The difference between Mr. Right and Mr. “Right Now”

Rogers is a super senior theatre major from Eufaula, Al.

Savannah Rogers

Someone very wise (likely my mother) once told me to write a letter to the “man of my dreams.” I was probably 13 years old and looked at her like she’d thrown my N’Sync CDs in the garbage. I didn’t realize until recently that she had a good point. We send tons of lifeless texts, Facebook messages and bland emails to teachers asking what we missed. No one puts much thought into letters anymore. It’s saddening really. That’s probably why, as girls, we all lost it when Mr. Big did that bit with the love letters for Carrie. Granted, at that point, I know that I wanted to punch him in the face. Most of that movie for me was spent yelling at the screen and demanding to know why he didn’t just write his own. So here I am, trying to pull from deep in the feels and make him know what he needs to know about me, this mystery man. What would I say to him, if I knew he’d read it? What do you want from the man you don’t know that you will love with all your heart someday? Do you ask that he be kind to you? Do you demand respect? Do you make sure he likes to cuddle, and is okay with being the little spoon? This is my first attempt at contacting a stranger.

Dear Mr. Right, I’ve been hanging out with Mr. Right-now and met a few of his friends. They make sure I know they’re not you, but I can’t seem to make it end. The way I see it, you’ll meet me when I’ve almost given in, but I can’t lie and say I think I’ll make it until then.

You see with every shot fired there’s a miss and there’s a loss, and I keep reloading ammo, keeping fingers tightly crossed. I keep getting more ammo at any price and any cost, but when it’s only up to luck, we give that coin a toss.

There’s not a way of knowing how it turns out in the end, because we all know once the truth is out, it’s so hard to pretend. I used to know these little boys, then bigger boys and then men. But they’d just sigh and justify it with “I think we should just be friends.” Okay, now I’ve got one last thing, a small wish if you can. Whenever you may get to me, please make sure you’re a gentleman. I’ll be the one standing there, her heart in her hands. You’ll be the one that only says “Hello, I love you, Van.”