I see Fantasy Guy one day each week for a minute, maybe two or three if I’m putsy and find excuses to be loitering around. And sometimes it’s once every two weeks. I know his name. And that he has a girlfriend. But that’s Real Guy. Fantasy Guy is different.
Fantasy Guy is a mechanic, and loves what he does. Changing oil, getting grease on his hands and cheek, buried beneath a car all in the name of horsepower and performance, those things make him happy. And that’s what counts.
Fantasy Guy is an amazing companion. He’s laidback, content to sit around and play cards or watch a movie, but won’t object to an impromptu barhopping night. He can listen, but can also talk. He isn’t guarded about the things that matter. Friendship is easy, and when things are right so is a lasting relationship. Not too shy, and not embarrassingly open. He works hard, finds great satisfaction in his work, but has enough intuition to know when he should call it quits. He can brew coffee and loves to eat, but can’t really cook. His laugh is amazing and real, it reaches his eyes. He likes to laugh just as much as he likes to work on cars. He loves his mother, but isn’t a mama’s boy. He is very capable of giving “warm, fuzzy feelings” without even realizing it. He likes country and rock. He doesn’t need I-Pads or MacBooks or Kindles. He’s genuine. He looks great in jeans and an old baseball cap.
It’s like he honestly doesn’t know how wonderful he is, it’s like he has no idea.
Fantasy Guy needs to stay Fantasy Guy. Fantasy Guy should never become Real Guy. Fantasy Guy is just what his title implies; a fantasy. Everyone has fantasies. In my fantasy, Fantasy Guy has no flaws and doesn’t disappoint. He’s happy, has a life ahead of him aching with good promise and memories to be made.
What if he suddenly stopped showing up for those few, precious minutes one day per week? What if he moved away and I never saw him again? I would just imagine him as being happy wherever he is. Because in every imagination I have of him, he is always happy. Not in a leaping-for-joy-because-I’m-high-on-life way, but in a subdued, content way.
It would be awful to find out that Real Guy is even better than Fantasy Guy. It would be even worse if Real Guy liked Real Me. Real Me is not made for relationships, is honestly terrified of them, and Fantasy Guy is not made to be alone.
I’m very much appalled and just as wistful when told that I should talk to him. I can’t even imagine. Really, there is only Fantasy Guy and Real Me. He’s Fantasy Guy. I’m Real Me. They don’t fit together. Not even in my dreams. At least in my head he’s perfect. Meeting him would ruin everything. I don’t want to find out just how wonderful and amazing he honestly is.
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