Confessions Of A Rebound: One Night Only

You weren’t looking for anything serious when I approached you at the bar. You weren’t looking for anything serious when we danced together, or when we kissed, or when we went home together that night. You weren’t looking for anything serious when we exchanged numbers, or when you said you would love to get together again.

The problem is that only one of us was aware of that.

I had no idea that while you were sitting at the bar nursing a vodka tonic, you were thinking about him. I had no idea that while my hand was running up along your thigh on the dance floor, your phone was buzzing in the other pocket from his text message. I had no idea that as our lips were locked, you were noting the subtle differences in the way he and I kissed.

I had no idea that you gave me your number as a formality, or that when you said you would love to get together again, it would be the last time I ever heard your voice. I left thinking, “This could be the start of something,” while you watched me go knowing it was the end.

Any of that would have been fine had I known how you felt from the start. One sentence — six words, 11 syllables, and one period for emphasis would have changed everything: “I’m not looking for anything serious.”

Maybe it would have allowed me to accept the night for what it was going to be, or maybe not. I can’t promise that warning would have kept me from falling, but it certainly would have at least cushioned the blow.

Was that too much to ask?

Is it wrong to be mad at you for how things turned out, or is it justified anger? Is it naïve to assume most people operate with pure intentions, or would it be cynical to assume the alternative? Is it preposterous to think rebounds have rights? The apology came through text message a week later, but it was as hollow in sincerity as it was respect.

You can say that you’re sorry, but it doesn’t change the reality that virtually every moment of that night was premeditated on your part and that you did nothing to prevent possible damage. You knew what you were looking for, and I was just the unlucky fool who approached the wrong girl at the wrong time in the wrong bar.

You can say that you didn’t meant to hurt me, but the truth is that it was never a concern of yours until it was too late. These are just the confessions of a rebound — the guy you won’t remember at all, or the story you will tell friends about the guy you had fun with that one night. It’s a role I’ll reluctantly accept.

If you ever plan on recasting in the future, at least do him the courtesy of letting him know upfront that the gig is for one night only.