Kelsey Samantha

Introduction:

Hello!

Seems like a proper intro is standard across platforms such as these. I’m excited to share my journeys on here, getting back into writing has been very freeing. Things I love are sharks, Audrey Hepburn, books, and Death Cab for Cutie.

Written by: Kelsey Samantha Crooks

He struck a resemblance to JFK Jr. and ironically had a Dawson Leary charm. He directed and wrote movies and was way more than I had imagined. I was nervous and wordy, two things I hated being. He was interviewing me, and I felt like I was failing at it. So clever and so nice, but judged me for staying in my hometown, as if I weren’t well-traveled or didn’t go for it as he did. I never felt so intimidated by a suitor, especially one I thought I wouldn’t be interested in. In Atlanta, we met at a wine bar in Inman Park. I never get nervous, blushing red, hands unsteady. He was the guy at six years old I was drawing out, and when he spoke, all I could think was, this is who I want to take me by my hand and take me somewhere new. It was dreamy and unreal. Was it possible that I was waiting for direction, and since that was his profession, maybe thats what was really appealing.

  He told me that he once worked with Ryan Reynolds, who I learned is an asshole, and that he was in Atlanta working on a movie with Netflix featuring one of the Wayan brothers.  Once we exhausted our background stories and finished lunch, the Director suggested we go for a walk on the Battery, which quickly turned into riding scooters on the Battery. If you’re familiar with Atlanta, then you already know the Battery is full of bars, restaurants, and people. What I’m not familiar with is riding scooters through masses of people. I indeed gave him a laugh as I hopped off every time I was about to crash into someone. We established that I couldn’t ride a scooter and stopped at a brewery for a couple of drinks. I dragged out scratch-off lottery tickets, and we played a game that I’m guessing he plays with all his dates, where we ask each other questions, but the rule is you can’t return the same question. He talked about his divorce and wanted to know when my last relationship was. A question that I was probably too honest about, coming off the Dr. Crummy bandwagon, I found myself still jaded, and it quickly came off that way since the Director said precisely that. We spoke about embarrassing moments and his mother’s death, she was a senator and the sister of a famous journalist. It was a lot to take in about a person I had just met. The conversation was easy despite the fact I was drowning in myself the whole time trying to play it cool. He had a phone meeting to follow up on, and we had spent an entire afternoon together, but it didn’t seem like enough time. He offered his arm and walked me to the corner of his place, where he fetched me an uber back to my hotel. Two Bloody Mary’s, a glass of wine, and a shot of tequila, I was ready for a nap. I woke up a couple of hours later to a follow-up text. It was all excellent, and I felt on cloud nine.

Christina had tagged along for the journey, so we spent the night out on the town with a nearby friend. The next morning, I woke up with a hangover and stumbled down to the lobby to retrieve breakfast; in the universe, I live in, all hotels offer breakfast complimentary, especially when it’s a crappy small buffet with pancakes without syrup. Once I finished eating and was a little more coherent, I realized that the breakfast I had just consumed was not complimentary. I quickly made my exit. The hotel had been far from helpful with our luggage, valet, and cleanliness of its rooms, and on that note, I don’t recommend staying at the Hotel Midtown Atlanta, a Hilton, I believe. I took coffee back to our room, where Christina and I struggled to make it out by checkout. Once we reached the Mall of Georgia and consumed all carbs and shopping to get us back to an operational level, we felt good enough to go home.

Written by: Kelsey Samantha Crooks

 Today I’m shedding light on one of the most powerful apex predators of the ocean. Explaining common misconceptions, facts, and the future of the majestic and complex Great White.  

Great Whites exude confidence and dominance, making most everyone terrified of any encounter.

Typically, most humans have not been exposed to understanding sharks or educated on their behavior and nature. How Great Whites hunt, migrate, and the level of comprehension a shark has in realizing its surroundings are crucial when entering their environment. We don’t drive without learning all the responsibilities that come with being behind the wheel. Maybe we should try applying that to understanding the habitats that we enter, giving these apex predators a better chance at not being villainized but respected.

 Senses: Sharks are older than dinosaurs. Their ancestry dates back more than 400 million years, and they are one of evolution’s greatest survival stories. These animals have adapted to their ocean environment with six highly sophisticated senses of smell, touch, hearing, sight, taste, and their most extraordinary sense electromagnetism. It has been thought that Great Whites have difficulty seeing, which is where the misconception that attacks happen because of their vision issues. Indeed, the Great White cannot see directly head-on, but other senses that Great Whites have help them understand their surroundings, such as smelling and electromagnetic currency sensors that are embedded into the Great Whites. With these instincts, the Great White has more of a chance to identify its surroundings. Meaning that while they may need to get closer to use these senses, they aren’t interested in stalking humans down as prey. Sometimes curiosity takes over, but most times, it’s the shark’s way of seeing what is in their habitat.

Mating and breeding: although there have been no recordings of where great whites exactly mate and no record of the birth of a pup, it is proven that a female white must reach the mature adult stage to be able to breed. Being large enough is a critical element of being able to carry her pups. The adult stage for a female is thought to be age 13-15, and females are believed to be able to take as many as 15 pups at a time.

Migration pattern:  Some Greats have been recorded making journeys from the Hawaiian Islands to California; one Great White shark that swam from South Africa to Australia made the longest recorded migration of any fish. The torpedo shape of the great is built for speed: up to 35 miles per hour. Great Whites have been stunning scientists for quite a while due to their changing patterns of migration. Since the ’70s, these sharks have gone from being pacific coast sharks to, well, everywhere sharks. They were feeding on the east coast and making their way back to the west. There really is no explanation other than what is thought to be climate or feeding changes.

Feeding and keeping our ecosystem clean: Great Whites are notorious for keeping the ocean's ecosystem in balance. Feeding on dead whale carcass and infected or sick fish that otherwise would have the opportunity to infect other fish groups and even affect those seafood lovers on land.

Number of fatalities: In comparison, we humans kill 100 million more sharks than sharks kill humans. We rarely kill sharks by accident like the Great White, whose fatalities are typically mistaken as prey. In the US alone, seven shark fatalities happened just last year. Three of those were by White’s.

Capturing and netting: As the top predators in the ocean, great white sharks face only one real threat to their survival, humans. The assaults are many. By-catch: the accidental killing of sharks by fishermen's longlines and trawlers. Illegal poaching: selling shark fins for soup. Illegal hunting: sportfishing for shark jaws as trophies. Nets: placed along coastlines to keep sharks away from beaches. Pollution: toxins and heavy metals that build up in the shark's body. In some areas, significant white populations have plummeted by over 70%. If not stopped, it could lead to the extinction of this ancient species.

Finning sharks: Shark fin soup is considered a delicacy in many Asian countries, once reserved only for the wealthy or for extraordinary occasions. But rising incomes in Asia are having a disastrous impact on sharks. To make the soup, the fins of the sharks are sliced off, and the rest of the body is tossed back in the water, dead or alive: a method called shark finning. It's estimated that 100 million sharks are killed annually to supply fins for soup. Fins from great whites can fetch the highest prices because of their rarity and size. In Hong Kong, Taiwan, and China, conservationists and chefs are leading campaigns to stop serving shark fin soup. 

Future of the Great White: According to the IUCN, across certain regions, the White Shark is estimated to be declining from historic levels in the Northwest Atlantic and South Pacific and increasing in the Northeast Pacific and the Indian Ocean. The trends among ocean regions are highly variable. While they are primarily based on long datasets, they are extrapolated over a very long three-generation length of 159 years which increases the uncertainty in the estimated regional trends.

 Written by: Kelsey Samantha Crooks

 Welcome back to the real world. Christina said to me as I explained that I would no longer be bartending at one of Greenville’s most popular yet poorly managed dive bars again. It was a place called On the Roxx; I worked two years too many out of a seven-year series of gigs all very similar, it was the kind of bar where you go for specials on knock off liquors, dark lighting, and to feel seen by the bartenders that control your tabs based on if they like you or not. Everyone is doing cocaine or pills in the bathrooms that have doors barely hanging by their hinges, and no one shows up until after ten pm because the idea of walking into a bar that floors reek from vomit that has set into them over the years is unbearable. Somehow, it was still popular among the Greenville crowd. A town entirely made up by its restaurant and bar scene. Sense of relief and confusion set over me as I left behind those two years of chaos.

I felt like half of me would disappear and be sucked into the vortex of everything I did not want to become in life. That being a real estate manic that took over where her parents left off in their business affairs, blending in with the rest of her southern friends who all bleach their teeth and hair to make the color white itself sound dingy. Still, the idea of moonlighting as a bartender in my late twenties had become so taxing that I couldn’t even fake service with a smile anymore.  The truth was I never belonged on either side of Greenville’s clicks. Those clicks were the service industry kids who thought I was a snooty bitch with a college education and the junior league girls who thought I was a troubled soul with daddy issues that enjoyed hanging out with career bartenders. I wasn’t like either of those clicks. Yes, I decided to bartend while working for my parents’ business of Real Estate Development, not always for money. I decided to do more laborious work because I had no idea of the realities of it. My parents always sheltered me behind real estate contracts and businesses based on handshakes. I felt that if I could not relate to more of a working-class, I would never appreciate the proper fundamentals of life. On the brink of normalizing my routine and becoming a full-time career woman, it had shifted into Spring of 2021, and change was definitely in the air.

 The Doctor was a tall and calm Charleston transplant with a frat boy haircut and attire that would make it seem like his parents had stock in Southern Tide. He had accepted a residency at a local hospital and was settling into the Upstate life on the residency side of Augusta Road, a neighborhood in Greenville known for housing trust fund kids and their grandparents’ old estates. He was the opposite of anyone I had accepted a date from in years, but since I was making life changes, it seemed only natural to accept the offer. He suggested Local Cue as a meeting destination, and after canceling our first date solely because I didn’t want to go, I agreed to it. I hate Local Cue; it’s a dirty hipster bar with mediocre beer and a terrible liquor selection. Still, in the South, a woman comes off too aggressive if they have strong opinions about minor choices, so I sucked it up, paired my nude joggers with black heals and listened to Taylor Swifts, begin again the whole drive in hopes it would create energy where he would be the perfect match. When I arrived, he was seated at the bar; we exchanged hellos and dove into the topics he seemed interested in, such as our college lives and the people we knew in common. I felt the judgment in his voice when I explained to him I wasn’t into Greek life. We talked about how surprised we both were that we attended the same college but never ran into each other.

We agreed on many topics such as politics and travel. We talked a lot about his residency program and his goals in the medical field. After getting one drink in, I finally got the nerve to explain I was not too fond of his choice in our location. After bathroom breaks and a couple of awkward silences that left me feeling like this was going nowhere, he suggested we went somewhere else and asked me what ideas I had for a change in location. It was a Tuesday night in a small city that hadn’t fully recovered from its Covid break, options were limited, and I didn’t want to pick another dive bar because, after all, I was this newly sophisticated woman who didn’t enjoy trashy bars that had shot specials. I suggested Halls Chophouse, a steakhouse across the street, and a familiar name as he was from Charleston, where the restaurant originated. Once we agreed and walked outside, there was another awkward pause, and he reluctantly offered for us to ride in his truck over to the destination. It was still early spring and cold, so walking was out of the question.

We drove a block over and got settled into Halls. We both read the cocktail list like it was a long novel, and suddenly he worked up some courage in which he explained to me that he thought I was beautiful and that he had just gotten out of a long-term relationship but was open to the idea of seeing where something new went. I heard him but chose to stay indifferent about anything he had to say. I wasn’t sure what I wanted, and I didn’t know if a doctor with a love of golf polos and reminiscing about his peak years was something I could tolerate. I thanked him for allowing me to navigate the end of our night, and when we finished our cocktails, he paid the tab and was immediately ready to leave. Once we had arrived back at my car, I thanked him again. Maybe it was the fifteen-dollar bourbon he had that gave him confidence or he just felt overcome with the desire to lean over his console and plant one on me but, I, however, am not a fan of kissing strangers that I’m not even sure of and have met only once, so I immediately pulled away. I tried not to make him feel as if he had offended me. I said goodnight, to which his response was “really”. I laughed out a yes and got out of his old green truck and as quickly into my car as I could because, again, it was cold. I didn’t like the fact that suddenly in a short drive back, it had gone from awkward pauses to feeling like I put out some sign that I was remotely interested in being kissed. I remember thinking that was such a waste of time and how cringy I felt all over. It didn’t matter to me what he said at Halls. I was instantly turned off and always have been by anyone who robs the innocence and magic of what one should feel about a first kiss, and after several cocktails, I thought it was utterly tacky. I found myself saying a typical frat guy with no class as I drove home. I did, however, feel a sense of happiness in myself as if maybe I was settling into my newfound ideologies. Old me would have thought nothing of the events and just appreciated the attention, but new me had ideas about what I wanted and boxes that weren’t being checked, all signaling that maybe I was looking for something more concrete out of life.

  A week went by without any contact. I was relieved and remembered thinking to myself, at least he felt it was a bad date too, and there was no reason to try to follow up to a spark that didn't exist. I didn't even tell my friends I ever met him for that date as if I had already pre-cracked the code that it wasn't going anywhere or worth mentioning to have to follow up with answers of why I would think he wouldn't call or why I felt the way I did about any of it. Saturday had rolled around, and I attended an event with my mom at a rooftop bar for a family friend's 90th Birthday. Mom and I didn't feel like staying long, and we dipped out early to grab lunch and dessert at a few local spots around the city. We walked around until the downpour of Spring rain caught up with us. As we ran back to the parking garage three blocks away, I was surprised to see that the Doctor was texting me. Why? Did he think we had a great date, a connection, or was he bored since he had just moved to a new city and had few friends in the area? He apologized for his delay in reaching out but didn't apologize about that uncomfortable kiss. He explained that he had been working nights at the hospital and ended the text by asking me if I was free for the night and if I would be interested in meeting up for drinks. Like flipping a switch, I instantly thought, what if I had been wrong? Was there something I missed in our date, and didn't I owe the guy some redemption if he was still interested in hanging out after I rejected his advances? I didn't have any plans for the night. Therefore, it didn't matter to give him another chance if he didn't try anything weird again. As nervous as I get on first dates, I also felt like stepping back into the swing of it with my nerves calmed and my best foot forward. He at least was interested enough to try again, so I agreed to meet and rushed home to try to find second date-worthy attire. Later that night, we met in a line outside a rooftop wine bar named Sip, and he seemed a lot more excited to be seen. We took an elevator to the roof and sat down for a drink. I explained that my Birthday was coming up, and I was planning a girl's weekend in Charleston. Men love when you give them something that they can explain to you, which I didn't mind because I hoped he would have some suggestions that we would enjoy on the trip since he was from the area. We walked out to the rooftop and ran into a group of my ex-coworkers and friends. I froze and hoped they wouldn't bring up all of those bartending days that I was quick to leave behind. I doubt a doctor who had never worked a true manual Labor Day in his life would have been interested in hearing those war stories.  We all exchanged greetings, and they seemed impressed or was just interested in seeing me out with someone. We said our goodbyes and moved on to finishing up our cocktails. Once we took in the scenic city views, we agreed to try out a few other places before calling it a night. Although I was trying to separate myself from the bar scene and do more mature activities, it was Saturday night, getting late, and there was nothing else to do in town. We grabbed drinks at a few other spots and ended up at another dive bar called Reys. I could tell the drinks were wearing on him. Coming off a week of working nights with little sleep and a few too many cocktails have the best of us spinning. I went to close out our tab as I could tell it was getting harder for him to keep a straight face and conversation going, and as I was trying to break through a crowd of people that were all saying their hellos to me, the  Doctor was almost passed out in the booth. I felt bad for the guy, we had a way better date, but I didn't consider that I still had the tolerance of a sailor. I remember hearing a regular tell me I needed to get that guy home. I laughed and agreed. We walked to the parking garage, where I hoped he could mutter out some direction to get him home. I laughed again as I knew at least he wouldn't be trying any romantic gestures in his condition. He gave me his address, and I told him I would just let my GPS guide me. We arrived at his place, and he said his goodnights and stumbled to his front door. Although the guy didn't pace himself very well, I had a much better time. It was like being out with a friend and having a good story to recall later. This time it wasn't a week that went by but just a day where he followed up explaining how he was apologetic that he didn't carry himself so well. I thought we had fun and explained that I had a good time regardless and was glad to help him get home. He responded with his plan for recovering all day but would be in touch soon to hopefully see each other again. I was surprised at how different the vibes had become. It was like being on a date with a completely different person. Maybe I had initially read him the wrong way, being too guarded and not allowing him to be himself.

Doctor followed up that week about getting together as I was packing for my birthday trip to Charleston. I explained that maybe I could see him when I got back, and I would try to send pics from the trip. He said his farewells and I loaded up in the car with the girls to head to a beautiful condo off King Street in Charleston. I then decided to let the girls in on the guy I had been out with a couple of times and explained how it went from a crappy first date to a much more enjoyable second date. All three girls were excited to hear that I was going out with someone who possibly had more potential than the usual prospects. I was happy to answer questions such as: does he want kids, what are his plans, and will he wish you a happy birthday? I felt more comfortable with myself because we discussed these things on that second date. The girls and I spent the weekend bar hopping, eating at all the favorite local spots, and enjoying quality girl time. I admit by the time Monday rolled around. I was ready to get back home as I awaited the next move from the Doctor. Once we were halfway into our four-hour drive home, I received a happy birthday text and another follow-up on when we could meet again. Things that make a girl smile to know she's thought of and desirable. I was willing to meet up that night, and when I threw out that response, it was met with an immediate YES. Later that night, I drove to the Doctors house.

We were both tired and just wanted a way to chill out but see each other. We had previously been texting about Delta 8 gummies. The Doctor had found a local dispensary that I didn't even know about and had wanted to check out myself. I had previously asked him to send me the info on it, so I could stop by, so as a small token to our new blooming like of each other, he picked up a bag of gummies for me to consider as a birthday present. A small gesture, but a big check for me as I thought maybe there was more to this than I was initially open to. We spent the next few hours gleaming and talking, all while trying to focus on some show on TV. Given my little time back in town and the need to get back to the reality of life and work, I went home and felt as if I might have someone worth spending time on.

 Later that week, we saw each other again for dinner at his place. He wasn’t big on going out, and I loved that about him. I finally had someone to spend time with, and it wasn’t like all the previous prospects that only hung out at that shitty dive bar while I was serving them. After dinner and some wine, we kissed, and this time it wasn’t that creepy first-date awkwardness that he had pulled. I felt real into in a flirty and happy sense, although I wasn’t allowing myself to develop any feelings further than that. He wanted me to spend the night, it felt like an irresponsible move with not even a change of clothes. I told him we could try to plan a sleepover for next time and reminded him that I was happy to be spending time with him, and before I knew it was our next date and then another one, and suddenly, we were spending a lot of time together even though we were both busy working and navigating his rotation of night shifts with my daytime work schedule. One weekday morning, we woke up and got ready for our day. He mentioned that he wanted to get Braves tickets for us to attend a baseball game and that although he was on night rotation, he had the weekend off, plenty of time to sleep on Saturday, and our drive to the game that night he said. I wanted to be fair, so I offered to book our hotel stay to have a place I wanted to stay and even score a little on the number of outings he had been fronting.

Saturday was here, and I was up bright and early packing and cleaning my place for when he arrived to pick me up. Noon had rolled around, and I knew if we didn’t get on the road soon, we would be stuck in Atlanta traffic forever. I sent a follow-up text, and he responded that he was finally getting ready and heading my way. I remember feeling bad for the guy working a straight week of nights, and then his first day to sleep, he was rallying to entertain us for the rest of the weekend. I had lunch ready and bags packed when he arrived to get me. We talked about all the places he was applying for once his residency ended in Greenville, even passing the Atlanta sports facility he had applied to and was hoping to get an acceptance. I told him any place he applied to would be getting a total catch and saw how caught off guard but happy hearing that made him. Once we checked into our room, we walked to the game and sat through seven innings before neither of us could take the family with kids jumping around and arguing the whole game. He jokingly said, the best form of birth control I’ve seen in a while as we left to roam the park that had several bars and restaurants. He had not eaten much since he had been sleeping most of the day, but he was interested only in getting to see the rest of the game and grabbing a drink wherever. We found a piano bar that a guy we had struck up a conversation with outside the game earlier in the day had suggested. Once inside, it was one of those dual piano places where washed-up musicians who didn’t make it play requests for tips, encouraging people that the more money they tip, the better chance their request gets played. We grabbed drinks and listened to the banter of the bar while watching the rest of the game. I could tell the drinks we had before, during, and after the game started to take their toll on him. I, however, still new in this dynamic, paced my drinking, as I didn’t want to be embarrassed by getting too drunk. By the time the last couple innings were over, he was as drunk as our second date, but this time I was no stranger to how this night shift rotation, no sleep, and little food gamic operated. He was so excited the Braves had won. I built off the excitement and told him we should go back to the room. He was doing that drunk stomp walking thing where when your drunk, you walk heavy and fastback to where you need to get to so you can hopefully pass out. I tried to keep pace, but like an idiot, I wore heels. Who wears heels to a baseball game? Someone who hasn’t been to a baseball game since they were eight, so try not to judge me on that. We made it up to the room, and once I changed and we settled in, I could tell we were going to need an extended checkout. I called downstairs and asked for an extra couple of hours, and before I could hang up, Dr. Crummy was in the bathroom sick as could be. I grabbed towels and some water and listened to the toilet echoes of apologies he tried to mutter out. I laughed because I had chalked up to a guy who had worked a hard and long hour week and didn’t know how to pace himself as well as he thought. Once he had given up on the bathroom, he stumbled out, walked into a hanging TV that I had turned to Golden Girls, and plopped onto the bed, apologizing again and asking if I could turn off the TV. I said sure and gave him a trash can for his side of the bed with water and some aspirin when he woke. Not feeling anything more than accommodating, I turned over, and by morning we slowly gathered our things and Dr. Crummy’s pride from the bathroom floor and left to get on the road back to South Carolina. He asked if I had any objections to a drive-thru lunch, and I did. We spent the day before barely eating and doing a lot of drinking. We both needed a meal of substance. We found a brunch spot, scarfed down a decent meal, and hit the road again. He dropped me back home and helped me settle in. We exchanged little words but an extended hug as I walked him to my door. He kissed me on the cheek and left. I felt happy to have a partner to do activities with and share life’s small moments with, we were becoming more intertwined, but I still didn’t feel a spark in my heart. It was as if we were spending all this time together but not getting to know each other. He asked me minimal questions about my family, friends, or career, even though we spent a lot of time talking about his and his golf game. It was hard to understand, though, because he didn’t treat me poorly, he was very kind and affectionate, and we did find common things to enjoy. I was indifferent because I had been so jaded in past relationships, always putting up walls and not allowing anyone in, so I thought maybe he sensed those walls and didn’t want to disturb my sanctuary, and with time we would eventually get to a place where I felt more comfortable giving those things without him having to pry it out of me.

 It was the end of June. We made it to the four-month mark, and not much had changed other than time itself. We still saw each other a few times a week and worked around his still difficult hospital life. He had spent the last few weekends he had free playing golf with his buddies. I, of course, didn't mind because I wasn't the kind of girl to cause a fuss on wanting to spend time with friends, and we were still getting enough time in together to satisfy me, but I did want to try to catch up more than just over dinner or end of the day chats. So, we made plans for a Sunday, he planned to go to Atlanta to golf with his friends and come back early so we could spend the rest of the day together. Sunday morning, he texts me that they would play one round, grab lunch and get on the road. I was fine with that; this gave me enough time to look presentable and run errands for the week while still anticipating a full day of togetherness. The afternoon rolled around, and by three o clock, I asked him if he had made it back. He texts me back saying his friends were holding him up in a game and they weren't going to get back as early as he thought and that maybe we could catch up around nine pm that night. When expectations are set, and you find yourself planning your whole day around someone expecting them to show up for you and then they don't, it's a major letdown, and it was the real first one between us. I was a little furious and upset. My time had become more than free. It had become empty because I made myself available for someone off playing his tenth game of golf that month. I knew an argument, or a bitchy comment would probably be the most cliché way of handling it. Instead, I gathered my thoughts and responded to him with a text that said: "I'm not too impressed with the lack of effort lately. If you're not interested in continuing to see each other, then now is a good time to bow out, but I expect a fair playing ground to be able to stay a part of this," This being the only word I could come up with because I didn't know what we were. We didn't have a title, so did I have the right to be mad about anything he was doing? In the same regard, he was taking up so much of my time and life that I didn't have time or the desire to see anyone else. I spent the rest of the afternoon and night upset. It wasn't until Monday midafternoon he responded with, "Hey, I hear you. I know we haven't established a direction here, and that's my fault." My heart sank a little, he was going to do what I suggested and bow out, or he was about to throw the word commitment out. Either way, I feared both answers and found myself not wanting to know what he wanted this to be. I was, of course, still upset it took him almost a full day to respond, but I had no interest in focusing on a timeline when all I could think about was how I didn't even have an answer for what I wanted myself. I told him that I didn't feel like we were ready for a serious relationship of any kind and that I just wanted to make sure that my time was being respected. I'll never know what that conversation would have become if I had pushed him for a decision, but I knew that I didn't want him to go, but I didn't want to commit to him either. Maybe he felt the same way because the weeks went back to normal. He even started taking me around his friends, spending July Fourth together, going to more baseball games, and trips to the lake where we would ride around on his friend Mac's boat. Mac was a grad student and a very opinionated guy with a raw sense of humor. He almost came off offensive, but only if you allowed yourself to be. We had a cookout at Mac's house one afternoon after coming back from the lake, drinking most of the day. Mac started not making much sense. He had a cute apartment that was slightly run-down but well furnished. He also had a twenty-four-year-old fling that he seemed to use at his disposal, her name was Claire, and she was the epitome of innocence like all girls her age, just hoping that the trap of the older, slightly asshole-ish guy she's sleeping with will wake up one day and pick her. I liked Claire. Even though she was younger, she was the only female I had been around out of the Doctors friends. Once, we ate our cookout dinner and laughed about the day a drunk Mac finally realized his dog was missing and went into a complete meltdown. We had seen his dog early, but he had let him out to go to the neighbor's house for a visit. We all rushed around the apartment complex calling the dog by name in the rain. The neighbors he went to visit had let him back out and thought that the dog would go home because the guys were outside cooking out. The neighbors also were idiots and high as kites. We spent hours circling, calling, and driving around before Mac asked us to go home. I felt so bad. What a terrible way to end the night and dampen the mood. We decided to stop for ice cream and head back home to watch movies. Before we could get back to the Doctors, Mac called to say he found his dog at the pizzeria a couple of blocks over, and all was right in the world. Relieved and tired, we ate ice cream in the dark, recapping our day and lounging in bliss together. It was moments like those that made me feel like I had a reason for my walls to come down and that once again, maybe I'm reading this guy the wrong way. I was no expert on relationships, so who was I to judge, and maybe he was trying to figure it all out just like me.

We woke up, showered, and cooked breakfast together the following day. We drank coffee and laid on the sofa, all entangled as he watched another golf tournament on TV, and I watched him. I gathered my things and told him I needed to get home. As I tried to work up the courage to ask him if this was going anywhere, I couldn't; every time I would find the words, I would feel myself choking on them. All I could muster up another three times over half an hour was that I should get on the road. Finally, I gathered my things and told him I would text him later. As I got in my car, I was confused; why couldn't I ask where we stood? Was I scared of him saying we were something more, or was I concerned that he would say we were nothing at all? Over the next few days, I went home and suffered at the silence that had answered the question that I was choking on. He was back on nights and starting a new shift on our relations, that being non-communitive. By Thursday, I was irritated, we had discussed weeks before, that one of my friends was hosting a company party at the local Top Golf, and we agreed to attend together, something that I thought would be the perfect introduction for him to finally meet my friends while partaking in something he enjoyed as well. When I finally got home from the office, admittedly, I spouted out a short text saying, "Don't forget about tomorrow at Topgolf." It wasn't even ten minutes before I had a reply that went along the lines of, he was still going to be on nights and then was leaving to go home to Charleston for a weekend. I was disappointed, and not in the kind that I was ready to let go, but that choking feeling started again, and all I felt I could do to keep my sanity was to play it off as if it wasn't that big of a deal and I told him that I hoped he would have a good time.

The next night I went to Top Golf. My friend, Christina, who was hosting was busy entertaining the other employees from her company, and I was trying to act like I wasn’t still as disappointed as I was the day before. She finally came and sat down next to me and immediately asked me when the Doctor would arrive. I told her that he was working and wasn't going to make it, and as my best friend can always tell, I wasn't happy. She did what she does best and chalked it up to deal with it as it was coming and that we would make a torturous plot to make the Doctor feel like he needed to redeem himself in some way. The thing was, I didn't feel like I had it in me to play clever anymore. Deep down, I felt like we were running out of fuel, and again it was something that I didn't know how I felt about. After Christina and I showed off what our expensive golf lessons had taught us thus far, I went to check my phone and was happy to see a response to my Instagram story from the Doctor that read he was jealous and wished he could have made it. Just the kind of small gesture that would make that almost empty tank we were running on seem halfway full again. I went home that night still feeling a little incomplete but figured with the Doctor going home for a weekend, and it would give me some space to decide what I was so undecided about.

The weekend came around, and there was hardly any communication, yet again. We only spoke when I asked him if he made it to Charleston on Friday and again on Sunday when I asked how his weekend was going. Sunday was a full day of rage for me; I must have typed ten messages, all in different ways. I was unhappy and ready for this to be over, each time erasing every word that I spent so much time organizing. What was wrong, and why couldn't I talk to him about how I felt? The responses I received from the messages I actually sent were short but sweet, enough to gaslight me into believing that if I did say something was wrong, he could easily brush it off as if I was overthinking.  I was thinking about it, though, all of it. Like how I didn't feel confident or justified in my rage toward someone who never asked me to be his girlfriend, but also the rage of how I have spent six months with a person and felt like I deserved a lot more than what I was being offered. I finally put my phone away for the night and told myself that I would have enough courage to discuss how I felt whenever he decided we would see each other next. I figured it had to happen at some point, so why not try not to stress myself out so much, regardless of how bruised my feelings had become.

 Monday finally arrived, and my hope of relief had not. I spent all day thinking about how let down I had become, and if it was going to be this way, then I didn’t want it at all. Maybe the Doctor just wasn’t the one, and after all, I didn’t even like him on our first date. Maybe, I never liked him at all, but just the idea of him. We didn’t always click, but it seemed as if we were both trying when we did. Fate is something no one can deny, and it was past time for us to meet ours, but still, I didn’t know what that was. When I got home that afternoon, I told myself I was going to finally put myself out of my misery and text the Doctor. I was so undecided about pulling the trigger and ending things between us, maybe I just needed him to decide for me, and that’s what happened. Ultimately, I typed up a summary of how I felt, and not knowing if he was working or anything that he was doing, I hit send. I was so scared to have a conversation because I had finally figured out that change was what I had feared all along.

“Hey! I hope you’re having an excellent start to your week. We have been seeing each other for a while now, and I like you, but I am starting to feel kind of crummy because I don’t know where we stand. Just curious if you had thought any about what you want out of this. “

At this point, I’m fully aware that I have given him full power to have a serious conversation in text, but I couldn’t deal with another moment of choking on words and trying to mask the fact that I felt more than just crummy about what was going on. If anything, I let this guy off so quickly but thought if he had anything profound to say that he would pick up the phone and call, but that wasn’t the case.

“Hey! Yes, you’re right…

I’ve enjoyed our time together too, obviously… and this is something I’ve been starting to think about. If I’m being completely honest, I have to say I am not trying to enter a long-term relationship. From what I’m hearing, I think you may have already sensed that… I’m glad you brought this up because I never know when the” right time” is. I don’t want to make you feel crummy. I want to stay friends.”

The word “friends” is something every girl in romantic involvement with more longevity than most Netflix series loves to hear. I felt as if someone had knocked the wind out of me, pissed me off, and I was choking up all at the same time. I fought back my tears as I responded first out of anger but secondly out of the heart.

“I do feel crummy, but thanks for your honesty. Bit of advice for your next pursuit. Maybe don’t get so involved to pull out.”

“And I appreciate the friend offer, but I don’t think I want to be friends anytime soon. Good luck with wherever you land, and I hope it all works out for you.”

He ended it with an I’m sorry and best of luck, and that was it.

Nothing else could be said.

I could and couldn’t believe it. To start, I expected that he would pick up the phone if it were going to be a clean slate kind of conversation, and then there was the real pity of offering to be friends. No one who is a friend would string someone along for half a year and dump them in a text that gaslights the other into believing that there was some secret handshake done at the beginning of this whole journey, indicating that I should have known his intentions all along. I gave myself half an hour to cry and told myself to suck it up because deep down, I knew that if I had to send that original message asking where we stood, then the answer was probably that we stood nowhere and that someone who could dispose of me so quickly probably wasn’t worth the tears. So, I screenshot our text thread, sent it to Christina, then my mom slowly to the rest of my immediate girlfriends. I figured if I were going to deal with the feelings of all of it, then I needed to get it all out that night, so I didn’t have to answer any questions over the next few weeks. A little planned and probably closed off, but my tank was running on that empty feeling again, and I didn’t have the energy to act as if this were such a heartbreak. My feelings were hurt, yes, and I didn’t know if I wanted it to be over or not, but what I did know was that a decision I couldn’t make was made, and I was finally put out of this misery that I was beginning to create in my head. Relief and sadness don’t exactly go hand and hand. Therefore, I felt like I owed myself to pick the one that hurt less and allow myself to be free from it all. My mom was right. She said you knew all along that it didn’t feel right, and that’s why you asked, but he’s a jerk, and you will find someone better.

The rest of the girls slowly phoned in over the next few hours, asking all the same questions and having all the same remarks of what an asshole Dr. Crummy had become. I eventually dried my tears, finished confining in my friends, and went to bed. The worst sleep I had had since the last time I was in Dr. Crummys bed. I was bummed but proud of how I held myself. There was no drama, no yelling, and no one showing their ass. Just two adults who, for whatever reason, which I’m still unsure of, couldn’t make it work. I may never understand why it didn’t work with Dr. Crummy, but I knew I needed to move on and allow myself to find what I was looking for.

Today, I added a new song to my favorites list titled: "Mi par d'udir Ancora" an opera song sung by my cousin, Richard Crooks. Richard was an opera tenor and a lead singer of the New York Metropolitan Opera, both a place and relative I had no idea existed until a few weeks ago.

My last name is odd, but the amount of family I have makes the Kennedys seem like a small clan, meaning I never rule out anyone with the Crooks name. The origin of my last name comes from the name Crooke, and the earliest recording of that name dates to pre-1700. Andrew and William Crooke were English publishers, significant in publishing Renaissance dramas and plays. From there, my family's origin doesn't resurface until we arrive in America from Ireland in 1800, where we reemerge as the Crooks.  

To explain, this isn't the first time in life I have stumbled upon relatives I didn't know I had. The problem with Irish migrants is that not only when they arrived in America their last names were changed or misspelled, but they also landed here without any documentation. My immediate clan were farmers, and from what I was told, we settled in Virginia and made our way down to upstate South Carolina, landing in Seneca. Having a great grandfather who was one of thirteen children and a grandfather who was one of eight makes for many cousins, but my elders were never much for sharing their lives and origins. We are a family of many secret affairs, secret love children, and not-so-secret alcoholics. Making my search of how Richard came into play feel like the most complicated piece to a puzzle. Not surprised but curious, I immediately started looking for where that piece fit; once I discovered that Richards parents were cousins of my great grandparents, it all made sense.

Richard Crooks was born the second son of Alexander and Elizabeth Crooks on June 26, 1900, in Trenton, New Jersey. Following several concert seasons as an oratorio and song recital specialist, including the American premiere of Mahler's Das Lied von der Erde, he traveled to Germany, where he made his operatic debut in Hamburg Cavaradossi in Puccini's Tosca in 1927. After his tour in other European cities such as Berlin, he returned to the US and made his American debut in 1930 in Philadelphia. He became a lead star of the Metropolitan Opera in New York, specializing in French and Italian operas. He participated in the farewell gala on March 29, 1936, for Spanish soprano Lucrezia Bori, which was broadcast nationally.

From 1928 to 1945, Crooks was the host of "The Voice of Firestone" radio broadcasts, in which he sang operatic arias, patriotic songs, folk songs, and popular hits such as "People Will Say We're In Love" from Rodgers and Hammerstein's Oklahoma! in 1943. He also appeared on radio broadcasts with Bing Crosby, who remained a friend until Crooks' death.

For his work in recording, he was awarded a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, located at 1648 Vine Street.

A lot of information to take in, and none of which I’ve been exposed to living in Greenville for almost thirty years.  I am vocally challenged, just like the rest of my family who cannot carry a tune, so to find that a member of our family helped craft an entire genre of music and was rewarded for it immensely is quite remarkable. This fan of my cousin is one of many, and the reason he reached out to me is because, like myself, he couldn't figure out which Crooks was a descendant. I had no idea until my research that I have almost forty other cousins just on Richards's side of the family. I explained to this fan that he could jump off a boat into the middle of the ocean without knowing how to swim and have a better chance at surviving than I would have finding which relative possess the item he is trying to find. Richard's children have already passed away, and his many grandchildren are impossible to find since they are spread all over the west coast, his great-grandchildren, and even their children, I don't have names for. Thanks to his many fans, this has shed light on another part of my family I didn't know I had.

If I could find these cousins and understand more about Richard and his legacy, that would be great. It would explain a lot of creativity in my genetics (not the singing kind, of course). I will continue to find answers from his fans and the recorded stories of his work until I can't compile anymore. Maybe one day, I will get to speak with the family I don't know and remind them what so many still love about Richard's music and contributions to opera.