I don’t date much and was unfamiliar with the experience of ghosting when it entered popular lexicon in the early aughts. Of course, I also had no way of knowing that the feeling of unexpectedly being forgotten by someone you love is a pain unimaginable until it occurs.
We met in a fiction class at Northwestern. For me, the enchantment was immediate. Z. was sparkling, effervescent; her writing soulful and impressive. She pinned vintage pieces of ivory lace to the bottoms of brightly-colored t-shirts. One of her bedroom walls, in a Victorian she shared with a group of girls she referred to as boring behind their backs, was painted with a hand drawn tree. She had a lovely boyfriend and managed to snag an enviable job despite graduating into a recession. She oozed adventure and expectation, was charismatic and witty, both intellectual and accessible.