I was wracked by a new flu strain. Isabel Vineberg, our district doctor, prohibited all friends' visits and prescribed a whole lot of medicines that made me drowsy. Endless TV shows and series didn't call my attention. My mother would visit me after work, and chatting with her somewhat lightened my miserable existence, but her presence wore me down as well. Saint Valentine's Day was approaching, and I was in a dismal mood. It had been six months since my break up with James.
One of those evenings I looked after my mom as she left, then somberly opened my notebook to check Facebook and Twitter. There was nothing interesting, so I decided to get into a chat room, hoping it would cheer me up. Although I usually avoided those killers of live communication, in the current situation it seemed like a good idea. At once I ran into a couple of offers to cut the dust. Stupid nicknames like SWEETIE89 and BE_MINE only strengthened my belief that chat rooms weren't the best places to meet new people. Putting the notebook to the side, I stared at the ceiling illuminated by the car lights. The thought of celebrating Valentines Day alone, without flowers and presents, without going to the movies, filled me with despair, and bitter tears blurred my eyes.
An encompassing wave of depression was interrupted by a sharp beep. I jerked nervously and stared at the monitor, which displayed the following message:
"Hello! I am a geologist from the Sun." Well, I thought, at least it's not corny. "I am looking for a missing component for an important solar discovery. Might it be you?" he typed.
I don't know what came over me when I agreed to exchange our phone numbers right away. It turned out that the "Sun geologist" had an earthly name, Alexander, and that he lived on the Sunny Street. From then on my sick days were filled wit joy and life didn't seem so dull anymore. His text messages were coming one after another, and I could no longer imagine my days without Alexander’s voice. The peak moment happened when my door bell rang, interrupting our phone conversation. I opened the door and saw a delivery man with a huge plush rabbit, a bunch of balloons tied to the rabbit’s soft feet.
"Is this for me?" I asked, amazed. "Of course it is for you. It’s the Sun rabbit. Get better", said Alexander's voice in my phone. "But how did you know my apartment number?" I wondered. "It wasn't that difficult," he laughed. "You told me your building number, and you are the only Margaret living there, not counting the eighty two year old Margaret Johnson on the first floor."
It’s great when you have a similar mindset with another person. It was as if Alexander was my personification in another body. Like me, he loved thunderstorms, evening walks on the beach, and feeling of the morning dew on his bare feet. He liked hot chocolate and pet rabbits, fast bike rides, and singing in the shower. He majored in architecture - something I was unable to accomplish at some point of my life, and, like me, he painted landscapes. My illness was diminishing, and doctor Vineberg promised to release me from my “house arrest” in a couple of days.
"Come to your senses!" my friend Bettie tried to disabuse me of my romantic euphoria. "What if he turns out to be a short, blotchy creep with a fat belly? You haven't even seen his photo!" I tried to calm Bettie by telling her that there was nothing wrong if two people with matching interests wanted to meet even if they’d met online. Besides, he hadn't seen my picture either.
Alexander called around 7 PM and proposed to meet the next day. We decided we would meet in the nearby park in front of the Central Alley. Alexander described himself as a tall, blonde, blue-eyed man who would be dressed in a black leather jacket and a pair of blue jeans. I decided not to say anything about myself because I wanted to see him first.
I was so nervous! I spent an entire hour straightening my hair, and another hour an a half was wasted on choosing what to wear. Then I did my special eye make up. A couple of perfume drops, and, at last, I was ready. Worrying about my hair, I called a taxi.
I got to the park on time and was shocked by the number of people waiting for their dates around the spot Alexander and I had picked. Several pairs of young people were kissing passionately. Laughing children scampered by, followed by their screaming parents. I chose one of the unoccupied park benches and looked around. Opposite of me sat a gum-chewing, slattern-looking guy, and next to him was an old man with a paper bag of sunflower seeds. The old man was feeding pigeons, and it seemed they weren’t afraid of him. I assumed that he used to feed these birds regularly because they gathered around him fearlessly, raising clouds of feathers and drops of the melting snow.
“Will you stop feeding these disgusting creatures already!” the untidy guy snapped. “What a lousy day. She is late, damn her, someone spilled their coffee all over my jacket… And now, these pigeons!”
“How strange,” I thought. “Alexander is also late, and he said he’d be wearing a black leather jacket as well.” My thoughts were interrupted by the rude guy who was now talking on the phone: “Yeah, I am in the park in front of your apartment building! Come on, I’ve been waiting forever!”
I thought of calling Alexander, but something stopped me. Another young man approached. He carried two paper bags in his hands, and it was obvious that they contained beer bottles. My rude bench neighbor went on to complain that the kiosk owners didn’t bother to open the beers. “Calm down, Alex,” his friend said. “I’ll open them with my keys.”
Alex?! My feelings sank. I never expected to see this “Alex” instead of my romantic Alexander. He called himself blue-eyed, but instead I saw the watery, lack-luster eyes of an alcoholic. The promised blonde wasn’t there either - his colorless, greasy hair barely covered the bold spot. And I dared to believe that I was so close to happiness! I imagined the triumph on Bettie’s face.
I slowly rose from the bench and headed to the nearby café. Disappointed, I was waiting for the scrawny waiter to bring me my hot coffee. The place was rather crowded, so it was going to take a while.
The door opened. A good-looking young man came in. He looked around, saw an empty chair next to my table, and quickly approached. “May I?” he asked, shaking snowflakes off the sleeve of his black leather jacket. “Sure”, I shrugged, smelling the nice, faint aroma of his expensive perfume. “Please forgive me,” he blurted out, “but I am in desperate need of your help. I was supposed to meet with one beautiful lady a while ago, but it seems we’ve missed one another. My phone is dead, I cannot call her. I am afraid she’ll think badly of me if I don’t find her at once. Would you let the unpunctual guff-ball borrow your phone?”
Doubting for a moment, I decided I had nothing to lose. “Sure,” I said. “I hope you’ll be able to save yourself in the eyes of your beautiful lady.” Thanking me, the stranger dialed. “It doesn’t go through,” he said a moment later, baffled. “Let me try,” I said. “Give me her number.” “Fourteen, seventy seven…” he started. “But this is my number!” I exclaimed, astonished, staring at the blonde man in blue jeans and a black leather jacket, and drowning in his deep-blue eyes.
© Elena Ohotnik.
One of those evenings I looked after my mom as she left, then somberly opened my notebook to check Facebook and Twitter. There was nothing interesting, so I decided to get into a chat room, hoping it would cheer me up. Although I usually avoided those killers of live communication, in the current situation it seemed like a good idea. At once I ran into a couple of offers to cut the dust. Stupid nicknames like SWEETIE89 and BE_MINE only strengthened my belief that chat rooms weren't the best places to meet new people. Putting the notebook to the side, I stared at the ceiling illuminated by the car lights. The thought of celebrating Valentines Day alone, without flowers and presents, without going to the movies, filled me with despair, and bitter tears blurred my eyes.
An encompassing wave of depression was interrupted by a sharp beep. I jerked nervously and stared at the monitor, which displayed the following message:
"Hello! I am a geologist from the Sun." Well, I thought, at least it's not corny. "I am looking for a missing component for an important solar discovery. Might it be you?" he typed.
"Is this for me?" I asked, amazed. "Of course it is for you. It’s the Sun rabbit. Get better", said Alexander's voice in my phone. "But how did you know my apartment number?" I wondered. "It wasn't that difficult," he laughed. "You told me your building number, and you are the only Margaret living there, not counting the eighty two year old Margaret Johnson on the first floor."
It’s great when you have a similar mindset with another person. It was as if Alexander was my personification in another body. Like me, he loved thunderstorms, evening walks on the beach, and feeling of the morning dew on his bare feet. He liked hot chocolate and pet rabbits, fast bike rides, and singing in the shower. He majored in architecture - something I was unable to accomplish at some point of my life, and, like me, he painted landscapes. My illness was diminishing, and doctor Vineberg promised to release me from my “house arrest” in a couple of days.
"Come to your senses!" my friend Bettie tried to disabuse me of my romantic euphoria. "What if he turns out to be a short, blotchy creep with a fat belly? You haven't even seen his photo!" I tried to calm Bettie by telling her that there was nothing wrong if two people with matching interests wanted to meet even if they’d met online. Besides, he hadn't seen my picture either.
Alexander called around 7 PM and proposed to meet the next day. We decided we would meet in the nearby park in front of the Central Alley. Alexander described himself as a tall, blonde, blue-eyed man who would be dressed in a black leather jacket and a pair of blue jeans. I decided not to say anything about myself because I wanted to see him first.
I was so nervous! I spent an entire hour straightening my hair, and another hour an a half was wasted on choosing what to wear. Then I did my special eye make up. A couple of perfume drops, and, at last, I was ready. Worrying about my hair, I called a taxi.
I got to the park on time and was shocked by the number of people waiting for their dates around the spot Alexander and I had picked. Several pairs of young people were kissing passionately. Laughing children scampered by, followed by their screaming parents. I chose one of the unoccupied park benches and looked around. Opposite of me sat a gum-chewing, slattern-looking guy, and next to him was an old man with a paper bag of sunflower seeds. The old man was feeding pigeons, and it seemed they weren’t afraid of him. I assumed that he used to feed these birds regularly because they gathered around him fearlessly, raising clouds of feathers and drops of the melting snow.
“Will you stop feeding these disgusting creatures already!” the untidy guy snapped. “What a lousy day. She is late, damn her, someone spilled their coffee all over my jacket… And now, these pigeons!”
“How strange,” I thought. “Alexander is also late, and he said he’d be wearing a black leather jacket as well.” My thoughts were interrupted by the rude guy who was now talking on the phone: “Yeah, I am in the park in front of your apartment building! Come on, I’ve been waiting forever!”
I thought of calling Alexander, but something stopped me. Another young man approached. He carried two paper bags in his hands, and it was obvious that they contained beer bottles. My rude bench neighbor went on to complain that the kiosk owners didn’t bother to open the beers. “Calm down, Alex,” his friend said. “I’ll open them with my keys.”
Alex?! My feelings sank. I never expected to see this “Alex” instead of my romantic Alexander. He called himself blue-eyed, but instead I saw the watery, lack-luster eyes of an alcoholic. The promised blonde wasn’t there either - his colorless, greasy hair barely covered the bold spot. And I dared to believe that I was so close to happiness! I imagined the triumph on Bettie’s face.
I slowly rose from the bench and headed to the nearby café. Disappointed, I was waiting for the scrawny waiter to bring me my hot coffee. The place was rather crowded, so it was going to take a while.
The door opened. A good-looking young man came in. He looked around, saw an empty chair next to my table, and quickly approached. “May I?” he asked, shaking snowflakes off the sleeve of his black leather jacket. “Sure”, I shrugged, smelling the nice, faint aroma of his expensive perfume. “Please forgive me,” he blurted out, “but I am in desperate need of your help. I was supposed to meet with one beautiful lady a while ago, but it seems we’ve missed one another. My phone is dead, I cannot call her. I am afraid she’ll think badly of me if I don’t find her at once. Would you let the unpunctual guff-ball borrow your phone?”
Doubting for a moment, I decided I had nothing to lose. “Sure,” I said. “I hope you’ll be able to save yourself in the eyes of your beautiful lady.” Thanking me, the stranger dialed. “It doesn’t go through,” he said a moment later, baffled. “Let me try,” I said. “Give me her number.” “Fourteen, seventy seven…” he started. “But this is my number!” I exclaimed, astonished, staring at the blonde man in blue jeans and a black leather jacket, and drowning in his deep-blue eyes.
© Elena Ohotnik.
