The Quest

by Olivia Gracey

  I am no good for anyone when I’m down on myself. I’m a sappy tearful cry-me-a-river-put-a-sad-song-on-the-record-player kind of woman that has to deal with her pain all alone. Today called for one of those days and I just wasn’t prepared for it. I tried to ignore it at first by eating a bowl of ice cream which was a sweet treat but that caused me to want something salty so I grabbed a bag of chips. The chips made me hungry for something spicy which led me to call in an order of hot wings. I trotted down the stairs and across the street still half made up from the date I had earlier with makeup smudges under my eyes now and streaks of tears upon my cheeks. But I didn’t care. I was on a mission to eat my woes away. I was so eager to get back home I almost snatched my to-go order right out of the waitresses hands. I walked hurriedly back to my apartment pulling fries out of the bag two by two licking the salt off my fingers. I couldn’t shuffle them in my mouth fast enough. When I arrived home I dumped what was left of the fries onto a plate and added the boneless hot wings to the pile. I squeezed the blue cheese packet over them and made some comment to my empty apartment about how it makes no sense to serve such good wings without some homemade blue cheese dressing, not packet dressing. “They should be ashamed!” The boneless wings disappeared as if they cared. The fries were gone too and I searched the bag for any that were left behind. Amazingly I was still hungry with my lips on fire from the hot sauce and a salty tongue.

  I opened the fridge to look for another unsuspecting thing I could devour. There sitting on a shelf was a half-eaten pie leftover from the coffee date. “That’s right! I forgot I brought that home with me.” I was reminded that it wasn’t even mine it was Mr. Diarrhea Mouth’s chocolate cream pie that he had packaged up to go. In my midst of scurrying out of there, I had picked it up by mistake. I smiled a wicked smile as I licked the spoon. Then for good measure, I licked the remnants off the packaging. “Whose crying now huh?”

  It seemed I stayed disappointed and longing for something in my life for hours, days, maybe weeks, months more than likely. I was afraid to keep track of the timeline in fear I’d go crazy or desperate. I knew I wanted a man, but not just any man. I wasn’t willing to settle. I knew my worth, I knew what I wanted, and surely he was out there somewhere wanting the same things too. But where? Huntsville was getting scarce. I had already been through all the dating databases many times over, with men within one hundred miles. And on every site, it’s the same ole men. So I decided to try something different. I decided to take off my picture and see if the guys would read my profile. Up the ante they say. Surely if I made it a little more difficult, the ones without pics might come forward too. Not that I hadn’t reached out to a few of those, but they seemed to be writers which in return would naturally be readers. But when I did, my profile became almost desolate. No action. None. Nadda. Zip. Zilch. Just as I had thought. These guys that corresponded before were just scoping for some action. A hookup no doubt. Most all of them sent me messages that were just one liners no real dialog. How can you have one line conversations? It was ridiculous. For example, it would sound something like this:

  “Got any pics?”

  So I replied with a “Hi.” Thinking the guy should have greeted me first if he was a gentleman.

  “Hay,” yeah, he couldn’t spell hey and he followed it up with a phone number adding, “text me.”

  Seriously? Dude if you would have read my profile you would have seen I wasn't looking for a hookup. Read the damn profile. Of course, I ignored him, but his one line emails would keep coming.

  “Can you post a pic?” Followed by another, “I really like football.” And he tags me with the pet name “mysterious lady.” My profile gave you more information about me than you would find if you had met me in person. It revealed all my likes, dislikes, goals, ambitions, work, passions, plus everything I was looking for in a man. You can’t call it a mystery. I even described myself to a science. There just wasn’t a picture. Yeah, I know guys are visual so are we, but you have to read it. It was a requirement I had in order to ask me out. I even joked with some that there would be a quiz just to see if they had read it.

  This guy was getting on my damn nerves! He had me yelling at his emails, “Just because you read the first line in my ‘about me’ section you have to mention that you like football. That does not make me go, Yay! He likes football! He’s the perfect guy for me! Yay!” Really? I haven’t met a man yet that didn’t like football or some kind of sport. Get a clue and learn how to read. My personality required paragraphs. I require depth and substance. I need to be able to relate, not like the talker mind you, but meaningful mutual conversation. I want a guy that let me talk too. Not that I had very important stuff to say, but I needed to be heard every once in a while. You know, so I’d know I was alive and breathing.

  Another guy started off really good then quickly went to a one line conversation too. Too bad too. I was hooked when he said my profile was awesome and when he asked about my workouts I thought this guy had actually read it. He had a sweet build, one of six foot four, edge over edge muscles and a nice rounded smile. The only issue I had, was one of his pictures looked like he could be Radley’s twin. Ugh! I don’t want another Radley or anyone that resembles him. I felt it was bad ju-ju, right from the start. Not that I believe in that but I was not ruling it out either. I kept chatting with him knowing I would never meet him in person. As it turned out, he quickly became one with no depth and no substance too so I was off the hook. Give me dialog Radley-Dude look alike! Give me something that would make me want to meet you in person. Tell me something about you other than what you like to eat in those emails. I really liked that you take care of yourself, loved that actually, but your profile says nothing about you that stands out from the rest. What can you tell me that would make me want to say, “I’d like to meet you in person.” and “How about we grab a drink tonight?”

  I think I have found my new profession; profile writing. I could teach these guys a thing or two about how to capture a woman's heart. I could host a writing class in a local bar, set up a chalkboard, post key words that every man should include in his profile, and teach them what to say in an email when they reach out to the Ladies. I could pass out cliff notes, and cheat sheets for dates, just in case they still don’t have a clue after class. But, I could graduate the ones who do with beers.

  Oh, I could also teach them how to take a selfie so they would post something other than the pics with their last kill; a deer, a turkey, or the biggest fish they caught. Who are they posting those pics for? Another man? You really think we women like to see a bloody deer you hold up by its horns, or ten pics of your dog or car? Yeah, that class I would name Selfie Photo One. Then the follow up class I would name, Selfie Photo Two that emphasized on the essential body parts a woman is most interested in and hobbies. No ladies, not dinger pics, but fine things like nice smiles, biceps, or six pack abs; I agree very few men on the planet have a six pack. Most of them actually have a keg gut, but I’d like to see a few that at least looked like they drank a few less beers. Maybe shots in a tight fitted T-shirt, nice fitting jeans, or speedo. Okay wait, no speedo, scratch that. But don’t get me wrong, while I do love all the pics of your shirtless chest, your dogs, your adventures, your cars, I want to see men hugging their mommas, grilling nice steaks, or building a house. Your curves, your face, your smile, your surroundings tell me a lot like are you a neat guy? A clean freak? Or do you have piles of pizza boxes, un-dumped trash cans, and your toilet covered in pubic hair? Not that I need those pictures, but it would be nice to know rather than be surprised when I use your restroom.

  I scolded myself for that last thought. I was becoming a bitter old lady. What happened to me? I was no longer looking at this as an adventure. My point of view was being muddied by the slush pool of unimaginable guys out there. And nowhere was my Prince to be found. Ugh! Bitter old lady I admitted to. I was out of control, couldn’t help it. I was becoming increasingly lonely, begging the Good Lord to please send me some
one, anyone worthy of my time. Then while I scanned the countless anyones on the dating sites, I was just disgusted. “Okay, Lord, new plan. I lied, not just anyone please, I need that special someone you have picked out just for me. The one that you said would come if I had patience. I’m ready. Ready to receive him now.” Well, yes I did have patience once back then and it took the breath out of me. But this is now, I am turning blue. Today my loneliness was getting the best of me.

  My morning started off on a bad note with the talker, now it was deep in the afternoon and I had nothing. No plans; no follow-up dates; no clue as to what to do with myself for the evening. I had already railroaded all my dating sites, snacked on not so good for me foods, and drowned myself in self-pity. There was nothing left. Then I realized what works best for me other than sleep when I’m in this self-pity loathing lonesome mood. Exercise. So off I was, to run the adjoining neighborhood. I’ve always believed a good run frees the soul. There’s a sense of accomplishment, a sense of freedom, a sense of endorphins releasing in all areas of your body. There’s pool after pool of blood flow waking up areas that lay dormant, increasing the oxygen to the veins, strengthening the lungs, tightening up the crevices within the curves of the buttocks. All your muscles are in unison giving each one a special job to keep you going strong long after you want to quit. Yes, a run is just what I needed. I laced up my shoes, grabbed my iPod, and locked my apartment behind me. First order of business for a warm up; run my three flights of stairs, three times.

  Most days when I run I don’t run into anyone, besides the normal dog walker lady who is being dragged by the four leashed hounds but today was an exception to the rule. Today of all days, why I don’t know, I was toe and heel beside this dude. I say dude only because he isn’t your typical runner, if there is a typical. He has a blond ponytail, spandex short shorts that barely keep his John Thomas in place and he’s shirtless. His shoes are bright yellow, which I‘m kinda fond of, and he’s wearing a reflector headband. Why? So he can be seen of course. The only problem I had with that is it’s not nighttime. No, it’s bright, sun shining daytime and I, out of all the running Huntsvillian’s, am side by side with this character as if we were running partners. He’s messing up my concentration; My mojo. He’s invading my circle. He’s almost as short as I am so lucky me his pace is almost the same as mine.

  “Hi-eye.” He breathes at me.

  I turn my head in his direction not wanting to be rude. “Hih.”

  “Dom-Dominick. Dominick’s my name. What’s what’s yours? Yours?”

  “Sadie.”

  “Ni-i-i-ce to meet you,” he huffs.

  Poor guy needs to stop talking and concentrate on breathing while he runs. So he was nice enough I guess. No harm in the way he spoke. I mean he was just running with me. He seemed a little lonely and eager no doubt wanting a running partner so I guess when he saw me he figured why not join me. But I’ll tell ya, I don’t like running with sweaty shirtless strangers when I run even if their shoes are dazzling. I prefer to run alone. So I took off in a sprint in an effort to outrun him and lose him. And it worked. Or at least I thought I lost him when I rounded the corner until I heard his footsteps trailing me. Soon he was right back beside me glistening in the sunshine blinding me with all his bare-chested whiteness.

  “Yeah, yeah I like sprinting too. Gets the blo… blood flow…” gasping for air, “flowing.”

  “You don’t sound too good, you all right?” I asked being the nice gal that I am. I mean I wouldn’t want to do CPR right here on the streets of Providence. It would be all my fault too if he passed out. I was the one that caused the poor guy to run a sprint. “You might want to slow down, start walking maybe.” I looked hard at the little guy.

  “No, no I’m good. Just a little,” and he wheezed scaring the crap out of me, “winded.”

  His face was flush red and his eyes didn’t look right. I kept my jogging pace slowing it just enough to not run the poor guy ragged. He didn’t need to be running much less running with me. I figured he was lonely too or why else would he be out here looking for someone to tag along with. Not a great way to meet women though. Not a good thing to do if you’ve never done it before either. Running is for runners not for guys just trying to impress a girl. He didn’t think this through. I was feeling sorry for the poor little guy, like a big sister would with a little brother, with every step he took. I realized he wasn’t going to stop running as long as I was running. No, he was going to be right there trying to keep up with me. Crazy nut! Ever have this happen to you? Strangest thing I’ve seen thus far. And this tops the blinking mole.

  “I think I left my stove on,” I blurted and did a U-turn on the pavement. I ran faster making a beeline to my apartment, up the stairs, and back inside behind my door, with it double locked and dead bolted before the poor guy knew I left him. I peeked out the window in search of him, but he was nowhere to be seen. Strange. One minute he was right there, now he’s gone. Did I imagine him? Surely not. My mind isn’t that crazy these days. Dominick, I repeated to myself just to be sure I wasn’t dreaming that he told me his name.

  I slipped into my bedroom and peeled the sweaty layers of clothing off my body one by one. I strap the girls down pretty tight so as they don’t move during my run. Sometimes it’s two bra tops and sometimes three bra tops are called for. Just depends on the amount of support in the layers of each one. I slipped off my tennis shoes and sat them on the dryer to dry. Since I had to cut my run short today, I was hoping I’d have a chance to run again in the morning. Maybe get an early start too so not to be bothered by anyone. Anyone such as the guy named Dominick.

  ***

  Today I had agreed to meet another man I had met online. Are you keeping count? This is number three. His profile was nice, his picture was handsome. Of course, I couldn’t tell if he was truly tall, or fit, or much anything else from his pictures. I had to take his word for it. The pictures were taken so far away even when I blew them up, they were still fuzzy. I had learned from past experiences most of them lie, though. They post old photos, sometimes as far back as high school, and they never admit they are balding.

  Yes, I know, I dated a bald guy once, but he was an exception to the rule. I loved his old shiny bald head! I loved rubbing it down with oil too. He loved it just as much as I did. Oh how I remember those playful oil fights.

  Once I thought I’d surprise him and I bought a plastic cover for our mattress. I slipped it on tight making sure all corners were tucked, and then I pulled out two bottles of baby oil and squirted the plastic mattress pad good. I slipped off my clothes and tied my hair back pinning my locks onto my head so I wouldn’t get too much oil in my hair. When he came through the door that evening after work, I was ready for him. I made little arrows leading from the foyer back to our bedroom. Each one with little instructions like, TAKE OFF YOUR SHIRT AND TIE, LEAVE YOUR SHOES HERE, LEAVE YOUR PANTS WHERE YOU STAND, DROP THOSE DRAWERS, and the arrows went on till he was buck naked standing in the doorway of the room where I laid bucked naked across a very slicked down bed. His smile was wide when he saw the slippery slideable me. He took a flying leap in the air like superman landing beside me but his body didn’t stop there, no he continued to fly off the mattress and onto the other side landing on the floor.

  When he stood to his feet his body was shining with oil which made things that much funnier when he joined me on the oiled sheets. Our time together was intense taking turns pouring what was left of the oil on each other. It was a challenge to stay on top without sliding off of him. I was, of course, trying to stick to the golden rule of a lady riding high if you want to look your best. Yeah, it wasn’t working too well in this particular event. But the oil made some positions easier, slipperier, and sexier so it was all worth it. And once his bald head was slathered, covered, and smoothed all over in oil, he rubbed it against my naked body just to make me even more crazy. It wasn’t hard to be crazy about him. He had it all. His smile was infectious, I remember, his eyes very pas
sionate. He was amazing fun! Always! There are days I miss him badly, but today couldn’t be one of those days, I reminded myself.

  Chapter Five

  When Pigs Fly

  So back to the date that I am supposed to be having today, date number three. We had plans to meet on the streets of Providence and then ride together to eat at a local sushi restaurant. Why on the streets? Well, due to the last incident of the little man with combed over hair and Radley appearing out of the blue at my door, I felt this was a much safer place to meet. Plus if it turned out he was a little creepy, I could bolt and he’d never know where I lived. The guy seemed very nice so I really doubted I would be running though. He had always been polite with his correspondence, in depth with his conversations, and quite the gentleman. I couldn’t tell much about his appearance by his pictures so I wasn’t as excited to meet him as he was to meet me. You know those types, the ones that don’t take good snapshots of their face or they are taken from way far away. He seemed to be the over-zealous type too and anxious to have a date. Yes, immediately red flags were flying. And I just wasn’t that keen on eating sushi either. Oh, I love sushi, just not for a first date. What if he turned out to be really hot? I didn’t want to be smelling of raw fish when or if we kissed! But nothing else came to mind when he suggested sushi so I didn’t veto it.

  His name was Mike. Nice normal name right? He arrived on time; I was not quite ready when he arrived. Yeah, the procrastination vibe set in and I was dragging my feet getting ready. I gave it my best shot to talk myself out of it too. When he messaged me from the corner, I sent him a quick message apologizing for being late and told him I’d be there soon.