but living in entirely different worlds.
— Haruki Murakami
Internet chat rooms are the last resort of the lost, or so I thought. When Elle suggested I try one, I figured I had hit rock bottom.
“Don’t be so dramatic, James—it’s not the end of the world.”
“Well, what would you call it? A guy’s gotta be pretty hard up to descend to that level.”
I could imagine Elle rolling her lovely eyes heavenward—actually, I imagine Elle a lot, but then, that’s the story of my life—can never have what I want.
“Look, Love—you don’t dance, so clubs are out. You don’t date because you’ve been burned—what else is left, except eternal bachelorhood?”
I get it—she means well. I hate it, when she means well—and that’s why we are where we are.
My thoughts segue to a dark bar and one of those drunken confessions I seem famous for:
I love you, Elle—I can see us together forever.
Truth was, I was lucky to ever see her again—a perfect case of putting the cart before the horse.
Did I scare her, or was the thought of her and me that absurd? I’ll never know.
Fortunately, we work together in a law firm so we we’re bound to each other.
Mind you, there were times I thought she’d leave—pursue other opportunities, career related and otherwise.
But, she didn’t and we’re stuck.
By mutual unspoken consent my drunken misstep has been swept out by the tide, leaving me longing to sail away to Key Largo—but unfortunately, alone. And with that hope in permanent dry dock, I’m slowly succumbing to dry rot myself.
“Hello—James are you there?”
“Yeah—I’m here,” I croak.
And I’ll be here for the count, until I drown beneath a sea of torts, here at Marshall & Forbes—clinging to a rock while my Siren holds me in her thrall.
One thing for sure, I won’t settle—It’s Elle, or nothing at all.
Friday night, Elle and I stay late. I suggest dinner at the bar, but she wistfully smiles. That boat has sailed, I suppose.
We part on the rainy corner outside the firm—she heading home to her lake view condo, I to my reno near the park.
On a whim, I bought a painted lady—a dignified old Victorian manse that had seen better days, but I liked it. In a way, it was like me. We both had a past. Not much of a future though, as far as I could see.
I was tired of scaffolding and perpetually discovering new caches of knob and tube wiring. It was exhausting. I confess—nights like these, I envied dead people.
On the way home, I stop by a liquor store and buy a bottle of Yellow Tail, and then, on to the supermarket for a t-bone, a russet potato and the fixings for a salad. Somewhat healthy, I console myself.
Once home, I squeeze past the scaffolding in the hall, run a minefield of power saw, drill and sander to make it to the kitchen. While the gas oven’s heating, I make coffee and get down the salad bowl—that’s when I realize I’ve forgotten to buy milk.
Coffee on— Milk gone. Such a sad life and fading. I never liked Donovan—maybe, but then again, I never much liked myself.
I pour a large glass of Yellow Tail and soldier on. Famous for it. Why not? I’m a survivor—just forgot to live.
Later, I watch rain trails trill down the window and dream a little dream of Elle.
Now, my self-pity is even sickening me. I get angry. I go into the study, turn on the computer and go to the chat room Elle suggested. Almost immediately, I get a hit.
A girl named Ekeivn responds to me. I’m not thrilled by the name—especially the first three letters, but she seems friendly enough and we begin to talk. An hour later, we’re still on-line, pouring out our souls.
I feel she probably thinks I’m some frustrated husband posing as an eligible young guy—my wife doesn’t understand me, and all that rot.
She, on the other hand, seems really sweet and sincere. I’m not sure if I am, but it’s been so long since anybody flirted with me, let alone listened to me, and I’m letting this take me wherever it leads.
By 3 am, I feel I’ve known her all my life. I go to type a sentence, and she answers before I begin. Finally, I jokingly tell her, forget the typing—just think the thoughts—it’s quicker. She laughs—tells me to go to bed and dream of her.
I do. And I will never forget that dream…
It was the beginning an experience that's forever etched inside of me