by Nella Tyler
As you know, I’ve never had children and was always hoping that might still be in my very immediate future. After all, that clock is ticking. I don’t think the issue was on my side, but on my late husband’s. He’d had a serious childhood illness and I think he just didn’t have the motility required.
Sorry if that’s too personal, but I suppose you’re right. These things are better discussed in a message than face to face where they can become awkward.
I spent the afternoon pampering myself and am in a bit of glow this evening. Let’s chat again this week and I’ll give you my answer.
~ Mac
P.S. Would you have a problem if I checked you out?
Mackenzie sent the last question as a second message, based primarily on the warning plan the stylist had suggested. If this Bill was the real thing, he shouldn’t mind. If he wasn’t, it was better to sort that all out now.
There were several messages from other men, some of whom were appropriate and some who lived too far away and evidently had other agendas. She was beginning to catch on to the game of online dating.
She wasn’t certain whether that was a good or bad thing. On one hand, it tarnished the illusion that there were a lot of suitable men out there from whom she could find someone she liked. On the other hand, she felt a bit safer knowing that there were things to be watchful for and she didn’t want to learn those rules the hard way.
There was a ding and a message box popped up.
HarryM: Hey, beautiful. How’s it going?
AliceWonderland: Hi! I’m starting to get the hang of all this. I’ve been talking to some people and blocking most of them.
HarryM: Good to know I’m not among that latter group.
AliceWonderland: Not yet.
HarryM: So, do I sense a shaft of sunshine?
AliceWonderland: Sort of. All this has my feminine side fired up, and I’ve been doing some makeover changes.
HarryM: Do tell. Like?
AliceWonderland: Well, first of all, I went to work and didn’t blab all about my personal life to anyone there, including my best friend, Lucy. She wasn’t happy and is still trying to get things out of me.
HarryM: I’ll bet. Women are sort of funny that way. What else?
AliceWonderland: I went by the mall this afternoon and got a new hairstyle and some clothes. Also got quite a bit of advice.
HarryM: Oh?
AliceWonderland: First my stylist and then the gal who helped me at the dress shop. Mostly the stylist. She seems to be quite up on all this. Gave me a lot of tips on what to look for, how to check people out, and how to spot a rotten apple in the bushel, so to speak.
HarryM: Ahhh…a former participant. Have to be a bit careful of those. If they’ve been burned, they’re going to give you a lot of negatives. You need to hear both sides of the story.
AliceWonderland: Well, then I also had my first meet and greet over the weekend.
HarryM: Oh? Really? Tell, tell.
AliceWonderland: A nice man. He only lives a few miles from me and is divorced, two sons. We shared a glass of wine and some conversation at a local place, and then I came home. He has asked me to dinner this Friday.
HarryM: And, you said?
AliceWonderland: I said I’d let him know.
HarryM: What keeps you from saying yes?
AliceWonderland: Well, my stylist told me to check people out thoroughly before getting involved. So, I decided to try that tonight. But first, I asked his permission.
HarryM: Did he give you the thumbs up?
AliceWonderland: I haven’t heard back yet. I only sent that message a few minutes ago.
HarryM: Well, I can’t say it’s a bad idea, but I’m guessing there will be some guys who might not be bad eggs, but will be suspicious of women who want to check them out.
AliceWonderland: Why would they?
HarryM: Ah, well, could mean she’s a stalker type. Maybe clingy and high drama. They could say “no” – and not only to letting you check them out, but to having anything to do with you at all.
AliceWonderland: Well, wouldn’t that make it a smart thing to do on my part, then?
HarryM: Perhaps. Or, you could just find someone who is a decent guy who likes to keep things close to his chest. He might be exactly the kind of guy you’re looking for, but isn’t going to like you snooping about. At least, not this early in the game.
AliceWonderland: I could see that, I suppose. But, on the other hand, I could be averting danger, don’t you think?
HarryM: That’s true, and I’m not saying it’s a bad idea, just saying it might spook some decent guys off.
AliceWonderland: I think that’s a risk I’m willing to take.
HarryM: You’re catching on. I like that. Shows you’re smart.
AliceWonderland: How about you?
HarryM: Me? Me, what?
AliceWonderland: What would you say if I asked you if I could check you out?
HarryM: If you and I were going to date, I’d be open to it. But don’t think just because I’m a guy that I’m going to fork over all my private information right away.
AliceWonderland: What are you scared of?
HarryM: I had one buddy named Dell. He works for the power company, a foreman. He’s almost ready for retirement and never married. I knew he was ripe, but didn’t get to him fast enough. He went on one of these sites and immediately, someone found him. She went for his throat and then played the poor dame, and he bent over backwards to help her out. She got close to him, close enough that he friended her on Facebook. That’s when she stung him. She took him for $70k (a chunk of his retirement money saved) and approached all his friends based on his referral and asked them for money, too. Not sure what the total was, but when it was all over, Dell was robbed and friendless. Not good.
AliceWonderland: Oh, my God! That’s horrible.
HarryM: Probably the saddest part is that it has soured him on women altogether now. He doesn’t trust his own judgment. It’s likely he’ll never get married, so he’ll die alone. That’s some sad shit.
AliceWonderland: I can see that. How awful. I guess I never considered men could be victimized as easily as women.
HarryM: Well, women are the more likely target because as the perceived weaker sex, they’ve been programmed to look for male protection. They tend to ask fewer questions and give out too much information before they know the guy.
AliceWonderland: That’s what I’m trying to be very careful about not doing.
HarryM: Like I said. You’re catching on. That’s good to see. Frankly, I was a little concerned for you last Friday. You were so green, I could see it from this end.
AliceWonderland: I know. I’m still green, really. I won’t say I’ve got this all figured out, but at least I don’t feel as vulnerable as I did.
HarryM: So, you going to check out this Friday Night guy?
AliceWonderland: Yes, if he answers back that it’s okay.
HarryM: And if he doesn’t?
AliceWonderland: Then I guess I have my answer, don’t I?
HarryM: Can you handle it if it works out that way?
AliceWonderland: I don’t have much of a choice. I will say, however, that I’d rather have it happen now, while I’m not emotionally involved, than later when I might get there and not have the rational view I should to stay safe.
HarryM: You’re a smart cookie. You’ll be just fine.
AliceWonderland: Thanks, Harry.
HarryM: You’re welcome, Alice. Let me know if you need me. I’m always around.
AliceWonderland: Thank you. I might just take you up on that.
HarryM: Hey, Alice…don’t forget that I haven’t taken myself out of the running yet.
AliceWonderland: I don’t understand.
HarryM: I’m interested in you, if you didn’t pick up on that yet.
AliceWonderland: Oh.
HarryM: That’s what I was afraid of. You see me
as your big brother, giving out all kinds of protective warnings, but not someone you could actually be interested in.
AliceWonderland: I never said that.
HarryM: You didn’t have to. Just remember what I said. I’m always around.
AliceWonderland: I’ll remember. Night, Harry.
HarryM: Night, Alice.
VOLUME II
Chapter Seven
Mackenzie had turned her attention to some of the other messages waiting in her inbox. There seemed to be an abundance of young men who were roughly twenty years-old and obviously English was not their first language. Many of these requested that she move off the site with the conversation.
She understood that this was a common ploy in order to get some of her personal and contact information. They would then turn around and exploit that information by using a bit of research, eventually hand it over to some black hatter sitting in his mother’s basement who would commit credit card theft.
She was sort of proud of herself for having done her homework. She felt relieved that she wouldn’t be their next victim. These messages she instantly deleted, but she had to admit they left her feeling just a little bit dirty.
Going on through the remaining messages, they seemed to follow one of two categories. The first was primarily comprised of individuals who had a distinct lack of creativity in their approach. It appeared as though they had a few good lines they used in the bar and had modified them enough to feel comfortable using them in a message. Examples included, “Hi, baby. How are you doing tonight?” and “Hey, pretty lady, looks like my luck has finally arrived. What are you doing tonight?” None of these were particularly unique, nor particularly interesting. She moved on.
The second category was what she had come to call “The Pitifuls.” These were people who had probably been square pegs trying to fit into round holes most of their life. The Internet had given them the golden opportunity of being whomever they chose to become and gave them a much wider audience who didn’t already know they were square pegs.
This group included men who thought it was attractive to have their profile picture taken of themselves lying in bed with one hand inserted in their waistband or stripped down to a muscle t-shirt to display arms the circumference of shovel handles. Some of them felt their impression would be better if their photograph included an attractive woman, whom, Mackenzie was willing to bet, was holding her breath until the photograph was taken.
There were mama’s boys, boys who had never grown up, short men who displayed pictures of big boats and expensive cars to make themselves look bigger, and the occasional patient in a nursing home, whose photograph included either a wheelchair or an oxygen cannula fastened beneath his nose.
Mackenzie felt sorry for these guys, but not sorry enough to spend time chatting with them when she knew there was no future relationship going to come of it.
There was something about this world of wireless anonymity that made her feel dirty. It made her feel as though she was incapable of forming a relationship by meeting someone initially face-to-face. It put her in a compromising position of testing her good manners against their lack of the same.
Throughout her life, people had judged her by the way she carried herself – her smile, her sense of integrity, and the company she kept. In this murky world, however, everyone started in the same black grab bag. She felt as though she wanted to climb out of it and protest by saying, “It’s okay. I’m safe to talk to. I’m a good person. I’m not here to hurt you, insult you, judge you, or leave you worse for having met me.”
Instead, she was forced to judge herself on criteria such as her height, her birth sign, her favorite movies, and in some cases, questions as invasive as whether she enjoyed kinky sex (what did that even mean?). These were not the sort of conversations one had when meeting new people at the bank or at a Chamber of Commerce dinner.
All she knew was that there was a wide range of emotions surfacing that she had never expected to confront. It was too much. She was almost to the point of closing her membership and going into retreat. And then again, in a rather perverse sense, she wanted to stick around and prove to herself that she could find someone suitable using this route. Surely, there had to be good people there…somewhere.
There was an open chat room available and while she was waiting for Bill to return her message, she thought she might give it a try.
It made her feel as if she had just climbed into the set of Men in Black, where each person was an alien from another planet and none of whom spoke one common language. This was perhaps the epitome of havoc. She was, for all means and purposes, welcoming anyone who wanted to talk to her. She didn’t want to appear arrogant, but she knew instinctively that most of the people who approached her were not truly looking for long-term companionship.
Is it me? Who’s broken here? Have I got this all wrong? Did the millennium move on and leave me behind with my 1980s morals?
At one point, there were twenty chat windows opened across her screen. It was overwhelming and she was clicking them shut as furiously as if she were swatting mosquitoes. There was still no response from Bill, so with a far less enthusiastic attitude, Mackenzie logged off the site and turned off the computer.
Feeling disappointment in the sense of rejection, Mackenzie headed for the bedroom and turned down her comforter as she climbed beneath, flipping on the television. She thought that perhaps she could find an old movie to ease her troubled mind. She flipped through the channels and settled for one that showed vintage films.
There was something so calm and orderly, so sensible about the movies made in the ’30s and ’40s. People had respect for one another, and there seemed to be a code of behavior that allowed people to retain their dignity.
She got up and went into the kitchen long enough to make herself a bowl of popcorn and a glass of iced tea. Once these were finished, she lay down and eventually fell asleep with the television still on. It seemed to give her sense of comfort to have voices in the room, even if they were from people who had been dead for decades.
Chapter Eight
Mackenzie awoke the next morning to the sound of rain against a window. She was tempted to turn over and go back to sleep, calmed by the peaceful sound and the cool temperature in the room.
She had been dreaming of David and in that half world, not quite awake, she believed she could smell his cologne and hear his soft breathing behind her back. It gave her all the more reason to go back to sleep, to search for his warm arms and the safety that they represented.
She couldn’t find him again, though, and lay there letting her eyes adjust to the dim light. Each morning, it had become her goal to try to think of one pleasant thing to look forward to that day. It had been her banner of salvation, her reason for living. Some mornings were easier than others. The dream was making it difficult this morning, but she tried to reach past it.
Leaning off the side of her bed, she drew her iPad off the nightstand shelf. Puffing up her pillows, she leaned back to read her email. Although she wouldn’t admit it, she was hoping there was a message from Bill. She scrolled through the list of spam and a few other actually valuable emails, but there was nothing from him.
Disappointed, she told herself that it was still early in the day and perhaps he was tied up at a ballgame with his son. It sounded plausible and made her feel better.
The television was still on from the night before and she flipped to a channel with the morning news. She stepped into the shower and got ready to go to work. The news was its normal blood and killing and arson – nothing that would make her sleep better, nothing that would make her life improved. She tended to avoid these topics as they only upset her. She didn’t feel she was tuning out the world so much as protecting herself.
She popped a K cup into the Keurig and hit the power button. The aroma of fresh coffee soon filled the room and she pulled a clean mug from the cupboard and filled it. With one last look around, she glanced wistfully at the computer. On a
n impulse, she ran back to the bedroom and grabbed her iPad, stuffing it into her oversized purse.
She was two minutes late for work, and Lucy came by her desk, a questioning look at her face. “What’s up?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re never late for work. Did you have car trouble?”
“No.”
“Are you feeling okay?” Lucy was digging now.
“No, I’m fine.”
“How come you’re being so closed mouthed?” She could tell Lucy was becoming frustrated.
“This is the first time I’ve ever been late to work, and I’m only late by exactly two minutes. I hardly think that deserves the scrutiny you’re giving it,” she snapped.
“Well, excuse me,” Lucy drawled as she turned away with a hurtful look on her face. Mackenzie felt instantly bad.
“I’m sorry, Lucy. I didn’t sleep well. I had one of those dreams again.”
“Of David?” Lucy’s face instantly turned sympathetic.
“They’re always of him.” Lucy was the only person she had confided to about this. She hadn’t even told her therapist about the recurring dreams. It sounded too pitiful, too self-absorbed. She was trying to become stronger and more independent in her life.
“Gee, kid, I’m sorry I snapped at you. It’s just that you’re always early, and I was starting to worry that something happened to you.”
“I promise, if anything ever happens, I’ll call you and you’ll be the first to know.”
“Promise?”
“Word of honor. Now, let me get some work done. You’re making us a little conspicuous.”
Lucy nodded and returned her own desk, sitting down with a thoughtful look on her face. She sensed something was different about Mackenzie, but couldn’t place her finger on it. There had been something different about her in the past week overall. She had gotten her hair done; Lucy noticed it the first moment she walked in, but forgot to compliment her on it.
