Excerpt: Untitled

I sighed as I tried, imperceptibly, to glance down at my watch for the hundredth time. The woman sitting across from me nervously chewed at her nails as her knee bounced at an impressive pace. Every glass at the table trembled slightly, disturbing the contents with the constant vibration of the table. She smiled at me politely, albeit with a slight twitch. I thought maybe I should think of something to say to this waif of a girl, but nothing about her thin, straight brown hair or dull eyes sparked any kind of desire to do so. Never in my life had I been so utterly bored and annoyed.

The only reason I had agreed to this blind date was at the behest of my landlord who had insisted I take his niece out for dinner. Initially I had refused, but when he promised to knock two hundred bucks off next month’s rent I figured what the hell. I was wondering now if it was really worth the headache. This girl looked as though she were coming down off of something and just itching to get out of here so she could get her next fix. Honestly, I should have known. Her uncle wasn’t exactly the most clean-cut guy I’d ever met. I was probably the only one in the building not dealing or pimping or on parole or any combination of those, which is why he probably asked me and not someone else.

However, lately I had been finding myself wishing for something more. What that “more” was exactly, I wasn’t sure of. At first I thought it was just a malaise brought on by my mid-thirties. After a brief examination I realized that I wasn’t at all bothered by being thirty-five. Then I thought perhaps it was the monotony of my work. But, as a fact-checker for one of the leading newspapers in the country, I generally loved my job and it brought something new every day. I had great friends and a moderate social life. I wasn’t wealthy by any means, but I was comfortable in my station in life. Even living in a run-down apartment had the advantage that there was always something interesting going on. I was on a first-name basis with several of the police detectives because of it, which was actually a help in my job. Hell, I had even had a byline or two for my own articles.

It was then that I realized perhaps it was my love life that I had been neglecting. I had dated various women off and on through the years, but had never met anyone I was serious about. They were either too ambitious, too pretentious, too clingy, too distant, or too anything. And now, sitting here across from this vapid girl, I saw that perhaps I had made a poor decision. The moment she had walked into this little Chinese restaurant off twenty-fifth avenue, I knew that nothing aside from a “blind date horror story” would come out of this.

It wasn’t until the food came that we had much conversation past the basic introductions. As soon as the waiter set down the plates, bowed, and retreated back to the kitchen, her mouth started running at one hundred miles an hour. I vaguely listened to her jabbering for about five minutes before I tuned her out and focused on the sweet and sour chicken and lo mein in front of me. The occasional word would drift in and out of my consciousness, but mostly it was just white noise. At one point she reached across the table for her water glass and I noticed some tracks up the veins of her arms. She kept on talking as she held the drink in her hand, then set it back down a moment later without taking even a sip.

My thoughts started drifting, as they often did in situations like this, and I started taking note of the other patrons around me. As I glanced from table to table, something very odd struck me. All the customers seemed to be happy couples. I looked from face to face and saw nothing but sheer bliss at each stop. The comfortable silences, the small gestures or tender touches that were so significant, it was as though I suddenly found myself in an alternate reality where everyone was in love.

It wasn’t as though there were something wrong with being in love. It was just so strange that everyone in this place (I even noticed the smiles and fleeting glances between a cook and a waitress) was in such a state. Looking back at my date (I think her name was Sindy or Sarah or something with an S), I was struck with the obvious ludicrousness of my predicament.

The S-girl didn’t touch her food the whole ridiculous meal. She just sat there, bouncing her knee and yammering like an imbecile with no control over herself. As I picked at the last of my dinner I heard something about money for a taxi. Without a second thought, I threw a twenty dollar bill at her. I’d have paid fifty just to be rid of her, but she seemed satisfied with what she had and she was gone before I could even ask for the check. The waiter came back and asked if I wanted a box for the young lady’s leftovers. S-girl hadn’t so much as lifted a fork. It seemed a waste to toss it out so I had him throw it all in to-go containers. When he returned with the small brown bag, he put down a small black tray with the check and a fortune cookie.

“Special fortune for you,” he indicated the cookie. “Bring you good luck.”

I nodded absently as I rifled through my wallet for another twenty to pay for the meal. At least the food was cheap, even if the date had been a disaster. I decided I might come back, but the couples thing was starting to grate on my nerves. The man looked insistent about the fortune cookie, so I tossed it into the doggy bag. I slipped my arms into my brown leather jacket and walked out the door, wind chimes clanging against the glass as I left.

It was still early, but the sun had gone down an hour ago. There was a chill in the air, a sure sign that autumn was descending upon the city. Just the other day I had noticed the leaves beginning to turn. I decided to take a walk instead of going straight home.
The evening was pleasant, if not a little chilly. I found walks through the city in the evenings to be very calming. When I had a problem I found particularly difficult, I would often take walks. Depending on the problem, I could solve it with a five-minute stroll or a two hour hike. There was just something soothing about the rhythmic pat-pat my shoes made on the pavement and the constant sense of motion. It made things seem less difficult when I stepped away and opened my eyes to the world around me. Reminding myself that there was more out there than my own small worry often shed new light on things and I could see the issue from other angles.

It was almost eight o’clock when I wandered into a park. There was a fountain in the center, and it’s quiet splashing drew me in. I seated myself on a bench in the courtyard and just listened for awhile. After a few minutes another sound accosted my ears. My stomach grumbled loudly.

That was the trouble with Chinese food. An hour after you eat it, you’re hungry again.
I fished around in the brown sack from the restaurant until I found the plastic-wrapped fortune cookie. It crinkled noisily as I pulled apart the wrapper. It certainly wasn’t the most filling thing in the world, but it would do until I got home. I snapped it in half and slid the paper fortune into my pocket. I never read a fortune before I ate the cookie. I suppose it’s silly of me, especially since I don’t really take much stock in Chinese fortunes anyway. It’s just what I’ve always done.

I leaned back on the bench and munched on the Asian confection. It was tiny in my rather large hands. I was always mindful of my hands. In my younger days they had caused me quite a few problems, so I learned to be extra careful. In no other way was I by any means a graceful creature, but people were often surprised at how gentle or accurate I could be with hands nearly the size of baseball mitts.

After running my fingers over my pants to brush off the crumbs, I leaned back and closed my eyes. The gentle cooing of pigeons mixed with the splashing of water, creating a natural symphony in the middle of urban chaos. Somewhere in the distance, a noisy radio broke through the tranquility of my moment. I frowned as I tried to block out the insistent advertisement talking about the newest, hottest internet dating website. My ability to tune things out was fairly advanced, but I was having a considerable amount of difficulty ignoring this commercial. The name of the company, Olympus Connections, assailed my ears as static overtook the station and whoever owned the radio, turned it down below audible volumes.

Instead of feeling relaxed, I was again in a state of agitation. I grabbed up my doggie bag and headed out of the park, just in time to see another couple clinging to each other as they walked in.

Continuing on down the street, I seemed to pass families and happy couples at every turn. Where walking normally eased my mind, for once I found myself unable to focus on anything. A bus rumbled by, the flashy advertisement on its side declaring the unfailing ability of Olympus Connections to find my true love. Again with this Olympus Connections thing. I decided it was just coincidence.

The sirens and constant sounds of arguments told me I was home. It was nearly nine o’clock, so it was about time for the nightly rumble in apartment 2A. I punched in the door code and pulled open the squeaky barred door. Just inside, I unlocked my mailbox and pulled out the junk mail and bills that had accumulated over the last three days, then went on my way. Right on time, the crash of a bottle being thrown at the wall indicated the start of the fight in 2A. I didn’t even glance down the hall on the second floor as I plodded up the stairs to my fourth floor one bedroom flat.

Six keys for six locks. I unbolted each one in a well-practiced rhythm. I found that multiple locks seemed to deter any wound-be thieves. Six seemed to be the magic number. At three, four, and five I’d had break-ins. So either it had been decided that I had nothing further of value to steal, or six deadbolts just seemed like too much work for criminals.

When I entered my humble abode, I felt immediately better, like I was somehow shielded from the harassment of the outside world and all its contented pairs. I set the mail and the Chinese food down on the table inside the door and took off my jacket. As I hung it on the hook, the breeze it made caused a leaflet from my mail to fall to the floor. I bent to pick it up, only to find that it was a flyer for none other than Olympus Connections. Feeling my blood begin to boil, I crumpled it into a ball and launched it across the room. Talk about target marketing.
I sighed unhappily and started my nightly routine. First came my shower, which really did wonders for my mood. The water seemed to wash my frustrations down the drain. If nothing else, this apartment had excellent water pressure. This was about the only great thing about it.

I stepped out of the shower and opened the bathroom door in a rush of hot air. The sudden chill made my wet skin break out in goosebumps as I tied the towel around my waist. When I got to the bedroom I dropped the towel and threw my well-worn bathrobe on and stepped into a clean pair of boxers. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and scowled. My chin was all stubble. It may not have been an ideal first date, but I suppose I should have at least shaved for the occasion. Now that I thought of it, I hadn’t even bothered to put on an ironed shirt or slacks. It was hardly like me to not at least show common courtesy to someone I was meeting, even if I had been bribed to take them to dinner. But, there was nothing to be done about it now.

I gave myself a second look. There was nothing spectacularly handsome about me, but I had a nice strong jawline, barely any wrinkles, and I stayed in relatively good shape. I wasn’t sporting a six-pack by the loosest definition of the term, but I had at least managed to avoid the beer gut that anyone out of college seems to gather around their midsection. The only thing about me that could really give away my age was the silvery hair around my temples. It was pretty shocking to find gray patches at twenty-six, but there wasn’t anything I could do about them. At first I’d thought to color them, but I found that no matter what brand of dye I used or which uppity men’s hair salon I went to, it was always the same result. By morning the patches were back. As alarmed as I was when they appeared, I’ve become comfortable with them over the years. The fact that no other place on my head followed suit made it a bit easier to swallow. The trips to the hair salon still haunted me.

I grabbed a beer out of the fridge on the trip back to the living room. I plopped myself down on my broken-in, but not broken, couch and hit the power button on the remote. I flipped over to the national news. Naturally, it was on commercial, which wouldn’t have bothered me so much, except that it was a commercial for Olympus Connections. With admirable restraint I changed the channel rather than threw the remote at the TV.
One of those night time news magazine shows was on the next station up. The anchorman was talking about one of the upcoming stories on tonight’s program, and it sounded half-way interesting so I tossed the remote on the seat next to me.
“But before we bring you tonight’s feature story,” I groaned as the newscaster delayed the part I wanted to hear, “first we have a heart-warming tale of four couples who met in a way that, twenty years ago, would have seemed like something out of a science fiction story. Today, internet dating has become a common fixture in our society. Tonight, we bring you the story of four of the most unlikely matches, but ones that have miraculously survived fire, war, cancer, and the alienation of their families. Here’s Melinda Brookstone with this tale of true romance, twenty-first century style.”
It was like the world was against me. My eyes stayed glued to the television, despite my aversion to the subject matter of the program before me, and I was soon listening to stories of couples that had all met through an internet dating service. The first couple, a twenty-five year old man and a forty-two year old woman, had an instant connection when they met four years prior. Soon after their wedding, the young man was deployed with his National Guard unit and sent to Iraq, where a roadside bomb claimed his left arm and leg. Even despite this tragedy, the two were still as in love as the day they met, and were now expecting their first child. The second couple had been married for five years. One year ago, they lost their home in a tragic fire that claimed the man’s mother. The third pair, a Canadian man and a woman from Arizona, battled through her breast cancer and his skin melanomas simultaneously. It was the last couple, however, that really intrigued me. A thirty-eight year old man from Saudi Arabia and a twenty-six year old woman from New York City had been brought together by this internet dating service. He had been raised in a strict Islamist family, and she was the daughter of a militant feminist. I boggled at how someone could have thought that match was ever a good idea. Both families had been staunchly opposed to the two even meeting, but on a secret vacation in Morocco, the two had their first face to face meeting and instantly fell in love. After that, nothing anyone said or did could keep them from being married. They found acceptance in the Unitarian Church and were now happily living in western Washington state.

When the piece was over, I turned off the television. I no longer wanted to hear about the archeological findings in Greece.

So I went about my nightly routine. Switching on my laptop, I made a quick scan of my email. I had a few answers on things I was researching at work, but I put them aside for tomorrow. There were several pieces of spam that my junk mail filter hadn’t caught, including one from Olympus Connections, which I deleted with extra fervor on the mouse button. Next up was my nightly perusal of the blogs I read. I had a good chuckle at a post about an author obsessed with cats, but nothing struck me as truly newsworthy. When I came to the last blog, I found myself suddenly inundated with popups for Olympus Connections. I screamed in fury as I desperately tried to close the hundreds of windows that filled my screen, all with the same advertisement. In a rage I switched off the computer, cursing my popup blocker for being on the fritz at the worst possible time. And then I cursed at myself. I hadn’t saved the document I was working on earlier in the day.

Packing up the computer, I decided to let it go and deal with it tomorrow. My empty beer bottle got tossed into the recycle bin, and the Chinese food I had forgotten to put away went into the trash. It was upsetting that I had to toss a full meal, but it had reminded me that I hadn’t read the fortune from the cookie yet. I fished the slip of paper out of my jacket pocket and turned it over to the printed side.
I had to steady myself with a hand on the wall as I read the words.

“James, Olympus Connections wants you.”