“Where were you? Why didn’t you call me? How could you just disappear like that?”
Like Amber Heard, I remember using those words with a boyfriend for whom ghosting wasn’t a way of breaking up but an ongoing event.
Let’s call him “Comes-and-goes-as-he-pleases” guy; so secure in his partner’s adoration that he knows she’ll be waiting when he reappears.
I actually never thought that I would relate to any part of the media circus otherwise known as the Depp v. Heard Defamation Trial. Though, as I listened to Amber’s testimony, I began to empathize with how, in the dawn of her 20s, she and Johnny would spend a beautiful week hold up in her apartment, a romantic evening, or an amazing getaway together, and then without notice, he’d go off the grid for days or weeks. I flashed back to a relationship that began when I was 17, where I spent much of my time acting like Nancy Drew trying to solve The Case of the Missing Boyfriend.
Johnny, Amber claimed, had even vanished from their engagement party. My other half took off from his graduation party, thrown for him and a few of his classmate buddies, so he could go to a different grad night fete without inviting me along. His parting words to me were, “Thanks for the watch.”
Even without the added physical and sexual abuses that the former Mrs. Depp alleges, the now-you-see-me-now-you-don’t routine should have been enough of a red flag.
In the movie He’s Just Not That Into You, Ginnifer Goodwin’s character “Gigi” explains to Jason Long’s “Alex” that she won’t be hearing from her new love interest for a while because he’ll be away on business, to which Alex, with a raised eyebrow asks, “They don’t have phones in Philadelphia?”
Even if Depp had been whisked away to his private island, there still would’ve been means for this multimillionaire or one of his entourage to get word to Amber. My guy and I both lived in the Bronx, albeit in different neighborhoods. Even though our relationship was pre-Internet and its many forms of communication, our families definitely had phones that worked.
Like the Pirates of the Caribbean actor, my man would eventually resurface, but instead of giving him what-for, I sighed with relief as though he’d been released unharmed from a kidnapping.
My life revolved around his schedule with me consistently telling girlfriends that I couldn’t accept invites to the group’s activities until I heard from you-know-who. Let’s just say I went out with my friends a lot—last minute.
A turning point for me was when my boyfriend and I were supposed to meet up in a nearby park to join the crowd we hung with for a free concert. It got rained out, but everyone stayed anyway, a little drizzle unable to keep us from socializing. When the downpour came, everybody ran home—except for me.
My BFF Agnes felt sorry for me, waited around about five minutes for Mr. No Show, then with drops of water dripping off her bangs, she said, “I really can’t stand here anymore.” After a few steps, she turned back and added, “You’re stupid for staying,” to which I replied, “I know,” yet I did anyway.
Alone in a desolate park, I waited for one more bus to go by (which amounted to another few minutes) and when it didn’t even stop because there were no passengers to let off, I left reluctantly, walking the two blocks to my house. By the time I slogged in the door, I finally decided to stand up for myself.
My wet wake-up call led to my seeing other people and learning what a difference truly interested guys could make.
Someone who likes you wants to spend time with you, makes excuses to see you, and calls you because he likes talking to you.
Why then after this epiphany did I forgive my ex when he came crawling back? Because he’d changed, he’d said. He’d never hurt me again. (This was Depp’s go-to move as well.) And because, to quote the Aquaman actress, “When things were good, they were great.”
True to his word, the disappearances were no longer part of my boyfriend’s schtick. They, however, were replaced eventually by other mind games as well as emotional abuse.
After a few years, when I was in the dawn of my twenties, unlike Amber, I didn’t get married thinking stability would change him. I also didn’t want to go to counseling, or even sit down just the two of us and work things out, aka give his charms an opportunity to make excuses, insincere apologies, or promises that wouldn’t be kept.
This time, I did the ghosting. The break-up kind.