Where’d he go? Don’t wanna know

TO know, or not to know -- that is the question.

Dare I parallel the anguish of Shakespeare’s most tortured son to the mystery of the nonresponsive dater? If you’ve ever been on the nonreceiving end of the nonringing phone from a date you actually liked, you’re well aware that the uncertainty over “the why” can whisk you down a rocky road of madness (or at least down the road to Rocky Road ice cream).

Maybe he’s still in a relationship. Maybe he’s having a hard time -- you know -- career-wise. Maybe his mom got hit by a bus. “You can never really know,” your friends consult. You dutifully repeat the same to them.

Anyone who has flipped open their phone to check for a message from a non-responder -- knowing darn well it wasn’t missed since you’ve been cradling your cell like a newborn chick for days -- hear this: It’s better not to know.

Don’t be misled on the rare occasion when “knowing” works out. I dated this one guy a couple of times. He was a cute, sporty guy I met in a post office, the perfect “Little House on the Prairie” reply to inevitable “where’d you meet him?” queries. (It turns out that the only good aspect of the U.S. Postal Service’s stubborn refusal to supply writing utensils is that it’s a great way to meet people).

We were set to go on our third date, the details of which we’d sort out after he finished watching a football game. Whether he fell in love with the tight end or got knocked off by a bookie for a bet he couldn’t cover, something happened. The call never came.

Flash forward several months. I bumped into Mr. Post Office, who had apologies and excuses at the ready: He had just been getting out of a relationship but they were trying to give it another go, he felt awful about not calling, blah blah blah. Could he call me again?

Sure. And it was my sick pleasure to not call him back.

These types of experiences, however, are the hidden, buried truffle in the dating forest. More often than not, knowing can be more painful than pretty.

Take Ed. Our date had been a nuanced, easy time fueled by earthy red wine and not-too-garlicky, nonbloating tapas. He gently touched my arm across the table. He laughed at my witticisms. And he pulled out the best line I have ever heard, before or since: “I haven’t had great conversation like this in months!” As he left me at the door of my apartment, he said, “We’ll definitely do this again.” And I didn’t doubt him for a second.

Until he never called.

A couple of weeks passed and the blow-off burn had settled into a healing tingle when I bumped into one of his buddies. After some small talk, I decided to ask about Ed. I leveled with the friend, “Ed and I had a great time and he seemed into me. What’s his deal?”

I could sense in the friend’s body language that he was unprepared for this line of questioning, but to his credit, he gave it to me quickly, like the guillotine for revolutionary cake-eaters: “I don’t know. He’s not dating anyone else. I saw him last night. He’s fine.”

Victory? I had finally gained the elusive knowledge, the sum of which was, ironically, there was nothing to know. I was left to fill in the countless blanks -- I was too this, too that, I was not enough “wow,” or maybe too much.

I was far happier with the Aunt Rose scenario. Or even an ex-girlfriend. When knowing that someone is “just not that into you,” it opens up a chasm of self-doubt that’s better left closed.

Stick with the “he’s probably back with his ex” thing. Chalk it up to him being just another pebble on the path to finding the right partner. Blow out your hair. Take a yoga class. And keep moving onward.

Because in the end, all the dating world’s a stage, and we are but its players.

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Leslie Billera may be reached at [email protected].