NOT NOW, BUT MAYBE LATER

We went back and forth a lot that evening, both refusing to leave the other on read. I bit the bullet and closed out of Snapchat when he found a third way to say the same thing.

Holed up in my childhood bedroom, I finished my spring semester in a state of exhaustion. As an extrovert living in rural Michigan, I missed people. It was as simple as that. 

Lying in bed with my laptop balanced between blankets and pillows, I sent a Datamatch email to spam. What use was a matching service to me right now? I was hundreds of miles away from anyone I wanted to talk to, not to mention too busy feeling bad for myself while yearning for something with more substance than a 2 a.m. “You up?” text. Besides, the last time I filled out a Datamatch form, I never ended up talking to my matches. Expressing this sentiment to my best friend did not go how I had anticipated. I was virtually smacked over the head with a “What do you have to lose? What else are you doing right now?” 

She was right.

For those unfamiliar, Datamatch is basically Match dot com for students at select universities. You get to answer a set of questions and put in personal information, and an algorithm matches you with students either from your school or from all participating schools during that round of matching. My best friend and I filled out the form together right on that call, and off it went to some special matching algorithm I had yet to believe in. 

 Days passed. I wanted to be uninterested, but I found myself anxious instead. There wasn’t an explanation for the anxiety; these things had never bothered me in the past. When I woke up the day matches were released, I couldn’t remember what I had forgotten to do.

My other best friend, who had decided last minute to join the charade, messaged me during my family dinner asking if I knew any of my matches. Shit. The anxiety came back. I opened the site and scrolled through to see familiar and unfamiliar faces alike. Then, I saw an extremely familiar face.

I instantly screenshotted his profile and sent it to my freshman roommate. She confirmed my fuzzy memory. “God, he’s seen me in every way, shape, and form. Should I try matching him?” I asked the chat. I didn’t wait for an answer. I clicked match.

He matched me back and we added each other on Snapchat. Then I made another rash decision. 

Hey! How are you?

At this point, my anxiety was unwarranted. I knew him and had talked to him in the halls before. He obviously wasn’t put off by any shenanigans of mine he had witnessed as my neighbor, which was a good sign for me. The conversation flowed seamlessly from there, and followed the usual course that conversations followed these days: pleasantries, school, COVID.

When we got around to it, neither of us were interested in a relationship at the time, especially not long distance. We still wanted to talk, though. The computer thought we had enough in common to be compatible, so conversation shouldn’t be difficult. The computer was right—at first, anyway. The subsequent days were filled with my phone lighting up with his name.

We talked about everything. I told him my fears for the approaching semester, concerns for the future, the things I looked forward to doing despite being in quarantine. He told me things about his internships that forced me to Google more molecular biology than I thought existed. He talked about his brother and what he wants to do for a living, about stresses that I tried to help ease but in reality didn’t have influence over. There were never any suggestive remarks or innuendos to ruin the moment. I was happy with these interactions, but they didn’t last long. 

Things faded in a way that could be described as natural, but natural didn’t necessarily mean welcome. We had never actually finished a full conversation. We always built on what had just been said, no matter how many days passed between responses. There was never a “goodnight” or “text me later,” just a message left on delivered until there was time and available effort to respond. Less than two weeks passed and conversation had become a daily message to the other that detailed the day and sent well wishes. Yes, we had both expressed very few expectations from Datamatch and from each other, and yes, life wasn’t easy while watching the world fall apart. But this still stung. The fleeting Datamatch “success” dissolved but never quite died.

Things continued like this until the university released their decision for the academic year in the beginning of July. To say I took the announcement poorly remains an understatement, but at least now he and I had something to talk about. We sat and mused all day about what we could possibly do for our respective situations. He knew I was between a rock and a hard place with these decisions, and he offered emotional support in a way I didn’t necessarily expect. It was relieving. 

This only lasted a couple days. We were back to once-a-day texts that came scattered throughout the week. He was always apologetic for being so busy, and I always brushed it off like I didn’t mind. It was always a lie on my end; I like to think it wasn’t on his end. As school approached, we began making plans to see each other once the quiet period was over. I was using this as a conversation crutch when our move-in period was delayed to the middle of September.

Being a person with my background, this rested a burden on me. Moving across the country for six weeks was not financially justifiable and I had to make the tough call to stay remote. The day I sent the email to the school informing them of my decision, I knew that I had simultaneously killed any chance at even a friendship with him.

I had been left on delivered for a couple weeks by now. Brown had released the decision to delay move-in just over a week earlier. Distraught with practically everything at this point, I sent him another message telling him about my decision to stay home. When he responded, it was an expected and reluctant response that, in short, told me, not now but maybe later, once COVID is over. He said to text him if I ever got bored or wanted to catch up. He didn’t like virtual communications, and I was growing tired of waiting for responses. It was exhausting and the exact opposite of what both of us had hoped for upon crossing paths again. We went back and forth a lot that evening, both refusing to leave the other on read. I bit the bullet and closed out of Snapchat when he found a third way to say the same thing.

Humans were not meant to be isolated. We are social animals. Trying to meet new people and trying to socialize when such things are discouraged is, well, discouraging. Meaningful connections are not easy to make online, especially when the world is by no means okay. I don’t regret reconnecting with him. I’m grateful, really. He was a third party for me to turn to when I needed it, which isn’t an easy thing to find in another person, no matter the means of communication. I wish there had been more; I wish the circumstances had been different. Maybe that’s part of living through the current state of the world—wanting more, wanting different. 

The little blue misshapen square stares back at me when I open Snap on lonelier days, but I have yet to start another game of reluctant cat and disinterested mouse.

AUTHOR: Juliette Woodcum is in her second year at Brown. She enjoys long sits on the steps of the Hay and even longer naps on any available couch.

ARTIST: Shelby Kostal