…And There It Is…Again

Dearest Rachel –

And to think, I was going to write you about this girl last week in fairly glowing terms, especially considering the level of proof she seemed to have given me. But after setting her story aside for the moment in order to cover actual events happening in my life, things… began to change. I don’t know what it is about my timing, but it seems that, any time I decide to write about someone I meet online – but before I actually do, so it can’t be because she’s been able to look me up and read any of this over your shoulder or anything – something happens to change the dynamic between us to a radical extent.

I would say something along the lines of “that change my opinion” of them, but that’s not entirely accurate. The fact of the matter is that, almost every time these days, I enter into these conversations with the assumption that I’m being catfished. I just keep hoping against hope that this time around, it’ll be different. After all, I don’t want to lose out on the possibility of finding Megumi because, like the dwarves of The Last Battle, I absolutely “refuse to be taken in.” Being too cynical is a near-guarantee to end up bitter and alone for the rest of my life, and I don’t want that, by any means. But people like this (and you’ll notice I’m avoiding any specifically feminine designations here, as I can’t even confirm that much about them) make it very hard to conclude otherwise.

This time around, however, was particularly promising. Not necessarily because she sent me a like and immediately started off by asking me for my phone number, as that’s something of a red flag that someone’s not abiding by the dating app’s terms of service…

…but more because, when we engaged in text conversations, they were just that; engaging, with plenty of back-and-forth between us. Believe me, there was a difference between her and another person I was communicating with at the same time (and whose profile disappeared with a similar speed and notice left behind, I might add); “Vanny”’s texts contained a fair amount of misspellings and odd syntax. And while I pride myself on not being the grammar maven you admitted to being, it was offputting to see; it was like reading messages from someone for whom English wasn’t a first language. Which may very well have been the case, and while I would give someone credit for the attempt if I knew it to be so, that doesn’t mean that I’d want to carry on a relationship with them. It can be difficult enough to deal with someone who isn’t familiar with my cultural references; if there’s an actual language barrier, that makes things doubly difficult.

By contrast, Liz, or rather, Lisa, was perfectly well-spoken (or, I guess, well-written). To be fair, some of her texts were almost novel-length – and I asked if she would be able to switch over to WhatsApp, so I could read and respond to them on my computer (and to avoid Daniel seeing the texts that he could apparently view over our shared program), but she admitted to not having the program – but they seemed to be chock-full of information about herself. They were also rather enthusiastic in her replies to my answers to her, which was both endearing and puzzling. She would repeat certain references I would make without adding much in the way of commentary of her own, which felt a little bit like I was talking to a LLM-trained AI like ChatGPT (which, if I hadn’t had so much experience dealing with already, I might not have noticed). It was subtle, but given that I was already suspicious, I picked up on it. I wanted to believe she was real, but couldn’t bring myself to completely accept it.

To be sure, her backstory was an elaborate one, and suggested an individual who was otherwise likely out of my league. Born in Melbourne, she claimed to have married a Frenchman with whom she spent twenty years with until his untimely passing (she didn’t specify as to the cause, and I saw no reason to press her on it), at which point she moved to the States. However, at the moment, she was in Dubai, for reasons she claimed were both business and personal related, and said she’s explain in person when she returned to the States the following month (which is to say, this month).

On Saturday the first, she seemed excited about returning to the States later in the month, and expressed a hope that I would be similarly enthused. Which I was; again, I was sort of hoping this person I was corresponding with was real. She asked me if I thought it was possible for me to fall in love with her, and while I agreed that I probably could, I would reserve judgment on that until we were face-to-face, which she seemed to accept.

To that end, she sent me a whole bunch of photos throughout our correspondence, and last Friday, she went so far as to give me her full name. This, I thought, was proof that she was both real and trusted me, as a full name made it easier to do one’s due diligence and research her, as I expected her to do with me when I returned the favor. My only concern was that she might find these letters to you, and find out that I would write about my misadventures in finding love online – which, while it didn’t include her at that point, might have included an essay about how one’s true name was once considered a means of capturing someone.

Of course, that letter didn’t get written, as actual life occurred to distract me. But it also didn’t happen because, as it so happened, her name wasn’t exactly a key to finding her that I had hoped it would be. Not only was it a rather common name, with thousands of hits (although the middle initial caused literally every possibility to disappear, which was no help in its own right), but I had better luck finding matches against the photographs she’d sent me:

Now, I didn’t tell Lisa about my discovery from the reverse image search right away, but I did thank her for trusting me with her name, so I could do my “Facebook research” on her – adding that I expected she would do likewise on me, for her own safety. I’m not sure how a real person would react to that – why would someone get offended at that, if there was nothing to hide? And if she did have something to hide, why give away her name? – but she seemed displeased at my apparent distrust of her. At the same time, she offered to cut her time short in Dubai, and return to the States, so I could meet her in person (at which point, I was starting to wonder how I’d recognize her, since all the photos she’d sent me were of someone else). There was only one problem, and I’ll bet you can guess what it was; she needed money in order to live the country.

And there it is… again. Just like “Naruko.”

And just like Naruko, she didn’t want me to just pay for her airfare from DAX to ORD. “What about my traveling money and medical expenses?” she asked. Having flown out of Dubai just last year, I hadn’t recalled having to deal with either of those things; however, she insisted that this was because I’d only been in town for a night or two, rather than the three months she’d been there. She also grumbled that I wouldn’t believe her if she told me any of the specifics about her time there, so there was no point in going any farther on this.

Which was probably true; if she was every inch the globetrotter she made herself out to be, she wouldn’t be satisfied with my relative homebody lifestyle. Likewise, if she was peeved by my attempts to look her up online, that would suggest that there would be plenty of other sources of relational strife ahead. And that’s assuming “she” was real; more likely, if I were to send “her” what “she” wanted, I’d never hear from “her” again after “she” got what “she” wanted from me.

Her last text was a curt “So, I guess we’re not going to see each other again”; very much out of character from her verbose question-and-answer format from before, but altogether expected, now that it was clear that she’d done what I’d expected of her (I can’t even do the stereotypical Dad-type speech of how “I’m not mad, Lisa J. Gayle, I’m just disappointed”; how can I be disappointed when she turned out to be exactly what I’d both been warned about and expected her to be?)

My response was equally curt, and included several photos of “her” that I’d found from the image search: “I guess not, Dr. Mintcheva.” Now, a real person would have gotten a reply like that, and instantly asked “Who?” since I’d never mentioned the name before – and it most certainly wasn’t the name she’d given me to identify herself. The fact that “she” didn’t sealed it for me that I’d caught “her” dead to rights, down to the source of “her” photographs. A pity, really; she was a splendid conversationalist, if a little fawning (but even that could be overlooked). But I can’t have a relationship with a series of texts.

Well, it’s not as if anything was wasted but a few hours of my time over a couple of weeks. Now I’ve got to try and look elsewhere yet again. So with that said, honey, keep an eye on me, and wish me luck. I’m going to need it.