Tucker #1: And It Starts. You Think You Know a Guy.

Once upon a time I fell in love. Men can be so...sneaky.







Chances are, if you're here, you know who I am. You probably clicked the Facebook link because you were bored at work, avoiding your homework, or generally like to creep on what I'm up to in cyberspace. To you, friends - hello! To those of you who may have stumbled upon this twisted story of deceit and confusion, welcome. I'm Kay. And, I'm sorry in advance...your head will hurt when this is through.

Each day I'll add a little more of the story. Trust me, it's far too much to condense into one post. Each of you reading this post has a varying degree of knowledge regarding the story that you are about to become inexplicably engrossed in, on a guaranteed unhealthy level. You will be jumping to conclusions, throwing out false accusations, and Tweeting your friends to see if anyone knows what the hell is going on. I promise, you don't. It's way more effed up than you could possibly imagine.

To those of you who jumped in halfway through the sadistic saga, here's your backstory. To those who haven't been graced with the hour and a half long story telling sesh - consider yourself lucky to have the fully scribed version, completely devoid of the hundreds of "oh but wait I forgot to tell you _____" and inappropriate number of "I KNOW RIGHT?!?!" exchanges.





Why am I writing this? Well, because it's fucking nuts. That's why. I could write a CSI Miami (only Miami though, this shit doesn't happen in Vegas) episode based on this story. Mostly I'm writing it, because it's therapeutic to put all the details down on virtual paper. That, and because I'm ridiculously tired of telling the story from the beginning every time someone else hears about Tucker. Please, join me for the ride. The story is far too unbelievable to put into a single blog post, so check in daily (business days only people, I have more psychopaths to meet, and my weekends are strictly devoted to such) for the next segment of our antifairytale.



Aight. Let's Tarantino this hey? Back to the beginning.


First, hi. I'm Kay. I'm a fairly normal (debatable, 100%), Heritage Hill dwelling, fun loving social butterfly college student hanging out contentedly for the last few years in our blessed little West Michigan haven known as Grand Rapids. I have a bevy of remarkable friends with which I spend nearly all my time, unless I'm galavanting back to redneckland to hang out with my family down on the farm. I meet a lot of people, all the time. My friends constantly remind me of the fact that I know (seemingly) everyone in this town. Great for social activity, terrible for dating. Grand Rapids is, for lack of a better analogy, like a giant high school. Everyone knows everyone, and has dated each other's cousin, ex-boyfriend, neighbor, roommate, and brother. I love our small town community more than anything, but it makes the dating pool smaller by the millisecond. Enter: OkCupid.com.

Yes, I joined a dating site. Get off it. Often the reaction I receive when I tell people this is, "Why?! Why do you need a dating site?!" Well, I don't. I can pick up a guy at the bar as good as the next girl in a dangerously low v-neck (sorry, Mom). However, I tired of seeing the same crowds at the same haunts, and of relying on carefully curled eyelashes and a strategically slit dress to spark a conversation that I can barely hear and certainly won't remember. Now, thanks to this online matchmaking metropolis, I can shallowly sift through 3-5 profile photos, scan for education, income, and height, and rule out anyone who mentioned MW3 or the LOTR Trilogy in their opening paragraph. Improvements, right?! Right. My good friends would never be surprised to hear I joined such a place. What's that? Give Kay unlimited characters to talk about herself and describe her Prince Charming, show off her footie pajama photos, and talk to a neverending man-harem of strangers? They'd wonder what took me so long to get there.

I've been dabbling for a bit, and have to say I've met some of the greatest people I know via the Interwebs. I've joked for years about writing a book about my virtual encounters - Craigslist --> PlentyOfFish.com --> OkCupid...it's seriously addicting, don't ever try it. For the sake of my friends, I won't divulge just how many of them are results of first dates turned best friendships. I was in the wedding of one such encounter last month, found a handsome local television personality once upon a time, and have a laundry list of tall blonde Calvin grads who've somehow become my very best friends. In fact, one aforementioned grad is essentially responsible for my best friend and I first hating each other, then falling in platonic best friend love. The wonders of technology, no?




Anyway, OkCupid. I crafted myself the perfect profile, which I will allow you all to view now. Side: clearly this is an indication of just how fantastic this story is going to be, if it's worth divulging my semi-secret online dating persona to the masses. Get pumped. Kay's OkCupid Profile of Geniusness.Read it, love it.

Now, once upon a time, right smack dab in the middle of my home page is this beautiful blonde man. Clearly I waste no time in shimmying right on over to his profile to have a looksee.





Deets:30 year old pharmaceutical rep, Grand Rapids transplant from North Georgia, named Tucker.


The Vitals:

Tall: check.

Educated: check (Masters from Auburn).
Attractive: supercheck.
Christian: check.
Loves his mama: check.
Has puppies: check.
Is Southern/has an accent: omgcheck.
Enjoys typical redneck tomfoolery: triplecheck.
Plays guitar/sings: imturnedoncheck.
Can rock a suit: check.
Loves football: checkcheckcheck.
Drives a truck: MY DREAM TRUCK PEOPLE, THIS SHIT IS SERIOUS. ....check.

Arightarightarightarightaright (shake it! shake! shake it!) <--- if you don't get this reference we're probably not real life friends, right? Thought so.



Naturally, I need to contact him immediately. Chances are, once it gets out that I'm writing this little novel, this profile will be deleted; for the time being, feel free to scope him out here: TUCKERDEVILMAN





Notice he mentions his affinity for the singer, Adele. Welp, I happen to have a serious girlcrush on Adele myself, so I select this commonality as my launching point for my impending marriage proposal. Here's how our conversations went:

K: Ten bucks says my crush on Adele out-obsesses yours ;)

T: Hmm I would def throwdown 20 on that bet and say it's not. Kinda scary huh? Btw I'm Tucker! it's nice to meet you. :)

T: Thought I'd shoot you this message as well and tell you a little bit about myself... I was born and raised in a town in North Georgia, so yes I'm southern and I do have the southern accent. I graduated from Auburn University where I played baseball and earned my masters degree in business management with a minor in marketing. I enjoy the outdoors fishing, hunting, working out, playing the guitar, singing, drinking beer, college football and taking drives down backroads off out by some lake in my truck. I believe that life is today and a miracle is tomorrow because your never promised anything so live life to the extreme and have fun doing it. My family makes up who I am. I'm the spitting image of my father and the loving hands of my mother and my sister is my bestfriend. Well, I guess that's enough for now but I look forward to hearing from you. Tucker

K: Dear Tucker,
You may have just written the perfect message, and I'm fairly confident you may be my dream man.

Cheers,
Kay.

T: That's never a bad thing to hear. :) Well I hope I'm not being too forward when I say this but if you like you're more than welcome to text me. I'm sitting on the couch filling out paper work, so maybe you can keep me entertained. (7**)******9.




At this point I am completely in love, and of course waste no time in texting my future husband. The next two days are a blur of butterflies and heart pitter patters and all that disgusting shit that I know better than to believe in. However, cynical Kay is smothered and stuffed in a trunk by planning-her-Georgia-wedding and picking-out-the-right-shade-of-white-for-the-fence-posts Kay. Forty eight straight hours of nonstop, obsessive, the kind where you wake up every 20 minutes on accident because you subconsciously want to check your phone for a new message, ridiculous texting. We're fascinated with each other, and absolutely must know every mundane detail (omg I took piano lessons TOO!) about each other. For a split second, I even lost my marbles and started talking baby names with Prince Charming -- he wants to name his son Walker, after his best friend who was killed in a drunk driving accident two years prior. *Awwww*. I tell him I'm naming my kid after a football stadium...not up there on the sentimental register, but by god he loved it anyway. He tells me of his parents (Jim, a chemical engineer, and Kara, a registered nurse), and his sister Andrea, who is his very best friend. I tell him of my family, talk about growing up in the country, and decide we are clearly destined to rock on porch chairs side by side til we're 95.


This is where we end today. Tucker and I are in love. My fingers are tired. May your hearts be filled with flutters and puppies and unicorns and all that fluffy shit. Enjoy it, today is the last day of hearts and rainbows, people. You know how your mama told you, "If it seems too good to be true, it probably is." ....? I shoulda listened to your mama.





Daily Recap, so we're all on the same page:




Major Players:Tucker: the handsome southern man who has me picking out bridesmaid dresses.
Kay: well, me.

Other Names:Walker: Tucker's future child's name.
Lucas: My future child's name.
Jim: Tucker's dad.Kara: Tucker's mom.
Andrea: Tucker's sister.
Tux & Sadie: Tucker's dogs.



Come back tomorrow for more.

Cheers-
Kay

Tucker #2: Secret Agent Man.

Welcome back, friends!

First, I want to say thanks/laugh at the ridiculous outpouring of interest in this crazy tale. Family, friends, friends of friends, total strangers - y'all wanna know more, and I love you. I promise you won't be disappointed - though I can't promise you won't be extremely anxious for each new installment.

ONWARD!


When I left you last, I was head over heels, stupid in love with Tucker Evans. Couldn't sleep, couldn't focus, couldn't do anything without that crooked little grin of his infiltrating my every thought and every move. Each text he sent melted my heart, every word he said I was hanging from. I followed him around, virtually, like a goddamn lost puppy. Pathetic? Totally. I'm seriously disgusted with myself just writing this. Get it together, Kay. He's a man, not Rob Pattinson, and you are a GROWN ASS WOMAN, not a deranged teenage psycho Twilight fan. /endrage

Tucker and I talked about everything. We discussed our families and our childhoods. We talked about our travel plans and where we wanted to raise our children. We discussed music, movies, Theology, politics. Our conversations were absolutely endless. I was that annoying friend who went out with the gang and had her nose buried in her Crackberry the whole time. I HATE THAT FRIEND. I was falling more and more in love with this guy by the moment, and I literally could not focus on a single thing other than him. My favorite part about our relationship was the music. Tucker had this incredible voice - he would record himself singing and playing the guitar, and send them to my phone. I was addicted to the sound of his voice, playing his small playlist I'd racked up on my cell phone before bed every night. He'd send me pictures as well - dressed up in his suit for work, pictures from tailgates with friends, pictures of his parents' lake house (read: mansion) and their sprawling ranch in North Georgia, full of elaborate barns and horses. I felt like I was inside his life already - like I knew all of these people and places. It was as though I had known him - been in a relationship with him - for years, and he was simply away on a trip. Part of this, I'm sure, comes from the fact that I thoroughly stalked every aspect of his Facebook page. Albums from 2007? Okay, twist my arm. Scroll back and read the wall-to-wall with his ex-girlfriend circa 2009? Don't mind if I do! It didn't feel like I was talking to a person I'd never been face to face with. Throughout my online dabblings, I've had instant connections, sure. I've had great conversation, been smitten, and been more excited than Snookie at an Aquanet factory, but never have I felt such a deep, strong, real connection like I did with Tucker.



A week of this intense texting went by, and I began to feel like there was nothing more I could possibly learn about this man without meeting him in person. He seemed hesitant about meeting at first, explaining that he'd never met anyone from the Internet before, and was nervous about our first interaction. Being the online dating veteran that I am, I told him that we'd pick something relaxed and informal as our first introduction, keep it casual, and avoid any tension. I reassured him that I was born without a shy bone in my body, and awkward first encounters are totally not my style - everyone is my best friend from the get-go (except Jim - but we made up for it), can I get an AMEN!?

We settled on finally meeting at Hoptoberfest - a celebration of all things blues, food, and beer held downtown Grand Rapids in early October. I was already planning to attend with friends, and his coworker had mentioned it earlier in the week. The plan was flawless - I'd go down earlier in the afternoon, get sufficiently buzzed on Hopcat beer, then meet my future husband when he joined us later. What could go wrong? I followed directions like a good doobie, arriving downtown hours before Tucker was supposed to join me, and consuming dark craft beers like it was my job. For the first time since we began talking, I didn't hear from Tucker for hours. I assumed he was caught up in football, taking a nap, or something else, and thought relatively nothing of it. Hours passed without a peep from my southern Casanova, and that sinking feeling started creeping into the pit of my stomach. I distracted myself from the situation with beer and crack fries (oh hey, emotional eater), but couldn't shake the thought that I was being stood up.



By about 9pm, I accepted the fact that Tucker would not be making an appearance. I experienced a wave of emotions all at once. I was furious - not even a text with an apology because something came up? I was devastated - did he change his mind and decide he didn't like me? I was self-conscious - did he come to the festival, spot me, and decide I was so much cooler online? I was annoyed with myself - did I really think this perfect guy was for real, and wanted to be with me? I decided to pull myself up by my bootstraps -- no really, I was wearing boots, he is southern damnit I had to play the part -- and enjoy my night, have a blast with my friends, and forget all about the perfect love that almost was.

I found my friends, strewn about barstools across Grand Rapids, and formed a beautiful alliance of shot-buying, dancing shoes wearing, sweet Jesus how did the Tigers just lose 15-4 depressed friends ready to rock Grand Rapids like we hadn't in a long time. In no time, I forgot about my dashing ditcher and showed the dance floor at Mojo's just how glad I was to be there.

1:30am rolls around. I get a text message.

"Baby :(" --> from Tucker.

I'm so livid (by livid, I mean drunk), that I can barely reply to his message without chucking my phone at Rosa Parks, who by the way looks incredibly menacing at 1:30am. He continues to tell me how he was called into work, the phone call woke him from a nap and he was in a fog, hurrying to get to the office in time. I tell him I've heard enough, and turn my phone off for the night, cruising home with Springsteen cranked up and not a care in the world.

Over the next few days, Tucker apologizes a hundred times for not calling. I'm annoyed, but can't help but want to forgive him. After all, we'll be getting married in a year (I want a Fall wedding, ok?), so at some point I have to stop being bitter and just cave. We try to make plans again, but every time, something comes up. 98% of the time, it's work. I suppose I should explain this - Tucker had moved to the mitten about six weeks prior, as a surgical supply rep for a company called Janssen Pharmaceuticals - a division of a national pharmeceutical company. He had told me from the very beginning that he was working about 90 hours a week, proving himself as the new guy and fulfilling duties and bottom of the food chain bitch. On the one hand, this meant I tried very hard to be understanding, and not fold my arms across my chest and demand he make time for me. On the other hand, why the hell would you sign up for an online dating site if you DON'T HAVE TIME TO DATE?! Idiot.

The days go by, and the excuse train is full speed ahead to splitsville. I'm growing tired of simply texting back and forth all day. While I love our conversations, and am developing real feelings for this person, I haven't cared much for pen pals since the third grade. We've reached the point where we need to meet in person, to determine if the chemistry is there, if we really click, and if this is going to develop into something real and long term. I haven't even spoken to Tucker on the phone - he's constantly at work, and by the time he gets home, I'm long asleep. This cell phone relationship has gone as far as it can, and I'm ready to move on. I tell Tucker he's gotta shit or get off the pot, and he promises we'll see each other over the weekend when he has some time off work.


As you may have guessed, I never met Tucker that weekend. He ended up being out of town on some work business all weekend, and at this point, I was ready to throw in the towel. Now, let me clarify. I am not the clingy, dependent, needy girlfriend. In fact, I've ended things with more than one person who apparently thought I was a marsupial and he belonged nestled safely in my pouch at all times. I have great friends, and a busy schedule, and am a huge proponent of my independence. That said, I also feel like there's a fine line between working hard and taking your job seriously, and being lazy about making time to see a person. I accuse Tucker of not really caring, as he clearly is not invested enough in our relationship to carve out even an hour for coffee. When I confront him like this, he gets defensive - making me feel terrible for demanding he sacrifice his career so I can see him...even though I'm pretty sure that's never what I asked for.

Now I'm just angry. Don't talk down to me, and treat me as if I'm some whiny, needy little bitch who complains that you spend too much time watching football with the bros and not enough time fawning over me and playing with my cats. Wrong girl, pal. So, naturally, I get my Google on. Why, exactly, did I feel the need to start scoping out my fake boyfriend? I'm not sure. Maybe it was boredom. Maybe on some subconscious level, I thought something was up. You know what they say about trusting your instincts? They were right.

**TOTAL SIDENOTE: this guy just sat down next to me and I'm fairly certain I can detect the precise scents of sharp cheddar cheese and summer sausage. I can't tell if this makes me hungry, or nauseated.


I Google Tucker's name, and am disappointed with the hodge podge of results. Nothing spectacular comes up. There are a few people with similar names, but no glaring red flags present themselves. Suddenly I remember something - during one of our very first conversations, Tucker told me that he goes by his middle name, not his first. I scrolled back to that conversation, and was reminded that William is actually his name. William Tucker Evans.

Feverishly, I typed these monikers into Google, and strangely got the sweats and light headed when I pushed the "search" button. The results appeared on my screen, and my stomach dropped. Hundreds of news articles and web pages were devoted to this person. I was shaking as I clicked the first one, reading about this person - from Tucker's hometown in Georgia, confirming I was reading about the same person. I click through article after article, struggling to comprehend what I was reading. My emotions were fighting each other for prominence - confusion vs. anger vs. disbelief vs. fear. Who was this person I thought I knew? Why was he lying to me? What was he covering up? What in Sam Hill was going on?




Daily Recap:

Major Players:
William "Tucker" Evans: the dude.
Kay: me.

New Facts:
Janssen Pharmaceutical: Tucker's employer
Wyndham Hill Apartments: Tucker's residence (GR, North side)
Tucker sings. Very well.
Facebook: I have SUFFICIENTLY stalked him. I am a creep.


Oh...and I should probably tell you, I've changed the names. I know how sneaky yall are - you're gonna have to wait for the story, Google will lead you to dead ends ;)


Stay tuned.

Cheers-
Kay

Tucker #3: Hey, White Liar - The Truth Comes Out A Little At A Time

The day I decided to Googlestalk Tucker Evans was the first day of the rest of my life. Not really, but it did kick start the wild internet goose chase that you're all now so emotionally involved in. Speaking of, to the half a dozen people who stopped me at the bar last night to complain about a lack of post -- you guys are so legit. The wheels really start turning in this post, so I'm considering myself redeemed already.

I can still vividly remember the moment when Google introduced me to William Tucker Evans. I don't know exactly what I expected to find when I searched for his name, but it certainly wasn't this. Perhaps I expected photos of his college baseball days at Auburn. Perhaps an old work profile or a news article about a college achievement. I suppose I did have a decent amount of suspicion toward him, after our weeks of texting but mysterious lack of phone calls and in-person encounters. Perhaps I expected to find a crazy secret buried in cyber space - a criminal record, a failed marriage, a child. There were any number of things I expected to find about Tucker that would clue me in to why he was being so distant. I expected to find an answer to why he was so carefully protecting his privacy, but instead I was broadsided by a barrage of tell-all articles and photos of a person I certainly did not know.

William Tucker Evans is a twenty two year old Marine from Rome, Georgia. While he also goes by "Tucker", for the sake of avoiding confusion, I'll refer to him as William from here on out. William = Marine, Tucker = future husband. With me? I read article after article about William and his service with the United States Marine Corps. He had served in Afghanistan where, recently, he had been hit by an IED while on a tour there. The hundreds of forum posts, Facebook groups, and news articles indicated that William would be returning to the United States (or, HAD returned - the articles were about a week old), and receiving a Purple Heart for his bravery during his service. There were welcome home parties, parades, and other celebratory events planned to welcome William back to his hometown. Prayer chains, support groups, and a small Georgia community had been rallying together, praying for William and creating quite the online presence following his injuries. It didn't take long to feel like I, too, was invested in the life of this young soldier - the love and support was practically tangible.

As I read each article, post, and comment regarding William's situation, I became more and more confused. Was this the person I had been talking to all along? It seemed fairly clear - a lonely soldier spent some downtime overseas hoping to find a woman "back home" to talk to, and love. I'd run across Military men online before, usually explaining that they were serving overseas, and missed having someone to write home to. It wasn't unusual that William might be searching for the same thing - someone who was thinking about him, who cared about him, and who would eventually be waiting for him when he finally returned home. This, in and of itself, didn't bother me. I entirely understand the position of men like this, and don't blame them for looking for that special connection to ease the hurt of being so far away from home and the people they love.

What I couldn't understand, is why did William feel the need to create this fake persona online? Why couldn't he, like so many of his Military brothers, be honest about his current situation? Why not be proud of your dedication to serving your country?

Again, the battle of emotions started to take over. I was angry, first. Angry that I'd been blatantly lied to about the identity of a person I cared about. I was hurt, also that I'd been duped. I felt stupid that I somehow couldn't predict that this perfect man was nothing but a made up profile to help a lonely guy make a new friend. I was confused about the whole situation, frustrated that I let it even get to this point, and in a strange way, felt like I'd just been dumped. What?? Get ahold of yourself, Kay. Seriously.

I began to process my new discovery, and debated about what to do next. Do I tell Tucker I know about his real identity? Do I give him a chance to explain himself? Do I completely cut him off and move on, just leaving the situation as it was and cutting my losses? Do I continue to talk to him, but talk to him as William - is he even someone I want to know after all the deceit? SO many choices, but nothing seemed right.

I scaled back on my conversations with Tucker for a few days, struggling to decide how to handle the situation. I'm certain he could tell that I was different - I wasn't the permasmiley, cheerleader level annoyingly peppy girl he was used to talking to day in and day out. A few days later, I decided to re-investigate the situation. I wanted to know everything I could about William, the REAL Tucker, before I decided on a next move. I revisited all the articles I'd frantically read days before, hoping to feel some sort of divine intervention in the form of an urge to either forge ahead or let him disappear from my life forever. Suddenly, amidst a local newspaper article, I have a startling revelation.

The timeline of this story suddenly stands out like a flashing neon sign right in front of me. I was, without a doubt, NOT talking William Tucker Evans, the Marine from Georgia. William had only JUST returned to the United States, after weeks and weeks of recovering in foreign hospitals. When he returned to America, he was in a hospital in Atlanta, for more surgery and recovery. There is not a snowball's chance in hell that this kid had the luxury of a laptop with WiFi in his Afghani hospital, let alone the time, or desire, to be chatting up babes online all day. He certainly wouldn't have been texting me from overseas, or even in his hospital bed in Atlanta, all day every day. My mind is absolutely reeling, realizing with increasing clarity that it is nearly 100% impossible that I was talking to the "real" Tucker.

A whole new slew of questions arises. If I'm not talking to this Marine, who the hell AM I talking to? Have I overreacted this entire time, and it's possible that there are simply two William Tucker Evans? Stranger things have happened, and while it's entirely unlikely, it's plausible that these two men simply have the same name. If that's the case, how do I explain or rationalize Tucker's avoidance of the phone and a meeting? If it's not true, who on Earth is this person I've been talking to all along?


I pull away from my computer, staring at my screen in complete and utter confusion and disbelief. Every sane, rational ounce of judgment in me (which, okay, isn't much, let's be real) says to just walk away. Delete Tucker from Facebook, block him from viewing my OkCupid profile, and block his phone number. Walk away, let bygones be bygones and all that other cliche crap. Clearly something is not right in this situation, and I'll be better off just closing the door on this chapter of my life before I risk getting hurt. However, the CSI addict in me says not a fucking chance. Then and there I vow to get my Horatio Caine on and solve the shit out of this mystery. I will get to the bottom of this. I will find out who Tucker Evans is, and why he's being so slow to speak to me or meet me. I will end this thing, once and for all, if it's the last thing I do.



Major Players:
William: The "real" Tucker. A 22 year old Marine in GA.
Tucker: my currently in the doghouse future husband.
Kay: yours truly.


Important Discoveries:
- Tucker's real name, as he told it to me: William Tucker Evans
- Google search results for that name, yielding hundreds of results about William
- Continued refusal to talk on the phone or meet in person
- A timeline that doesn't match up to me communicating with William the whole time
- A Facebook support group dedicated to William's return home, recovery, and updates - created and maintained by his mother



Post 4 to come later today - stop by for a minute, won't you?

Cheers,
Kay

Tucker #4: That's Not My Name!

When I first encountered the countless articles about William Tucker Evans, I was utterly perplexed. Where, amidst all the dishonesty, deceit, and confusion, does the truth about Tucker lie? How do I even begin to piece together the details to create some semblance of an explanation for the situation in front of me? Where do I start? I knew I was being lied to, but I didn't even know which parts were untrue. Was the man behind the cell phone and computer screen a 22 year old Marine from Georgia? Was he, in fact, the man in the pictures, but simply changed his name to protect a secret and hide his true identity? Were both the photos AND the name adopted from two different people, in order to hide an entirely different identity altogether? The possibilities seemed endless, and to say I was overwhelmed would be the understatement of the century.

After taking a day or two to process my newest discoveries, I decided to cast a line out and see what I could gather from Tucker, without explicitly calling his bluff. Tucker had mentioned his baseball days from college, and I used that as my launching pad to fish for more information. During one of our usual conversations, I mentioned I'd love to see a picture of this era - because let's face it, who does not love a handsome man in tight pants AMIRIGHT? Tucker quickly steered clear of the topic, as I hoped he would, and I pounced. I informed him awhile later that I'd Googled it - Google has everything, CERTAINLY a big SEC school's baseball team would be easy to find. I casually mentioned how strange it was that there seems to be a young man with the same name as he, also from Georgia. Strange, right? Without missing a beat, Tucker deflected my curious questioning, admitting he'd read about the other Tucker in the news as well. He mentioned he knew about him, but they grew up on opposite sides of the state, and had never met him. I was disappointed, thinking for certain I'd catch him in the act, but instead it seemed as though I had simply overreacted, and the coincidence theory would prevail. Humph.

After failing to create some sort of dramatic discovery, I reverted back to pre-suspicion conversation with Tucker. I felt stupid for freaking out, and made a mental note to cut back on the OnDemand episodes of CSI at 3am. Tucker and I were in a good place again - talking all day, every day, and falling for each other all over again. We made plans to make dinner together, enjoy a bottle of wine, and spend Saturday night with each other, the dogs, and Netflix.

You already know what's coming, right? Of course you do. I didn't see Tucker on Saturday. This time, he was sick - too sick to even talk on the phone or Skype. My conspiracy theory tendencies fired right back up, and I settled in for a long night in front of the computer, determined to find out exactly what was going on.

My first step was to revisit the Auburn Baseball discussion. It didn't seem like it would be too difficult to pull up an old roster, some stats, or a news article about Tucker's performance on the squad, particularly for such a well known school in the sporting realm. I browsed a decade worth of Auburn rosters for any name that could even remotely resemble Tucker, but unsurprisingly came back empty handed. This solidified in my mind (as if there was any remaining doubt), that whoever I was talking to was not Tucker Evans. Whoever he was, he was using a name that did not belong to him, OR he was lying about his education, his extracurriculars there, and likely the rest of his life as I knew it. Did he even exist? Did he even live in Michigan? Was this some 50 year old pervert who got a sort of sick joy from screwing with the minds of random, unsuspecting girls?

I started to put together a list of the facts as I knew it, to try and help whittle down the list of possible outcomes to the story. Here's what I had:

1) William (Marine Tucker) was not the culprit. The timeline of events simply would not allow him to be the man I was talking to.

2) Tucker did not play baseball for Auburn - if he did, it was under another name.

3) The person I was talking to couldn't be a stranger, hiding behind both a false name AND photos. The Facebook profile was far too detailed and had such a lengthy history that it was impossible for it to be a made up, dummy profile used by a scammer.


This third point is perhaps the most important part of the whole story. Facebook. Tucker added me as a Facebook friend almost immediately after we started talking. I never had to bug him to add me - he did it voluntarily, right away. Because I'm a creep, I fully (oh, and I mean fully) stalked his Facebook profile practically immediately. I almost always do this right away when I'm talking to someone online. It's entirely too easy to pick your five best photos and misrepresent yourself completely via an online dating profile. Facebook is a great tool for getting a better idea of the person you're dealing with, see what their social interactions are like, etc. If any of you are reading and contemplating signing up for OkCupid (you totally should, it's great entertainment), just remember: Facebook is your best friend. Never continue talking to someone who won't add you, I promise it will end poorly. Anyway, my Tucker Facebook stalking findings are as follows:


1) Profile pictures abound. He's not a five-pic-offender with three of the five photos being of him on waterskis, wearing snowboard goggles, or in a huge crowd of people so you can't actually tell if he's deformed, has crazy eyes, or is actually 283 pounds. I find at least three years' worth of profile photos, plenty of close up shots, photos with other people so I know he has friends, etc.

2) Photo albums also abound. Albums of family vacations, friends' weddings, miscellaneous tomfoolery, etc. He seems to have a perfectly healthy social life with a great support system of friends and family.

3) There is a six month hole in his Facebook posting, but it's one that he'd mentioned before even adding me. I knew he'd deactivated his profile for a few months while he was in the final stages of job search/hiring and beginning his new position in Michigan. Seems totally legit - I never think twice.

4) Tucker had told me about a former girlfriend - a girl named Taylor who went to school out in Kansas. Sure enough, after scrolling back a few pages in his wall posts, I start to come across the bountiful postings from Taylor - plenty of I love you's and I miss you's, lots of back and forth between the two, and a healthy amount of pet names and baby talk. Gross, but at least it reaffirms what he'd already told me. Also, Taylor always referred to him as "Tucker", which means this is definitely his name, though she never included a last name.

5) I scrolled back even further, to the girlfriend before Taylor - a girl named Katie. Again, sweet back and forths between she and Tucker confirmed that they were indeed together.

6) While there wasn't a ton of wall posting activity, there were plenty of various friends writing on Tucker's wall throughout the years.

7) I couldn't view any of T's tagged photos. This doesn't bother me, because only about 30 people can view mine on Facebook, so it doesn't seem unusual.

8) I can't view his friends list either, but I also have hidden that before. Again, not a glaring red flag.

9) I decide to creep on the last girl to write on Tucker's wall before his new job induced haitus - a girl named Megan. She had commented on a post of his regarding "catching up with an old friend", in a fashion that made me assume he had been referring to her. I can't see anything on her Facebook page, but I can see she grew up in Whitehall - only about 25 minutes from my own hometown. Small world, right? She and I have a few friends in common, which reassures me that he is clearly friends with REAL people.

10) Upon my stalking of Taylor, Tucker's ex girlfriend, I notice she has nearly a thousand friends, a bevy of Facebook photos, and seems to be a perfectly normal coed enjoying her college years.

11) Another friend used the term "TE" to refer to Tucker - again insinuating that Tucker Evans was, in fact, his name.



This Facebook page would prove to be the single biggest hiccup in the entire Tucker saga. Every time I would think I reached a plausible conclusion to the story, I would go right back to the Facebook page. Clearly whoever was in these photos existed - and even though I knew I was being lied to somehow, I couldn't put my finger on exactly where the untruthfulness was founded. If he wasn't who he said he was, why did have at least four years worth of history on his Facebook? If he wasn't real, how did he have relationships with these people, who would post things like "Can't wait to watch Grey's with you this week!!"? Why was Taylor referring to him as "Tucker", and the other friend as "TE", if he had changed his name to hide his identity?




Major Players
Tucker: who the hell knows anymore.
Kay: hi, still here.
William: the "real" Tucker - 22 year old Marine in Georgia.
Megan: an "old friend" - last to write on T's wall, ironically from West Michigan.
Taylor: the ex-girlfriend who wrote hundreds of wall posts (and even posted VIDEOS on his wall), all in which she refers to him as "Tucker".



...shit's getting real, folks.


Cheers,
Kay

Tucker #5: Never Liked The Taste Of Crow, But Baby I Ate It.

First and foremost, huge thanks to Perry Stubbs, the greatest friend in the history of the world, for sharing his beer and his computer while he watches Transformers 3 and snuggles with his 8 pound chihuahua/weenie dog, all so I can continue the Tucker saga this evening. You, sir, are a hero. Friends of the hot, single, female variety: Perry is single. Visit him here: Hi I'm Perry, I'm Hot & Single, And Have A Chiweenie.

The last time we met, I had begun my extensive Tuckerstalking, but kept running into dead end after miserable dead end. Each time I had a flash of genius (which, by the way, was always at the most inconvenient time -- in the middle of the night, during a work meeting, in the shower, etc.), I always wound up right back where I started - perplexed at how inexplainable the extensive Facebook history was. I couldn't figure out exactly HOW Tucker was lying to me, even though I was absolutely certain that he was. I'd ruled out my secretive suitor's identity belonging to William, as the timeline just would not allow it. I'd ruled out both the name AND the photos being stolen property, as both seemed to be entirely traceable on Facebook. I knew that whoever I was communicating with existed, on some level, and was actively communicating with others via Facebook. Despite all the knowledge I did have, I was missing something in this puzzle, and I was as determined as ever to find out exactly what that was.

I continued combing the web for the smallest of clues, praying I'd get lucky and stumble upon something I'd glossed over before, something that would flip the proverbial switch and shed light on the torrid tale I was so indescribably consumed with. I was certain that if I searched long enough, read carefully enough, and Googled cleverly enough, something would present itself and my AHA! moment would finally surface. I was far from that lucky.

One night, in a desperate attempt to catch my lying lad in the act, my best friend and I embarked on a mission. The goal? Eliminate another possible solution to the mystery. Which solution? The one that suggested Tucker existed, as he presented himself, but had a glaring physical difference from the way he appeared online. Maybe he was 5'7, but knew I liked tall guys and claimed to be 6'1. Maybe he had been in a terrible accident, and was missing limbs or was left with burns and scars. This theory suggested he was Tucker, mostly as I knew him, but had a secret that kept him from seeing me in person. On this particular night, Tucker had been texting me, still at around 11pm, claiming to be at work (which, consequently, he would never reveal to me its location). Sara and I hopped in the car, loaded up on french fries and Diet Coke, and camped out in the parking lot of the apartment complex Tucker claimed to live in. His truck was not inconspicuous - a giant black Chevy Silverado, not one that would easily blend in with the rest of the Taurus and Impala crowd in the lot. We drove around the small apartment complex, looking for the vehicle, but had no luck. After driving around, and waiting for Tucker to pull in the drive to no avail, it was clear he was not coming home, and did not, likely, even live in Grand Rapids.

Amidst all the confusion, I backed away from Tucker again, frustrated to the point that I couldn't keep my composure when we talked. He continued to carry on as though nothing was wrong, filling my phone's inbox with pictures, songs he'd recorded, and myriad tales about late work nights and 90 hour work weeks. I was tired of the game, tired of the chase, and tired of playing Inspector Gadget all over the internet. I was fighting every need to keep going, to keep searching for answers, because I was so mentally and emotionally drained from the tornado of lies, excuses, theories, and dead ends. I wasn't ready to give up, but I couldn't keep pursuing this seemingly never-ending circle of deceit with the full throttle determination that I began with. At some point, I had to accept that I'd been had, and let it go. Nearly all of the friends and family I'd told about the Tucker story urged me to walk away, to stop agonizing over the smallest of details, hoping it might be a clue. They advised me to cut all ties, say goodbye to Tucker, whoever he might be, and return that energy to my work and my REAL LIFE relationships.

A week or so passed with little to no communication from Tucker. I was still hoping for my miraculous clue to appear, but was done pursuing it with reckless abandon. The Monday before Halloween, Tucker began texting me - chipper, peppy, and sweet...as though nothing had happened. "Hi baby, I miss you! How's your day?" ....uh....scusemewhat? Remember that time I've been ignoring you for the last week because you're a lying sack of shit? He continues to text me as though the last week of silence had never occurred. I start to wonder if this newfound glee will lead to some sort of slip up, or another clue as to who this tricky texter might be, so I play along. Tucker tells me he's in Georgia for the week, visiting with his family and celebrating his father's birthday the upcoming weekend. I drop the sweet-girl act for a moment, livid that he couldn't find an hour to have coffee with me, yet suddenly his oh-so-crucial new job could be ancient history for a week while he palled around back home with the fam? Curious. Tucker seems happy, explaining how stressed he's been in Michigan with his new job, how the ninety hour work weeks have taken their toll, turning him into a permatired, stressed out, grumpy version of his usual happy go lucky self. He explains he requested this time off before even beginning the job, in order to be with his family for his father's birthday celebration at their lake house, which is why he was working overtime to get everything done before he left. For a millisecond, my mind flashes back to that old "maybe he's being entirely legit and I'm a crazy bitch for freaking out and stalking him" mode...but within seconds, I remember that this guy is a lunatic and my instincts are most definitely right.

Regardless of my belief that I'm still a part of the greatest episode of Punk'd EVER, I agree to making dinner plans with Tucker when he plans to return the following week. We pick a date and time, and a location (HopCat, of course, where ALL my internet first dates take place...sorry, former first dates, you were part of a strict regimen), and talk about how excited we are to see each other. Shock of shocks, that day comes and goes without a peep from Mr. Evans. Since I knew he wouldn't be making an appearance, I'd made alternate dinner/Pinterest crafting plans with a good friend, so in case you were worried, I was not lonely and stood up. Tucker, however, got a different story. I was livid, ranting via text message about the new dress I bought, the haircut I got, the reservations I went to extreme lengths to secure, and the bottle of wine I bought to have ready for him when he arrived. I bemoaned my hours spent drinking an entire bottle of wine while waiting wistfully in the corner booth of the bar, watching other couples come and go, and wishing I weren't so pathetically alone. In reality I was mildly drunk on Chardonnay, watching Trailer Park Boys and hot gluing the shit out of some vases, but of course, he didn't need to know this.

After awhile, T starts to respond with lengthy explanations of an extended stay in Georgia, blah blah blah, By this time, I've returned home, and have crawled into bed, ready to kiss the night, and this conversation goodbye. When he appears in my inbox, I'm so annoyed that I momentarily consider shutting my phone off to avoid snapping at him and ruining the naive, believing guise that I've so carefully crafted. Unfortunately, the remnants of the Chardonnay (and, if we're honest, a bit of PMS), had other plans.

It took three consecutive texts overflowing with bullshit excuses (really, Tuck? you couldn't even shoot me a "hey, by the way, I'm staying in GA and will miss our FIRST DATE text??) for me to completely go over the edge. I demand he call me so we can discuss this "in person", and he feeds me a line about having no service. I was fuming, furiously typing out a response on my phone, palms sweaty and heart racing as I prepared to fully confront Tucker for the very first time. "IYou can text all day and send me cell phone pics, but you don't have enough service for a phone call? My parents get shitty service at their house too, but I know for a fact I can make a phone call WAY before I could send a photo message. It comes down to this Tuck - if you were who you said you were, and you actually wanted to be with me like you keep telling me, you'd find a way. You'd walk to a goddamn payphone to make sure I was 100% without doubt when it comes to you - but clearly you're hiding something, because instead of making it happen, you're making excuses per usual."

We go back and forth a few times - Tucker defending his honor and myself continuing to call him out for deceiving me in some way shape or form.

"I haven't quite pieced together yet, because I've been hoping and praying there was an explanation for the identical Jim/Kara/Tucker/Walker Evans thing, and the fact that you won't meet or speak to me, etc. but since you refuse to tell me the truth about who you are, I'll have to figure it out on my own, lucky for me, I have an arsenal of very smart, very sneaky, and very well connected friends in my corner who will stop at nothing to find out who the hell you are, and stop you from harming anyone else in the midst of your little game. If you're the 22 year old Afghanistan war vet, and you were bored and needed someone to talk to, or something ridiculous like that, then just tell me. For godssakes just tell me. I won't be mad, I just want to know the truth."


Twenty minutes pass by without a peep. I curse myself for lashing out, certain that this will be the last I ever hear from William Tucker Evans. He knew he'd been caught, and like any smart psychopath, he will now vanish into the darkness, never to be seen or heard from again. He'd delete his Facebook, or at least block me from ever finding him. He'd remove the dating profile, or at least change the screen name and location. He'd disappear from my life, and I'd never know who he really was, or what, of all the details I knew about him, was the truth.



Twenty minutes pass by without a peep...and then this.



"Okay, you have the truth. I completely fucked up and I sincerely apologize. I am the one you've read about. I just came home from Afghanistan, and was awarded a Purple Heart, just like you read. My life has been nothing but a horror story since I came back from overseas - I almost lost my life over there. I thank God every morning I wake up that he let me still be here. I got so caught up in all this and tripped over my own two feet, and let it drag me into a deeper and deeper hole each day. I hope you can accept my sincere apology and let us both just move on from this. I know the fucked up mess I caused and I'm horribly wrong for doing it. I was to move on, have peace, and no grief. I wish you the absolute best and this message will be my last. I want to move on my life and let you move on with yours and make this right. I don't want to hurt anyone, ever, especially you because you will make someone SO happy someday. Best of luck to you Kayleigh - goodbye."

Tucker #6: Mama, I'm In Love With A Criminal.

Since Tucker's Facebook profile was deleted, and I KNOW y'all can't get enough stalking, I thought I'd throw in a few extra pictures I'd saved, from back when. Since I'm totally a stalker, I'd sufficiently combed his Facebook albums, and downloaded all my favorite photos. Why? So I could e-mail them to all my friends and brag about my hot Southern future hubs, duh.

For your viewing pleasure - a few favorites that didn't make the OkCupid cut.

Oh, sup Lake House...that dwarfs my parents real house. Cripes.

Would I ever fall for someone who WOULDN'T make a fool of himself like this? No.

I've never been much for Brett Michaels, but....

Perfect Redneck man...sweet Jesus, I'm in love.

Rocks the Confederate Flag, but still whips out Lacoste? Yeah, okay.

Oh, Hi T.

That crooked smile...seriously slays me.

Mama Tucker. Aw.

Tucker #8: Won't Get Fooled Again.

I've had five words throw me for a loop, make me cry, and piss me off before.

"Kayleigh, we need to talk." Aw snap.
"It's not you, it's me." Damn right it's you.
"There has been an accident." Stomach drop. Heart in throat.
"Maggie had a bad stroke." Maggie = my sweet yellow lab baby back home.
"Someone ate your butterscotch pudding." SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU DID WHAT. Assholes.
"The beer is all gone." *cry*


Never has five words rocked me quite as hard as William's Facebook response.

"lol, no. but it's cool".


I wasn't surprised. This is what I expected, right? What I had hoped for, even. I knew Tucker was lying to me, and he wasn't recovering from surgery, at home in Rome, Georgia. Still, despite the understanding that this was the case, reading the words from William - the concrete proof that I still had not reached the end of my tormenting from Tucker - broke my heart. Now what? I had confirmed my suspicions, verified William's innocence, and returned to the place I'd begun.

I responded to William's Facebook message, no longer caring if I seemed out of my mind crazy or not. I needed to know where this story would end, and he was my only help from here on out. I had exercised all other options, searched (/stalked) til my fingers were sore, and each time reached another devastating dead end. If I wanted to come to any sort of conclusion, I had to get William's help.

"William, this is the weirdest conversation you will ever have, but we seriously need to talk. I know you dont know me, but will you text me? I have some important info to talk to you about. (Insert phone number given out to total stranger here) -- promise you I'm not crazy - text me and I'll explain everything."


Nuts? Absolutely. But what choice did I have? I gathered my composure, and another Woodstini, and set out for the dance floor, determined to enjoy the rest of the night with my girlfriends. No sooner had I stolen the set list to find out if I'd already missed "Come On, Eileen", (I had, damnit), did my cell phone start ringing. I glanced at the number - not a contact I had saved in my phone - and set it back down, as I rarely answer numbers I don't recognize. I jolted back to attention and scrambled for my phone when I realized what area code was calling - 706 - from Georgia. It was William - it had to be. I dropped my drink, and bolted for the door.

An hour or so later, I was still sitting on a curb outside The Woods, and had nearly finished telling William the entire Tucker story. He was patient as I wound through the harrowing details, stopping every few sentences when I remembered a detail I'd left out. I'm certain he was unbelievably confused, but continued to "uh huh", and "okay" his way through my entire rendition of the tale. When I finally wrapped it up, I asked William if he thought I was crazy. "No," he reassured me, "but all this is." I was relieved that he believed me, first of all. He asked me some questions, I clarified some parts that were confusing, and I welcomed William into what had been my crazy world for the last month.

I asked him what he was thinking, and the most he could muster were remarks about how crazy, how unbelievable, and how creepy this whole thing was. He was furious, first, that Tucker had stolen the names of himself, his parents, and his brother. He was confused as to why someone would want to use his name in order to hide their own identity. Why not a "John Smith" or some other common, inconspicuous, NOT EASILY SEARCHABLE ON GOOGLE YOU DAMN FOOL sort of name. Why was someone running around ripping off his identity, yet combining it with their own photos and life? It didn't make any sense.

The second part of William's anger stemmed from the ludicrous (totally had to look up how to spell that properly - DAMN you Luda!) "confession" of Tucker and William being one and the same. He was nearly speechless, and I sensed the anger in his voice when he told me how he nearly died overseas - nearly lost his life fighting for his country - and this coward, hiding behind a computer screen and a cell phone, has the audacity to claim that strength, that bravery, as his own. I hadn't thought of it this way yet - I was too busy being wrapped up in my own drama to realize the severity of Tucker's claims. When William approached it this way, my anger only intensified, and it was then that we vowed to find him, together, no matter what it took.

William was amazing, right from the get-go. He expressed his own apologies that I was dealing with such an outlandish event. He promised to help me get to the bottom of the mystery, asking for any information I could give him - phone numbers, pictures, e-mail addresses -- anything that might help him track down just who this was. We talked some more, as I walked toward my car. It was so strange to be talking to William - the "real" Tucker - and I was so relieved to find out he was not the one lying to me all along. We talked as though we were old friends - going back and forth from chatting about our nights to marveling at the preposterous predicament we were now forever bonded through. As our discussion came to a close, I promised to send him all of Tucker's information when I returned home, and agreed to touch base the next day to determine the best plan of action.


The next morning, in a haze that I'm certain was a blend of a few too many cocktails, a lack of sleep, and the newest developments in my adventure, I wandered to a good friend's house to share breakfast and unload about my conversations with William the night before. Jamie had heard the story unfold as it went along - she was with me the night weeks before when I was supposed to meet Tucker for the very first time. As I unraveled the details of my communication with William, she tried to piece together the clues and developments as well. Neither of us could get any further with the story, and settled in for our morning's coffee, breakfast, and gossip gab instead. It didn't take long for my phone to alert me of a text message from William, asking me how I was feeling, and checking in for any new information that morning. I had nothing recent to report, so our chat reverted to the standard "can you believe this?" and "holy shit this is insane" that seemed to be par for the course for anything Tucker related these days. He told me he had a few ideas of ways to do some digging, and promised to be in contact the moment he had news, should he uncover anything important.

I went back to chatting with Jamie about knitting, sucking down coffee like it was my job (did I mention I slept TWO hours the night before? Two. Even my BODY was too wrapped up in Tucker to sleep), and casual Facebook meanderings. My phone lit up again - it was William calling. It hadn't been more than a half hour or so since our last conversation - I couldn't imagine what monumental discoveries he could have made in such a short time. I answer the phone, expecting to hear a few more questions, a request for more details, or some clarification about some part of the story.


"So, I downloaded an app on my phone that lets you type in a phone number, and it searches for directory matches AND places on the internet where your phone number might be posted."


"Okay...and?"



"Well I found a match. You are not going to believe this."