th, 2003 14:30

    I just found your site a while ago and I think it’s AWESOME! Youre cool! it’s amazing that you’ve kept your sense of humor…

  • MEME
    July 27th, 2003 06:03


    July 27th, 2003 06:13


  • fesoy
    July 28th, 2003 19:12

    I like the story it shows the ability to truly be honest wwiht yourself and other ppl and that is th reason most likely for all these shiduch horror stories upfront blunt honesty.

  • CG
    August 11th, 2003 10:06

    Just wondering: Anyone out there that actually has a concrete “shopping lits”… written down?? Anyone out there that researches/learns about the person that is about to be met?? We all research potintial employers, right?!

  • She
    August 11th, 2003 20:01


    And doing the nice little research insures that you wont get dumped? Or am I missing something here?

  • Uninvisible
    September 16th, 2003 09:57

    Gonna have to change the ending on this one, now won’t you? Well, I don’t think you’ll mind the sub-editing, now will you.

    Mazal Tov

  • Uninvisible
    September 17th, 2003 23:41

    Ah, I got it:

    “What was the last thing Peter ever said to you?”

    “The last thing he ever said to me was, ‘Just always be waiting for me, and then some night you will hear me crowing.’”


    “But, alas, he forgot all about me,” Wendy said it with a smile. She was as grown up as that.

    “What did his crow sound like?” Jane asked one evening.

    “It was like this,” Wendy said, trying to imitate Peter’s crow.

    “No, it wasn’t,” Jane said gravely, “it was like this”; and she did it ever so much better than her mother.

    Wendy was a little startled. “My darling, how can you know?”

    “I often hear it when I am sleeping,” Jane said.

    “Ah yes, many girls hear it when they are sleeping, but I was the only one who heard it awake.”

    “Lucky you,” said Jane.

    November 24th, 2003 20:24

    I didnt even read the story but I give it two thumbs up………….

  • OMG
    January 18th, 2004 04:25

    don;t know wot this site is i just found it so i read that story…yea its good …and yea im sure everyone can relate to it…but chill out people u all make it sound like its a master ain;t all that…no offence SHE