Voodoo & Loveshadow
by Eric Muss-Barnes

Copyright © 2015 Eric Muss-Barnes. All Rights Reserved.

All rights reserved under the Universal Copyright Convention and the Berne Convention For The Protection Of Literary And Artistic Works. The author of this book, Eric Muss-Barnes, secures all rights to this book, including the right to reproduce this book in whole or in part, in any form whatsoever, and extends such privileges to absolutely no other parties, individuals or companies. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, in whole or in part, by any electronic, mechanical, or other means including, but not limited to, all existing and yet to be invented information duplicating, storage or retrieval systems, without specific permission in writing from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages.

Published by Eric Muss-Barnes at Dubh Sith Ink

All characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Hardcover, paperback, and ebook editions of this story contain the complete and identical text. Not one word has been altered or omitted.

Address all correspondence and order inquiries to:

www.DubhSithInk.com

Cover designed and created by Eric Muss-Barnes

Cover model Renea Mazzotta

PRINTED AND MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

First International Printing: March 2015

Table Of Contents

Voodoo & Loveshadow

by Eric Muss-Barnes

Title
Copyright
Donations
Dedication
Books by Eric Muss-Barnes
Opening Quote
Proem
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Closing Quote
Epilogue
Biography
Other books by Eric Muss-Barnes
Colophon
Back Cover

Donations

Dear Reader,

As a writer, the most important reason I publish my books is so good folks like yourself can read and enjoy them. Therefore, in order to make my writing available to the largest possible audience, I have decided to make all of my ebooks available for whatever price readers think is fair.

Here is how it works...

You can download any of my ebooks for free and donate money for it later. Instead of having a set cover price, you can visit www.DubhSithInk.com and give whatever you think this ebook is worth. $1.00 or $5.00 or $50.00 or $18.63 or a nickel. Anything you want. Only you can decide how much value my writing brings your life.

If you can't afford to pay for this ebook, please share a copy with people in your life who would enjoy the story. Some friends. A few family members. A couple coworkers. Anybody you like. Or perhaps, you might be kind enough to write a glowing review for this ebook on the Internet? Whatever helps my writing gain a larger readership is just as generous as a monetary donation.

Perhaps I am naïve in thinking I can earn a living by giving away my stories and requesting donations, instead of selling this ebook for a set price. Nevertheless, in a world where greed and digital piracy has divided people into thieves and misers, I believe readers will gladly spend hard-earned money to support writers who pen worthwhile tales. I believe you are exactly that sort of reader, and I humbly hope you will regard me as that kind of writer.

Thank you for your time. May your few short hours spent with this story enrich all the remaining decades of your life.

Respectfully,

Eric Muss-Barnes

www.DubhSithInk.com

Dedication

Voodoo & Loveshadow

is dedicated to

Holly “Rio” Zerull

Robin Louise Lockshine

Dawn Marie Roman

Kathryn Marie Barnes

Elizabeta “Pepper” John Acton

Jennifer LeBlanc

Erin Ritchie

Michelle Renee LaRock

Adrianne Ambrose

Sarah Marie Hilker

Brandy MacDonald

and every might-have-been

and every never-was

and to

Heather Peters

Holy Name High School Class of 1990

possibly the only girl who liked me

during those 4 formative years

and I totally blew it

because I was a complete dork

Books by Eric Muss-Barnes

Speculative Fiction & Novels

The Gothic Rainbow: Beginning Volume of The Vampire Noctuaries

Annwn’s Maelstrom Festival: Concluding Volume of The Vampire Noctuaries

The Page of Wands

Voodoo & Loveshadow

Grandpa Steiner Saves the World (from Illegal Aliens (from Space))

Non-Fiction & Memoirs

How You Can Get a Job at Walt Disney Studios Without a College Degree

Schooling Your Boss to not Suck

Short Story Anthologies

Tales from The Dark Tower: “Born of the Night”

The Skateboarder’s Journal - Lives on Board 1949-2009: “Origins”

Horrible Poetry He Wrote As A Teenager

Forever Loving You

“Far too many novels built on ghosts, whose bodies are still so alive.”

- Pepper McGowan

“Pensacola”

from the album Bad Stars

Proem

This story came to me at the skatepark.

In the Spring of 2013, I was rolling up to the pool at The Cove in Santa Monica, getting ready to drop in and take a run, when I heard the windchime sparkle of a young girl’s voice wafting on the breeze from the nearby playground. I couldn’t see her through the trees. Only hear her.

For some odd reason, I’m not sure if it was the wind or the particular acoustics of her words bouncing off the transition of the concrete inside the pool, it sounded like the girl was standing right beside to me. Even though she was at least one hundred feet away, the echo of her voice appeared incredibly close. She seemed like she was no more than 5 or 6 years old, but I saw her perfectly in my mind. I instantly envisioned this adorable little blonde girl in a summerdress and I thought, “What if that wasn’t the voice of a little girl on the playground? What if that was the disembodied voice of my unborn daughter?”

That was where the idea for this book came from.

Hearing the voice of a little girl, I have never seen in my life.

Smiling, it warmed my heart to think of that child.

That was all it took.

Sometimes, ideas for books take long struggles and work and you have to chisel away at finding the story. Other times, like this time, it just blasts you all at once and you see the entire thing.

This book was one of the times when I saw it all.

All thanks to the ghostly voice of a young girl I’ve never seen.

- Eric Muss-Barnes

March 2015

Chapter One

Rusty Stratford paced, idly, around the livingroom of his tiny one-bedroom apartment, where he had been talking on the phone with his mother, June, for the past 14 minutes.

Like most bachelors, he enjoyed these little chats with his mom, but they didn’t share such talks enough. Everytime they did get the chance to speak, Rusty regrettably found himself failing to give her his full attention. Too often, his mind wandered.

He needed more light. Tablelamps? There were no tablelamps. The only illumination came from what little light spilled out of the kitchen. Every evening, he was reminded of how gloomy that apartment felt.

Yeah. Lamps. He needed more lamps.

Cringing, when there was a brief and stifling lull in the conversation, he could somehow feel the entirety of his mother’s next sentence, the moment she drew in her breath to speak it.

Here it comes, he thought.

“So, are you seeing anybody right now?” June asked.

Wince.

One need not describe the tone of her voice. You already know it. You’ve probably heard it yourself. Doesn’t matter if you are a son or a daughter, if you’re 19 or 59, all mothers ask that question the exact same way.

Rusty felt his chest tighten. He stopped pacing and answered with that tension you feel when you’ve only taken half the breath you require to get the words out. “Well, no. I mean, yeah. I’m, well, I was kind of seeing someone for awhile there, but I’m not really anymore. So, no. No, not really. I mean, I was, but no, I’m not really seeing anyone right now.”

Wow. That was smooth, Rusty.

Nausea in waves.

He felt as though he had just taken a horrible swing in a boxing match and now he had nothing left to do but wait for the crushing right hook that would blast him off his feet.

He had been in fistfights but never boxed a day in his life.

Nevertheless, he knew that’s exactly how it felt.

June paused and the silence on the line lasted about two or three seconds longer that Rusty had expected. Just enough to tighten the thumb screws a little harder.

With a heavy sigh, June gently declared to her son, “Ohhhh, Rusty. You know, you just need to find someone you can have sex with.”

His eyes damn-near shot out of his skull. “MOM?! Excuse me!?”

“What?” she replied, innocently. “I’m just saying.”

Rusty was dumbfounded. Sure, she was liberal and all, but this crossed the line. This was even a little too much for his wacky, hippie mother to be telling him. “But - But you’re my mom. I mean - you’re not supposed to say things like that!”

“Well, why not? I’ve done that sort of thing in my own life,” she continued. “You know, just gone out and found some hot guy that I could get into bed and just fuc - ”

“ - MOM! My God! Okay! Okay! Will you just - That’s enough! Okay?” Rusty’s voice cracked, raising two full octaves, as if he were still a puberty-stricken teenager. “You can stop right there. I don’t need to hear this! Too. Much. Information.”

“You act like I never had sex before!”

Ew! Did she just say that? “Mom! Obviously, I know you’ve had sex. I wouldn’t be here if you didn’t have sex. But, I do not need to think about my mom getting laid. Okay? That’s just... gross.”

“Why is it gross?” She made a disapproving grumble.

As Rusty had explained, we all know our parents had sex or we wouldn’t be here. But when anyone starts to talk about their sexual escapades, it causes the listener to imagine those escapades. And despite what Sigmund theorized, it doesn’t matter if she’s a supermodel, no one wants to imagine their mom fucking. Freud was a cokehead.

Rusty didn’t want to insult his mother, but let’s face it, anyone being told their sexuality is gross, is bound to be pretty offended. So, thinking quickly, he explained himself with a different approach. “Okay, let me put it to you this way - do you want to hear about grandma having sex? Would you want her telling you stories about hot guys she slept with when she was 20 years old?”

June laughed, finally understanding what her son was getting at. “Well, no. Now that you put it that way. I wouldn’t want to hear grandma tell me about that.”

“Exactly my point. She’s your mom. You don’t want to hear that. You’re my mom. I don’t want to know about that stuff either. So, can we just change the subject?”

“Well, I’m serious. It would be good for you to get out and find a girl you can just sleep with.”

“Ugh. Mom. I think I’m a little too old for that kind of thing.”

“Oh, Rusty, come on. You’re twenty-eight. That is not old.”

“No. You’re right. It’s not. But old is just around the corner.”

Old folks never tell beautiful 20 year olds they will lose their sex appeal. Why should they be told? That day is just around the corner and no one can ever believe it when it arrives. No amount of warning prepares you for being called “ma’am” by a boy who would have dated you 5 years earlier. Emphasizing that awful day would be cruel. Instead, the elderly just smile wistfully and remind kids to have fun. Rusty was slowly starting to realize that pensive grin was masking a dire omen.

June giggled as though she were 20 years younger and explained, “Well, I guess that’s just the hippie in me. But really, it’s no big deal. It’s just sex. Just fun. You need that. There are plenty of open-minded girls out there who would be interested in you for that. Ask one of your friends. You know lots of girls.”

Clearly, in her well-meaning attempt to be supportive of his sex-life, the woman had completely lost her mind.

Ask a friend!?

“Can I borrow your car?” “Sure.”

“Can you pick me up from the airport?” “Yeah, no problem.”

“Can we have sex this weekend?” Crickets.

Rusty chuckled. Pessimism oozed. “Yeah. Sure. I’ll just ask my female friends to have sex with me. Great idea, mom. That would be a quick way for me to lose a lot of friends.”

“Ohhhh, why do you say that?” She scolded. “Just ask. If the girl isn’t interested, it doesn’t mean she’ll stop talking to you. Why should she? She should be flattered that my handsome son wants to sleep with her.”

Was this his mom or his pimp?

“Ooookay. Um... So, what are you telling me?” He scratched the tension off the scruff of his neck. “You’re telling me that you don’t want me to go out and have a serious, meaningful relationship with a woman? Instead I should just have casual, meaningless sex?”

“No, of course not,” was her answer. “I want you to be happy. Eventually, with the right girl, a nice romance would be wonderful. But in the meantime, sometimes it can be fun to just get laid.”

Wow...

You know, when she put it that way, he realized that she really did have a good point. And suddenly, hearing her phrase it so simply, it didn’t seem so sleazy after all.

Maybe bluntly propositioning someone for sex - especially a friend - shouldn’t be deemed so taboo or inappropriate. After all, it’s a very pleasant way to spend an afternoon. Why shouldn’t an invitation for coitus be as acceptable and civilized as asking someone to go get ice cream? It’s even better than Baskin Robbins! Besides, sex is more fun and less fattening!

Yeah. Something about your mother giving you advice - even if it is sleazy, it sounds perfectly rational and dignified coming from her. Even if mom is a wacked-out hippie. Besides, mother knows best. Right?

Ordinarily, the “kind of girl mother warned you about” and the “kind of girl you take home to mom” are two very different types of women. In Rusty’s case, he guessed those ladies are one-in-the-same.

He laughed and said, “Well, I have to admit, it makes for a very unique pick-up line. I can walk up to girl and say, ‘Excuse me. Would you like to have cheap, meaningless sex?... My mother says it’s okay.’”

§

June laughed and their conversation rolled idly on.

Rusty really wasn’t paying much attention though.

He had no problem carrying on slushy chit-chat with his mom about the latest local news, or movies, or the weather. Talking about nothing was easy. Talking about what was in his heart was tough.

The truth was, he hated being alone and he hated being reminded of it. But, no one enjoys hanging around someone who is a lonely bastard full of self-pity. So, he never talked about it. Shove it down. Bury it. Loneliness is for wimps. Man up.

Loner.

Rebel.

Desperado.

He liked this. This is what he wanted. He didn’t mind.

That’s what he wanted the world to think.

Truth be told, everyone knows that’s a lie.

When someone pretends so hard to enjoy their solitude, everyone knows they only smile to mask a loneliness they don’t want to discuss. He casually brushed the topic aside with a joke, maybe a sarcastic comment for good measure, and hopefully people would drop the subject. It usually worked.

Never seems to work very well with mothers though.

He never questioned “why” he was alone. Not anymore. Lots of lonely people get that way. Psychoanalyze and overanalyze and ruminate and contemplate and never conclude a damn thing. They question “why” life is so unfair. What did they do to deserve such an isolated fate?

Rusty knew exactly why.

He was incredibly self-centered, exceptionally passive-aggressive, completely uncompromising in his opinions to the point of bigotry, and he regard everyone with a contemptible air of superiority, although he often pretended he was only kidding about it. Being alone for so long is emotionally scarring as well. Disconnected. Withdrawn. Detached. Empty. He had become a textbook recluse. Such isolation left him full of a deep-seeded rage and anger. While they might not acknowledge it, people sensed his misanthropy on a subconscious level. A primal sixth-sense always warns people to steer clear of men with fury buried inside cheerful eyes. Rusty masked his loathing with sensitivity and a friendly smile, thereby making people feel strangely uncomfortable for reasons they couldn’t quite pinpoint. He looked warm and kind, but he felt inexplicably dangerous. That’s an eerie combination. Far more eerie than people who are obviously psychotic.

Yeah.

The “why” was no mystery.

“I love you, Rusty.”

“Love you too, mom”

“Okay. I’ll call you maybe next Sunday.”

Rusty knew she was lying. He only spoke to her every few months but for some reason, everytime they talked, she always vowed to call him the following week. Just part of their routine.

“Sounds good, mom.”

“Bye, bye, honey.”

“Bye.”

The phone clicked.

Rusty was left to the silence of his empty room.

His poor mother.

She meant well.

He knew that.

He knew only too well. He’d heard things like this many times before. The world is filled with unsolicited advice from people who think they can live your life better than you can.

Little did his mother know, everytime he expressed his attraction to a female friend, the girl always ended the friendship.

No, the ladies never said, “I’m not talking to you anymore.”

Women always left his life in more passive ways.

The slow fade.

Less returned phonecalls.

Ignoring emails.

Hanging out only one or two more times.

Then the excuses.

Then disappearing.

The end was never abrupt.

The girls always eased away slowly. Undoubtedly her way of pretending it was not about the unrequited sex, even when Rusty knew damn-well, it was exactly that.

Sure, when talking to his mom, Rusty spoke of such an outcome as being hypothetical. He couldn’t bring himself to tell her that such outcomes had already happened for real. Many times.

He told his mom it would be a good way to lose female friends.

He didn’t have the heart to admit he already lost a ton of them.

That’s not to say he never slept with anyone. No. He wasn’t a virgin. He had plenty of romances and loveaffairs. But, all of his lovers were a “mutual attraction” right from the start. If a girl was ever “just a friend”, it always stayed that way. Anytime he expressed an interest in more, she would stop talking to him.

Every. Single. Time.

Without exception.

Maybe not immediately, but within a couple weeks, he’d hear from her less and less until she finally just vanished. He could easily fill two hands with names of girls who had done so.

For a moment, he was tempted to call Rosalind Phillips. She was the girl he was “kind of seeing, but not really” whom he had just mentioned to his mother.

Rosalind was yet another in an endless string of girls in his life who seemed to come and go. Bees to honey. One flower to the next.

§

The OrganGrinders Ball, in all its black-leather and fetish glory, was in full swing at U4ia Nightclub, when Rusty arrived on the night he met Rosalind.

Rusty was an odd fellow in the looks department in that he was quite handsome, but geeky. Not exactly “alpha male” handsome, but more like, the “cute” guy. Awkward enough to never get invited to high school parties, cool enough to get invited to college parties, but bashful enough that he was never making out in one of the upstairs bedrooms once he got there. He was undeniably masculine, but in a boyish way. Always looking young for his age, Rusty was a nerdy personality, imprisoned in the body of a teen band member. You know how teenage boy bands always had the “least attractive guy”? The fifth guy? The one who was always way on the righthand side in the group photos? The one tucked in back? Still cute. Still adored by girls. But never their first pick. Never the lead singer.

That was Rusty.

Rusty was that not-so-hot, hot guy.

Like most cute geeks, he actually found himself fairly at ease around women. Rusty was the sort who discovered he could be genuinely seductive, not because he was commanding or imposing, but because he could be so damn charming.

“The trick,” he once told a friend, “is to not try.”

And that is how Rusty played the game of wooing women.

By genuinely not trying to seduce girls, he seduced them.

The key was sincerity. You couldn’t pretend that you weren’t interested. Women can smell a lie on a man like poop on a shoe. You had to genuinely not make any effort to get a woman in bed.

That was exactly how he started dating Rosalind.

“Do me a favor!?” Cheryl Kornish asked Rusty.

Cheryl was a photographer friend. She was hired by the punkrock clothing store who was running The OrganGrinders Ball event. Her job was to shoot some photos of the fashion show and grab some candid shots of patrons. Adorable and petite, with pink hair and pixiegirl features, she was the type that charmed people with her charisma even better than Rusty ever could.

Most of the time, Rusty couldn’t stand her overly chipper demeanor.

“Sure! What’s up!?” Rusty asked over the blaring of My Life With The Thrill Kill Kult.

“Could you help me find people!?”

“Help you find people!?” The music was so loud, he wasn’t sure he heard her right.

Cheryl explained, “Yeah! It’s so dark in here! My camera won’t focus when I walk around the club! I need to shoot stuff right here under the neon sign!” Her finger pointed at the beer-sticky carpet. “It’s the only place bright enough! So, I’ll stand here and can you just wander in the crowd and ask cool-looking people to come over here so I can get pictures of them!?”

What a great opportunity to meet cute girls.

“Yeah!” Rusty said, “I’ll be happy to!”

He found Rosalind Phillips 20 minutes later. She had come as a slutty pirate - patch over her eye and everything. Lithe and sensual she slithered. Smiling, she had deep tan flesh like butterscotch at dusk and a swirl of crazy in amber brown eyes. A short bob of black hair, she was starting to grow back out, peeked out from under her costume bandana. She was allure incarnate. The kind of girl that made you want to smell the nape of her neck and lick parts of her skin other boys had never touched.

But, he played it very smooth. Charming.

They talked. They flirted. And he never got a phone number.

When he coincidentally saw her again 2 weeks later, at a different club across town, all of that changed.

He got her number the second night, and they almost kissed in the parking lot, but didn’t.

The trick is to not try.

The next evening, they talked on the phone for 5 hours.

When they went to the park that weekend, they sat on a rock and made out for what felt like days.

Rosalind called herself “cursed with relationships” but Rusty wouldn’t understand the full implications of that statement until weeks later. She loved that he had a “Care Bear attitude” toward affection and wasn’t afraid to touch her and hold her. They had bizarre things in common, like both being named after soap opera characters.

One of Rusty’s ex-lovers once held a vial of scented oil under his nose, as they perused a new age bookstore, and announced, “The girl you end up with, is going to smell like this.” At the time, Rusty quickly dabbed a bit on her neck and smiled. Alas, it was not the successful self-fulfilling prophecy he hoped it would become

Is it ever?

But, on his first night with Rosalind, it freaked him out when she observed, “You smell just like me”, and he was wearing that same unisex scented oil.

Rusty’s first official date with Rosalind was to see the latest Star Trek movie. They began to hold hands when the movie started. Rusty was nervous the whole time, fearing his hand would start sweating and gross her out.

It never did sweat.

And she never let go.

That would be the only time in his entire life that he held hands with a girl for the entire duration of a movie.

When he expressed his disappointment that there was no Star Wars trailer, she kissed him and Rusty told her, “That more than makes up for it.”

There was a line in the film that spoke of moments frozen in time which are universes unto themselves, and in that moment, Rosalind kissed him again.

Rusty was soaring.

How does the universe do that?

Sometimes it gives you that person who does everything right.

Later that night, when they were back in his bedroom, he was elated at how far things had gone. Pants on the floor. Lights out. Bra lost somewhere in the sheets. Nothing but their underwear.

This was going to happen.

...Then it didn’t.

What the hell?

Rusty had been with seven girls at that point in his life and none of them had ever rejected sex. Not once. Not ever. Not after going that far. He never got to second-base without getting to home plate. Never!

How was this possible?

How could she turn him down once they got to this point?

No girl had ever done such a thing!

His heart sank. What if this were some horrible turning point? Was he losing his charm with the ladies? Maybe this marked the beginning of the end. Maybe he’d be rejected and alone forever! The universe simply didn’t allow two people in their twenties to engage in an hour of foreplay and not have sex. Sure, that can happen when you’re 14 years old, but not when you’re 28. Rusty had this horrible feeling he had somehow fallen into some bizarre Twilight Zone episode - a universe where women in their twenties would not want to get laid. Even with the mathematical probability of an infinite quantity of alternate realities in the omniverse, surely there could be no such thing as a place where beautiful women in their twenties only want to go to second-base!

This was truly a nightmare come to life.

This couldn’t be happening.

But...

Turns out she was allergic to latex.

Oh.

A relief to his ego, but no comfort to his libido.

He bought lambskin condoms the next day and prayed she wasn’t lying to him.

Rosalind took Rusty to a bookstore, along with her friend Margie, and the three of them hung out for hours. Rusty loved bookstores and Margie seemed to give him the girlfriend “stamp of approval” - apparently numerous other suitors would soon begin to bristle when forced to endure the company of books for too lengthy a span of time.

Rusty passed with flying colors.

In all the days he knew her, Rosalind did something that no other girl, before or since, ever did in his life.

She had a present for Rusty every single time she saw him.

Nothing big. Just trinkets really. But the gesture was endearing.

The first thing she ever gave to him was a Star Trek refrigerator magnet. An obvious nod to their first date (which they planned before the park). She knocked on his door and when he opened it, she reached out her hand and gave it to him, before they even hugged.

“Here. A present.” She explained.

She did it everytime they met. No exceptions.

Sometimes it was a refrigerator magnet. Once it was a container of glow-in-the-dark goo. A bubblegum card. Whatever.

Some men may have been insulted by a woman constantly giving gifts that a gradeschool girl would give to a 12 year old boy, but Rusty adored her for it.

It showed she was thinking of him.

Proof he was on her mind.

He loved it.

Later, he suspected, maybe she was just cleaning out her car?

The first time she offered to drive on a date was strange.

Strange because there was something about her car that freaked Rusty out and made him really uncomfortable. In all his life, Rusty had never seen a messier vehicle.

You know those people who have some old fast food wrappers on the seat and some mail scattered on the floorboards? Those cars were showroom pristine compared to Rosalind’s vehicle.

The interior of her car looked like a ransacked house from a detective movie. Piled high, the back seat was filled with so much junk, you literally could not see out the rear window. That was illegal, wasn’t it? Books. Clothes. Albums. Strange knickknacks like a bicycle lock and an old empty box of Twinkies. He would have been worried that she was living in her car, except for the fact that none of the items appeared to be necessities, and there truly wouldn’t have been enough room to live in there.

“Oh, sorry. You can just sit on that.” Rosalind nonchalantly explained, referring to the disarray of junk on the passenger seat.

“Umm.” Rusty couldn’t possibly do that. There was a globe and a pile of cassette tapes and a makeup kit, among other things.

Rosalind began grabbing piles of stuff and throwing it carelessly into her backseat. Among the piles of junk Rusty helped to clear off the passenger seat was a book on Albert Einstein, which intrigued him. What was she doing with all this random stuff?

“This looks cool.” Rusty bemused at the cover, attempting to make casual conversation to mask his uneasiness about her car.

He continued to wonder about her living situation.

She never invited him over her place.

Did she have a place?

Was she actually living in her car?

He didn’t have the guts to ask. After all, if she was living in her car, she clearly didn’t want him to know. Therefore, it would be a blow to her ego to be discovered. And if she wasn’t? Well, it would be a pretty insulting comment on the state of her filth if she wasn’t.

Regardless if her answer was “yes” or “no”, it could be bad.

Might end in a huge fight.

Rusty realized, in the name of diplomacy, it was better not to ask.

“You can keep it.” Rosalind offered.

“What?” Rusty almost didn’t hear. “No. I don’t need - ”

“ - Keep it.” Rosalind pushed the book back toward his lap. “I forgot that was even in here. You’ll be helping me clean my car.”

Rusty chuckled. “Okay. If you say so. I’ll keep it.” As an after thought, he said, “Thanks! It looks pretty cool.”

Rosalind shrugged, “I guess. I never read it.”

Rusty snickered and was about to make a sarcastic remark, but decided against it and told her, “Well, that’s good. Now I don’t feel as guilty for accepting it.”

For all the positive things about her, he couldn’t shake that one recurring thought: that she will soon reject him, he’ll be right back in his shell of isolation and loneliness, wondering why no one wants to be around him.

One afternoon, Rosalind called Rusty on her way home from NASA.

“Guess what I was doing today?”

Rusty made a shrug she could hear over the phone. “Um. No idea.”

“I was smashing DNA molecules in a particle accelerator!”

That was definitely not the reply he expected.

“You were doing what?”

“Isn’t that cool? My friend works at NASA and he let me run the machine. Well, I mean, he just had me push a button, but still.”

“Well. That’s pretty awesome! DNA molecules? You weren’t genetically engineering aliens or dinosaurs or anything were you?”

“No, I don’t think the research was anything quite so sinister.”

“Oh. Well, that’s a relief. It sounds pretty cool. I didn’t even know NASA had a particle accelerator. I thought those things were huge.”

“Lots of research facilities have them. They have small ones too.”

“I see. Well, that is a pretty cool way to spend the afternoon.”

Laughing, Rosalind sounded pleased, “See? I knew it. I had to share it with someone who would appreciate it and I knew you would understand.”

“Well, thank you. But I think other people would think that was cool too.”

“No. My other friends are all stupid. They wouldn’t even know what a particle accelerator is. Then I’d have to explain it to them.”

“I’m sure they’re not that dumb.”

“They are. Trust me. So, you want to hang out?”

“I thought you were busy tonight.”

“I was supposed to go out with another guy, but I would rather keep talking to you.”

Sweet calm before the storm.

The things to end the relationship began to slowly creep in.

The weird stories.

The strange behavior.

Rosalind had this odd and annoying habit of tittering instead of speaking sometimes. Anytime Rusty would ask her something she was uncomfortable about answering, she’d get a little smirk on her face and titter deep in the back of her throat.

“Mm, hmm, hmm, hmm.”

Very quiet. Very subdued.

Very annoying.

It was like a crazy chick imitating a geisha.

Her eyes would glaze over and she’d kind of bat her eyelashes.

As if to say, “I’m going to my happy place now. Aren’t I cute?”

It was unnerving.

Because no matter how much he prodded, she’d never speak.

“Did you hear me? Was it really just the latex?... Yes?... No?”

Titter. Titter.

She claimed a past boyfriend had stabbed her.

Her ex-husband was murdered by the mafia.

She has a stalker.

She broke up with a great guy she “shouldn’t stay with” because it was “best for him” if she left.

Oooookay.

Were these things true?

Lies?

Rusty could never be sure.

Another of her ex-boyfriends worked as a director at a music video channel in London and he offered to fly her there for New Years Eve.

She was going.

Rosalind and Rusty were never officially a “couple” or committed to each other. She admitted to dating other guys and that was fine with Rusty. He didn’t want details, of course, but he knew he didn’t own Rosalind either. He was beginning to think he wouldn’t want to.

Despite the cracks of weirdness starting to form, she was still fun.

They still had good times.

She invited him to skip work and go to the zoo rainforest.

They developed easy bonds to read minds and finish sentences.

“I enjoy relationship conversations because they are really - ”

“ - informative.”

“ - informative.”

“Yeah. Yeah, exactly. You’re so awesome.”

They were still making out, but they still never had sex.

And that was bothering him.

Rusty was thrilled she suggested they see each other during the day on Christmas Eve, plus they already had plans for Christmas day together. In other words, the woman who complained about seeing guys too often, and being smothered, was requesting to spend two days in a row with him!

She was asking him.

This was a great sign.

Until she broke all those plans at the last minute, and he spent the entire Christmas season alone.

Would he ever learn?

Why did every girl do crap like this to him?

He stopped complaining about relationships to his friends because his dumb luck and bad karma had simply reached such ludicrous proportions, no one ever believed him anymore. At this point, everyone just presumed everything was his fault.

Rusty said, “I wish I was spending New Year’s with you.”

“Okay. I don’t have any plans.”

“What do you mean? I thought you were going to England.”

“I am?” Rosalind laughed. “Well, I don’t have to go.”

“Are you serious?”

“Sure, why not?”

“You would break plans to go to England for New Years in order to spend time with me?” Oops. That sounded a lot more pitiful coming out of his mouth than it had in his head.

Rusty didn’t want to sound so self-defeating, but no one had ever offered to break plans just to be with him. The whole situation was simply an unprecedented shock.

“Sure. It’s just Eli. It’s no big deal.”

Rusty was elated.

At last, for once, a girl was going out of her way to be kind.

And, of course, when the time came, Rosalind went to England.

She fucked Rusty over again.

He was angry about it and he told her as much. “Well, if you told me you were going to break plans for your trip, then why didn’t you?”

Apparently, this ex-boyfriend was trying to offer her a job and it was a “big opportunity” for her to go.

Obviously, that never happened either.

Of course he never offered her a job.

Rusty was sure this ex-boyfriend just banged her, then dumped her back on a plane. Offering her a job? He probably meant “blowjob”, because he sure as heck didn’t offer her anything else.

She better have made him use the lambskin.

The fissures grew larger.

Things pretty much ended when Rusty accidentally discovered that one of the other guys Rosalind was dating, some scruffy dirtbag named Matthew, was engaged to a girl Rusty was acquainted with. On a fluke, he ran into Rosalind and Matthew at a club. Total accident. Total coincidence. He had no idea Rosalind would be there.

Rusty was completely repulsed by the idea that Rosalind would date such an immoral guy. Obviously, Matthew was hiding his engagement from Rosalind. He had to be. He sure as hell was hiding Rosalind from his fiancé. Rusty pulled Rosalind aside and told her right away, certain that she’d be just as revolted and stop seeing the guy.

Rosalind laughed it off. The tone in her voice turned Rusty’s stomach. Rosalind was so uncaring. So unconcerned with the idea of people lying and cheating and being deceptive. “We’re all adults and what Matthew does is his business. I’ve done the same sort of thing he’s doing. We’re just casual and it doesn’t really matter to me what Matthew does with his other relationships.”

Rusty felt his lungs implode.

He got this weird vision of a harridan old spinster aunt, crushing his heart in her fist and cackling. Rusty didn’t have an aunt like that, but he couldn’t get the image out of his mind - a slutty version of a deranged Minnie Pearl mocking him.

This girl was not who he thought she was.

Was Rosalind truly so immoral that she didn’t care about this?

Rusty paused a bit too long before he talked, stunned to silence. “I’m not telling you this in order to make Matthew look bad. Don’t you understand, he has a fiancé? He’s cheating on her by dating you. I’m telling you because he has been lying to you and I don’t want anyone lying to you.”

Rusty was simply trying to be ethical.

Rosalind was not grateful.

She was not remotely appreciative of his chivalric gesture. She resented it. Sneering, she told Rusty, “It makes me mad when people get too involved in my business and I don’t want you or anyone to get all upset about my life.”

There was nothing more to say after that.

The girl had no virtue.

Nothing ended that night, except the hope anything might last.

Looking back, he was less upset with Rosalind in that moment and more upset with himself. The truth was, Rosalind shouldn’t stop seeing Matthew. Rusty should stop seeing Rosalind. He knew that. And he didn’t stop. That’s what upset him the most.

He knew he was too lonely to give Rosalind up.

Like all lovers, her fade was slow.

Rusty saw her again, once or twice. She continued her giftgiving and brought him a set of glow-in-the-dark paint and stars (to match the goo, he supposed), and a Ouija mousepad.

Ouija boards freaked him out.

He wasn’t sure if they ever talked about that.

Made him wonder if she didn’t know or didn’t care.

Shortly after that is when the curtains went black.

Didn’t see her for 2 months.

Then, she called out of the blue.

Rusty was thrilled. He got some takeout fast food, so they could have dinner. Rosalind came over and she thought it was cute how he arranged it all on plates and glasses, as if it were a homecooked meal. She was cuddly and affectionate and Rusty was still naively hoping she might finally have sex with him this time.

After all, you don’t just date someone for that long, vanish for 2 months, then come back to cuddle.

She excused herself right after dinner and a movie.

Okay. She wasn’t just going to jump into screwing. He could respect that. At least they were seeing each other again.

Standing at the door, Rusty hugged Rosalind warmly. He was so happy to have spent time with her. So glad she called. Delighted she had come over. Maybe things were turning around. Maybe she really missed him. He leaned in to kiss Rosalind and she put up her hand to stop him with that awkward little titter of hers.

“Hold on, cowboy.” Rosalind scolded. “You don’t know where I’ve been.”

Tee, hee, hee.

“What?” Rusty pulled back. “I don’t know where you’ve been? What is that supposed to mean?”

As usual, she didn’t answer. She just tittered that annoying and nervous moan/laugh again. “Bye.”

He finally understood.

She didn’t come over to rekindle their romance.

She came over to end it.

She just didn’t have the guts to say it.

Bitch.

Not kissing him - that was her way of saying it.

Actions do indeed speak louder than words.

Even though she hadn’t seen him or spoken to him for months, this was her way of breaking things off!? As if he didn’t already get the hint. Why did she call him at all? This was her goodbye? Two cowardly breakups instead of one?

Rusty had always been a gentleman.

Some might go so far as to call him a pushover.

However, if Rusty hadn’t been a gentleman, that would have been the perfect time for him to punch that bitch in the mouth.

Instead, he just crinkled his nose in disgust and snidely said, “Uh, yeah. Whatever. Goodbye!”

He closed the door on her.

They never spoke again.

§

Rusty stared at the phone for another second and listened to the hollow dialtone replace what was his mother’s voice a moment ago.

Who was he kidding?

He wasn’t calling Rosalind.

No way.

What was the point?

He knew the night she made that stupid “you don’t know where I’ve been” comment and walked away, it was over.

He should accept that with some dignity.

No. He wasn’t calling her.

In that moment he knew, the temptation would never return.

Chapter Two

“Hey, Mr. Hermit Man!”

Rusty looked over in the direction of the voice.

It was Earnest Faulder, but everyone called him by his stagename, ‘Craze’.

They hugged in greeting. “Hey! I’m not a hermit!” Rusty said. “I’m out now, ain’t I?”

Craze and Rusty were in attendance at a huge downtown art gallery opening for Cheryl. She had taken some band photos for Craze. Rusty always suspected they had slept together too. That weird “we’ve got a secret” vibe always shimmered between them, but Rusty never wanted to know.

Rusty hated being called a hermit. He knew it was true. That was why it upset him. The worst part was, he always tried to change it, but failed. He didn’t appreciate being reminded of that failure. When he was a child, he remembered the first time he heard the word “hermit” and how it made him laugh. He thought it was the weirdest thing ever. Why would anyone ever want be one of those, he thought.

He didn’t realize you could become a hermit on accident. Maybe that’s why Rusty never forgot the moment he heard that word. The universe has a cruel way of making sure you never forget what you are destined to become.

No friends ever invited him out or called him on the phone just to say hello and see how he was doing.

Never.

He seriously couldn’t recall how many years it had been since he had gotten a friendly phonecall from a friend, just saying, “Hi.”

When he did make an effort to reach out to people, he was constantly rejected. Anytime he’d offer to hang out with people, they’d always turn him down, or they’d accept and cancel at the last minute. Over and over.

And over.

And over.

After awhile, he just stopped asking.

Rusty had far too many acquaintances whom he claimed were his friends. The kind of people who never made any effort to hang out with him or accept his invitations, yet by the same token, they would judge his life and tell him he needed to “get out more” and meet people.

They never recognized the irony that he wouldn’t need to get out and “make new friends” if his old friends just behaved like ones.

Rusty and his ex-girlfriend, Marie Greer, once invited about sixty friends and acquaintances to a Christmas party. Normally, Rusty would never be so foolish as to throw a party and expect guests to arrive. However, he knew Marie was well-liked and had a lot of friends. Rusty figured, if Marie was hosting the party, people would be sure to come.

Three people showed up.

Three.

Out of sixty invites?

When you experience that kind of rejection enough times, you stop trying. You accept your fate. Why bother anymore?

Hermit Man indeed.

Three months had passed since the night he had spoken to his mother and he almost called Rosalind.

Three months and he still wasn’t seeing anyone.

The longest romance Rusty ever had didn’t last more than six months. Actually, things lasted a little longer with Marie, but they never went longer than six months without repeating their cycle of breakups and getting back together. Never took long for girls to figure out they didn’t like him as much as they thought they would.

Ever notice the ugly boyband member is never in the tabloids?

Nope.

Excusing himself after a bit more small talk with Craze, Rusty wandered about the gallery.

He wasn’t expecting it to be such a huge reception and he was happy for Cheryl to be getting so much attention. Granted, it was a group show, not a solo. Nevertheless, the turnout was far bigger than he would have imagined.

As he passed some sculptures and meandered among the crowd, he spotted Marissa LaStone for the first time.

Some girls were burned into his memory so clearly, Rusty recalled the first second he saw them. He remembered seeing Grace Jaildenss, the first girl he ever kissed, standing in the doorway of her bedroom at a party. He remembered seeing the girl he lost his virginity to, Hillary Zappa, walking through a parking lot as he stood on the lawn near a church on a college campus.

And he remembered the first second he saw Marissa LaStone, walking through the art gallery.

There’s always an intangible quality to the women you’re destined to sleep with. Somehow, they feel like home from across a crowded room. Everyone knows that. Everyone feels it. Funny that there’s no word for that sensation. There should be. Rusty wondered if other languages had a word for it.

Marissa was an incredibility tall young girl, at least 5’10”, but the word “tall” seems an injustice, because the girl moved with such grace, she billowed with the ease of palms in a seabreeze. Babyfaced with freckles spraypainted across her cheeks, her brunette hair draped the curves of lubricious breasts. Like some sort of odd faerie queen of legend, you couldn’t tell how old Marissa happened to be. She might be 12 and she might be 30. Depending on the light across a crowded room, it was impossible to guess. Her face was too youthful for a woman in her twenties, but her body was too mature for a teenager.

The dance began.

Exchanging glances.

Passing in the crowd.

What would his line be? What would be his excuse?

Should he wait until she was looking at some artwork?

Yes. Yes, that’s it. You can’t start up a conversation when you’re both walking in the crowd. That would be awkward and strange. What would he say? “Oh, hi, I saw you looking at me. Care to make passionate love to me on top of this twelve-foot-tall paper mâché sculpture of Abraham Lincoln?”

No.

Not a good approach.

As he stood around thinking about what to say, Rusty lost her.

He started to panic.

As he darted through the crowd, he couldn’t find her anywhere. Moving methodically from the front of the gallery to the back, past frumpy artists and elegant cocktail dresses, past three-piece suits and jean jackets, he didn’t see her.

Had she already left?

Damnit.

It figures.

Just when he found a girl he liked, he waited too long. Missed his chance. Story of his life. Just like the stupid Easter eggs back when - oh! There she is!

Rusty spotted her outside.

A few people were gathered on the sidewalk.

Craze was talking to her!

Perfect!

He knew Craze had a serious girlfriend right now (a rare thing for Craze to maintain) so he wasn’t hitting on Marissa. And if he were, Rusty would boot him out of there quick. Now at last, Rusty had an excuse!

“Hey! A little stuffy in there.” Rusty pointed out.

“Yeah, it’s a good turnout.” Craze noted.

Rusty and Marissa exchanged shy grins. Before either of them could say anything, Cheryl bounced out of the gallery, grabbing at Craze. “Oh, come here! Someone wants to meet you!”

Craze shrugged and let himself get dragged off.

Rusty and Marissa stood alone under the streetlamp.

“Hi. I’m Rusty.”

“Marissa.”

“Marissa? That’s a nice name.”

“Thanks. My parents get all the credit.”

Smirking, Rusty asked, “What’s your middle name?”

“Renee.”

Rusty was taken aback. “Wow. Well, Marissa Renee, I will never forget that name as long as I live.”

Marissa chuckled. “Oh? Why not?”

Quite seriously, but in a lighthearted tone, Rusty explained, “Well, Marissa and Renee are names of two of the most important girls in my life. So, I’ll never forget someone with both of those names.”

Rusty wasn’t lying. That wasn’t a line. Marissa was the middle name of his first love, Kateri, who had died in California. Renee was the first name of his best friend, who had moved to Israel.

Marissa wasn’t sure what to make of this dude. Ordinarily that kind of line would sound like a guy just trying to hook up with her. But something about him held an innocent boyish charm and she liked him already. “What’s yours? Your middle name.”

“Oh, well, Rusty is my middle name. Gordon is my first. But no one calls me that. My mother has apologized for it many times.”

Marissa chuckled. Her laugh was exactly the kind Rusty would have hoped it to be. Made her face glitter like it was outlined in silver and the sound was happier than a little girl being licked by a box full of puppies.

They spent the remainder of the evening together, walking through the exhibits, discussing opinions on artwork, sharing stories about childhood and favorite movies. By the end of the night, they were back in front of the gallery, sitting on a bench. There were still dozens of people in attendance, but the crowds had thinned considerably.

“You know, just before we met, I was afraid you had left. I was really bummed because I really wanted to meet you.”

“I wanted to meet you too. Don’t worry, I wasn’t going anywhere until you talked to me.” Marissa flirted. Rusty noted she became far more flirty by the minute. Not in an irreverent or sleazy way, but in an endearing one.

“Oh, nice! Hey, wait, why did I have to talk to you? You could have talked to me first.”

Marissa playfully rolled her eyes. “Because you’re the man. Come on! Buck up, sissy.”

Rusty’s shoulder earned a lighthearted smack from her palm.

“Okay! Well, I’ll take that as an appreciation for chivalry.”

“Yes, my feminist friends would kill me. But I hate feminism.”

Rusty was intrigued. “You hate feminism?”

“Oh, totally. Nothing but hateful misandry in disguise. I think this whole idea of equality between the sexes has set humanity back by decades.”

“How so?”

“Because men and women are not equal. And we never should be. We are different physically and emotionally and intellectually. I think acknowledging that and cerebrating our differences, instead of trying to force everyone to pretend we’re the same, is the only way to gain true equilibrium between the sexes. Admitting that we are not on the same level. Like all these privileged women in Western culture who claim to be ‘oppressed’ while they got to sit home during World War I and World War II while millions of men died. Yeah, women in civilized Western cultures and First World countries who claim to be ‘oppressed’ are pure evil.”

“That was beautiful. Marry me?”

Marissa laughed, “Whoa. Slow down there, Tex.”

“Sorry. Little too fast for you?”

“Maybe a little. But deep inside, I think every little princess dreams of the dashing prince making the first move.”

“Oh, I’m a dashing prince now, am I?”

“Well, so far. You have a certain charm.”

“Why thank you, mi’lady.” Rusty bowed with a flourished hand.

“You’re welcome, mi’lord.”

Rusty wanted to compliment her on being quite a princess herself, but he decided despite flirtations, he didn’t want to get too sappy with a girl he just met. Instead he told her, “Hey, I’m on your side. Nothing wrong with wanting the man to make the first move. I appreciate a woman with old-fashioned sensibilities.”

Marissa nodded in accordance. “John Wayne would make the first move. So should any man.”

“I agree. But I’m not a man.”

“You’re not? What are you? A girl in drag? Damnit! Not another one!”

Rusty laughed. “No, I’m just an innocent little boy. Peter Pan complex and all. I was afraid you might have become another Easter Egg.”

Marissa’s nose crinkled. She had no clue what that meant. “An Easter Egg?”

“Yeah. Because I waited too long before I chased you down.”

“Oookay.”

With a chuckle, Rusty began to explain, “See, when I was a little boy, I went on this Easter Egg Hunt. And, you know, it was my first time. My first egg hunt. I didn’t know how it worked. So, there I was with all these other little kids and the eggs were hidden in the grass, and in bushes, and trees and stuff.”

“Yeah, I know what an egg hunt is.” Marissa teased.

Rusty snorted his embarrassment. “Okay, sorry. Overexplaining. I do that a lot. Get used to it.”

Marissa giggled.

Rusty continued, “Anyway, the point is, I didn’t know it was some chaotic thing with kids running all over the place. I was a very quiet and respectful little kid. I was really reserved. So, I just went slowly walking into this field. And everytime I was about to pick up an egg, some other kid would zing past me and snatch it. See, in my mind, I had this attitude that if I saw the egg, it was mine. I didn’t understand the whole point was whomever grabbed the eggs first. I thought it was whomever spotted the eggs first. I took the word hunting very literally. So, I was getting more and more upset, because all these other kids were stealing my eggs! I was told to find the Easter eggs. So, I literally went around finding them. Seeing the egg is finding it. Right? That’s how I interpreted the rules.”

“Aw. That’s so sad! Poor little Rusty with no eggs.”

“Yeah, it was rather pathetic.”

“So, how many eggs did you get?”

“None.” Rusty formed a zero with his thumb and index finger.

“None!?”

“Yeah. Literally. Not one. Out of like twenty boys and girls, including older and younger kids, I was the only little kid who had an empty basket.”

“Aw!” Marissa pouted, not without genuine sympathy. “That’s so sad!”

“Yeah. It was, uh, it was pretty pathetic. I didn’t like any of the other kids after that. I was all upset and crying because I saw all these other kids as cheaters and thieves. You know? I saw the eggs! They were mine! I didn’t understand that I had just been playing the game wrong.”

“No one gave you an egg out of pity?”

“No, I don’t - I don’t think so. No, I don’t recall that happening. No pity eggs. I actually think my grandfather may have asked one of the other parents, but no kids were prepared to sacrifice their haul.” Rusty smirked. Recollecting the story, his eyes still held the kind of disappointment one develops for all of humanity in those memories. “Also pretty symbolic of the selfishness of people. But my point is, that one event kind of became a symbol for my whole life. You see, I realize now, how often I miss opportunities in life because I either move too slow, or I don’t understand the rules, or others come along and steal away what I assumed was mine, just because I saw it first.”

“Ah. So, you were afraid I was an Easter Egg.”

“Exactly. When I couldn’t find you, I thought of the Easter Egg Hunt. I wait too long to speak with the pretty girl and she leaves with a boy who has a bigger basket.”

Marissa spat out a laugh that sparkled like ten windchimes. “Well, I wouldn’t say that one event informed your whole life. I mean, you got to me in time.”

“True. I guess I learned something.”

“I guess so. I like your basket just fine.” She teased.

“Well, instead of waiting until the last minute, I guess I should put all my eggs in one basket and ask for your phone number now.” Rusty was wry in his request. He loved those moments when you could ask a girl for her number and you knew she wouldn’t turn you down.

Marissa groaned with a titter. “Oh, that was bad.”

“I know.” Rusty smiled, “Wasn’t it? Hey, I’m proud of the horror of my puns.”

That wasn’t a pun. It was just a weak callback. But Marissa didn’t correct him on his terminology.

Marissa had just graduated from college and was working as an Resident Assistant at her dorm - the ubiquitous RA; the Sun God, as they are geekily called on every college campus. “Oh, they’re going to give me a new room in like 2 weeks, so I’m not sure if that will still be my number.”

Rusty looked suspicious.

Marissa immediately defended herself, “No, no! Seriously! See, the phone numbers are usually tied to a room. And then because my job is moving me to a new room, I’m not sure that my number will stay the same. I swear! I’m not trying to blow you off. Honestly!” She touched his hand.

Smiling, he held her fingertips. “Okay. Well, we’ll see.”

Rusty had become so accustomed to rejection, he honestly didn’t care at that point. The way he saw it, he had a wonderful evening talking to this girl. If she was blowing him off and he never saw her again, that was fine. He still had a great time.

That being said, her nervousness amused him.

There was a slim possibility that she was telling the truth.

Maybe she really did like him.

§

“Trust me, it’s fun.” Rusty reassured Marissa.

Taking hold of her hand, he squeezed and let her know, “It’ll be over before you know it. It only takes a secoouuuuughnd!”

Marissa screamed so loud as the roller coaster dropped straight down, she thought she would rupture her spleen. She wasn’t even sure what a spleen was, but surely something inside her was going to break. That dazzling brunette hair of hers was flying skyward like a tickertape parade running backwards.

As the terrifying freefall slowly rolled to a gentle stop, Rusty and Marissa were momentarily on their backs, before careening headfirst and dropping upright again, laughing and hyperventilating along with the other two riders.

“Ohmygod! Ohmygod! Ohmygod.” Marissa was repeating.

“That’s what she said.” Rusty joked.

“You said it wouldn’t be scary!” Marissa scolded.

“I never said that. I said it would be over quick!” Rusty managed to spit out between laughing gasps for air.

“Ohmygod.”

“Wanna do it again?”

“No!” Marissa giggled.

“Wimp!”

“Fine! I’ll go again!”

After two or three nights of 3 hour phonecalls, their first date at Cedar Point Amusement Park was going wonderfully.

Marissa used to work there during her summer breaks in college.

That was the first time she ever mustered up the courage to ride the Demon Drop.

Marissa suggested they go on the Fourth of July, because the park would be empty. Rusty didn’t believe her.

“Are you kidding? The Fourth of July will be packed!”

“Nope. I guarantee it. I worked there, remember? Trust me. Everyone has family picnics and barbeques on the Fourth. No one goes to the park. I swear it will be empty.”

“Okaaay. If you say so.”

Sure enough, she had been right.

They practically had the place to themselves.

The longest lines were a 5 minute wait. It was fantastic! The day was everything Rusty had hoped and prayed for. All those times he had been there as a teenager, all those times seeing happy couples while he was alone, had finally paid off. At long last, he was one of the happy couples! For once, he could finally be at Cedar Point with a beautiful girl.

A girl to hold hands with on roller coasters.

A girl to makeout with in the sky ride.

A girl to buy cotton candy for.

A girl to make him feel like he wouldn’t be alone forever.

“What’s wrong?” Marissa asked as they stood in line for the bobsled ride.

Wistfully, Rusty gazed around the throngs of humanity, feeling that love for people you can only recognize when someone adores you, “Oh, nothing. I was just thinking about the lonely boys in the crowd.”

“The lonely boys?”

“Yeah. And girls. You see, I’ve been here so many times with my friends and with family and I would always feel jealous when I’d see some happy couple holding hands and making out in line. And I just realized, I’m one of those couples now. So, I hope there aren’t any lonely guys or girls looking at us and feeling jealous. You know? I’d hate to think that our happiness was bumming anybody out.”

Shrugging it off, he didn’t want to turn their joyful day into something mopey. “I don’t know. No big deal. That’s silly, I know.”

Marissa knew Rusty was special.

She knew he was different.

That was the moment when she realized just how odd he was.

What an incredible boy, caring about people in ways that others never even think about.

Without a word, she kissed him and pulled him close to her chest. She didn’t tell him, but she fell in love with him right then and there. The little boy who was too kindhearted to knock kids aside for Easter Eggs and who cared so much about his fellow man that he was concerned about breaking the lonely hearts of strangers.

§

Marissa had been telling the truth about moving.

She really did get a new room at the college, but her number never changed after all.

A few weeks later, it was Rusty’s turn.

He was leaving a crappy little one-bedroom apartment that reeked of cigarette-scented carpet and musk. When he first visited the place, all the windows were open on a breezy summer day, so he had no idea the place smelled so awful. Wasn’t until after he moved in that he realized he should have insisted the landlord replace the flooring. At least the neighborhood was pleasant enough. Safe. Suburban. Full of kids and trees and sidewalks dotted with baby strollers.

The best part was the neighbors - a retirement home.

Thank goodness.

No rowdy parties. No loud domestic disputes. Just friendly old folks. Nice.

Or so he thought.

But he forgot one thing.

He presumed the quiet of a bunch of senior citizens would mean relaxing evenings. On the contrary, he wasn’t always guaranteed a good night’s sleep. He didn’t stop to consider that once a week, he’d be awoken at 3 in the morning to the sound of an ambulance picking up the latest souls to depart the Earth next door. In the middle of the night, old ladies and old men would get hauled off to the emergency room for heart attacks or seizures or whatever happens to elderly folks in the dead of evening. Rusty’s bedroom window happened to face the old-folks-home front driveway.

Of course, he couldn’t get mad about it.

After all, you feel like a jerk getting mad over something as petty as interrupted sleep when the cause is the end of a long life, leaving behind grieving spouses and grandchildren.

The worst part was knowing that everyday of his life was leading Rusty to the same inevitable fate. That’s the whole reason young people fear the elderly so much. Their hearwrenching frailty and senility are reminders of what awaits us all.

One of the worst things about that old apartment was the fact it only had two windows in the entire place - one in the bedroom and one in the livingroom. Not only did that leave it feeling stuffy all the time, but it was dismal and dreary in the lack of light. Hence the reason phonecalls with his mother lead him to distracted thoughts of requiring lamps.

Marissa only spent the night once at his old ashtray-smelling place. Thank goodness. As he and Marissa were both non-smokers, he was embarrassed to bring her there. How did he not notice the awful odor when he first visited the place?

His next apartment was bliss.

Just across a lush valley on the other side of the zoo, the rustic three-story building was nestled right next to a lovely park replete with baseball diamonds and a bicycle path. Called “Park Finnian Park”, the entire apartment complex was surrounded by trees and flora. Not to mention he had two bedrooms, brand new appliances, and they even let him pick from a choice of three colors for his freshly-installed carpet. Every room had a window and the summer breeze filled his home with the sound of night crickets, afternoon doves, and the deep green of light sparkling off maple leaves.

Enjoying the early spring perfume of rainclouds and chipper ’80’s tunes as he unpacked, his new apartment felt like home in no time whatsoever.

Rusty loved everything about his place at Park Finnian Park.

(He thought the name was really weird though. “Park” twice?)

Admittedly, Rusty was looking forward to Marissa sharing his bed at the new apartment far more than his thrill with the appliances or the décor.

In fact, he spent a lot of time thinking about Marissa as he was moving.

Since the move was only a few blocks, he allowed his leases to overlap by two weeks and moved most of his belongings little by little. The numerous quiet drives back and forth left him thinking of her over and over, two leisurely miles at a time.

Rusty wasn’t a superstitious type.

He wasn’t much for horoscopes or ghost stories.

He didn’t consider himself an atheist either. He just didn’t invest much time in thinking about those things.

Nevertheless, Marissa was starting to make him think a lot more about soulmates. If souls existed, it certainly wasn’t crazy to imagine his had a strange connection with the spirit of Marissa.

Maybe those kind of thoughts are what inspired the weird hypnogogic dreams he soon started to experience.

On his third night in the unfamiliar bedroom, he got the strangest feeling.

As he was laying in bed, facing the wall with his back towards the dresser, he had the most eerie sense he was being watched. There was no reason such an emotion should pop into his mind. He wasn’t thinking about anything spooky. He hadn’t watched a disturbing movie or had a recent conversation about anything creepy. Out of nowhere, he just felt like there was another presence in his room.

Something told him, it was his maternal grandparents.

They had only died two years prior, within months of each other.

He knew, whatever was watching him, there were two of them.

There was no explanation as to why he felt two beings there.

There was no explanation as to why he’d feel one being there!

He just knew they were present.

Quickly, he opened his eyes and flipped around in bed.

His room was empty. Of course.

As he intently started into the space were he could feel the ghostly shapes, the eerie feeling slowly faded away.

He may have been a skeptic about astrology and new age mojo mumbo jumbo, but even the most staunch of disbelievers can’t deny when icy fingers trickle down their spine.

§

In the months that passed, Marissa and Rusty grew closer than either of them could have possibly suspected that night in front of the gallery. Each of them were developing feelings of love they had never experienced before.

Marissa was more at-ease with Rusty than any other guy she had ever dated. In the past, she always felt the need to hide something about herself from her previous boyfriends. Some secret. Some failing. Some mistakes. Some regrets.

Not with Rusty.

She knew that even if he disapproved of her choices in life, he’d still love her anyway. That was a freedom she had never felt before and because of it, she developed a love for him fathoms deeper than any romance of her past.

Marissa didn’t admit how deeply she was falling in love.

That was the one thing she kept to herself.

She did tell Rusty about how easily she found herself opening up to him though. That much she was comfortable admitting.

Rusty didn’t expect any of this to happen.

He imagined she’d be in and out of his life quickly.

That same old fear - she’d prove to be like most girls that aren’t important enough to mention. Especially after that little incident with the phone number he suspected was fake. Yeah, at first, he had his doubts. Yet, in mere weeks, she grew from being someone he was determined to not care about, into the one of the most important girls of his lifetime.

When he met Marissa, he was worried she might be falling for him too quickly. During the first few conversations they had, she made mention she might move to New York City. She lamented that she’d miss him if she were to go. Although he obviously didn’t say it, Rusty vividly recalled thinking, he wouldn’t miss her much in return.

Within days, such selfishness was forgotten and Rusty’s heart had become so devoted to Marissa, he was having a difficult time picturing his life without her.

Funny. He feared she was falling too fast, then he did it himself.

All his life, he had a lot of silly little traits he hoped to find in the “perfect girl”. Everyone does. Those “requirements” we place on our partners. “The List” of qualifications any potential suitor must fulfill. Marissa had all of them and then some. He knew it was stupid to have those trivial prerequisites. Everyone knows those “lists” are pure ignorance. That was the beauty of Marissa. She met his every expectation, trivial ones and all, even though none of them should have been important.

She kept pace with him when hiking over boulders in a creek.

She read comic books.

She never did drugs.

She never smoked.

She even liked Gatorade.

Just like him.

He knew most of the traits were silly. Insignificant.

But that’s what made it all the more shocking.

Not only did he love Marissa for living up to all the important expectations, but he loved her for connecting with him in all the irrelevant ones too.

§

“Why did you choose to never drink?” Marissa asked, tossing her hair out of the way as they got back into her car after lunch at a nearby pizza place.

Rusty shrugged and lied. “I don’t know. It was just never of interest to me. That’s all.”

“You never got any tattoos?”

Rusty chuckled, “These are random questions.”

“No, I meant straightedge tattoos. To commemorate that you don’t indulge in those things.”

“Oh! Sorry. It was a related question.”

“Yeah.” Marissa laughed and her voice echoed wonderfully in the confines of the car. Rusty savored moments like that. Relishing the voice of a beautiful girl as it echoes in a car is one of the great pleasures in life.

“Well, to be honest, I often thought of getting the X tattooed on top of my hands. But, the thing is, as much as I admire the straightedge movement, I really don’t like the notion of advertising it. What I mean is, being straightedge is my choice. My decision. I don’t feel I need to boast about that to the whole world. Why advertise it? In a way, it just seems obnoxious to throw it in people’s faces. You know? Plus, there’s also the Blue Feather Factor.”

Marissa rolled her eyes. “Uh, oh. Here we go. You and your factors and Easter Eggs. Dare I ask what is the Blue Feather Factor?”

Happy she took the bait, Rusty grinned. “Well, as you know, one of my favorite books is Illusions by Richard Bach.”

“Right.”

“You know the front cover of that book has a blue feather on it, symbolic of a scene in the story about manifesting your reality.”

“Right.” Marissa nodded. Richard Bach was one of her favorites too. Marissa had actually met Mr. Bach a few times at book signings and gotten autographed copies of his work. Their mutual love of Richard Bach stories was one of the things that bonded Rusty and Marissa together when they first started dating.

“Okay, so you know in the Society for Creative Anachronism when a lady fancies a lord, she will sew a favor for him?”

Marissa knew exactly what Rusty was talking about. Within the medieval recreation group, ladies would sew a kerchief with symbolic tokens upon the fabric and give it to her lord to wear upon his belt into battle; the Renaissance-equivalent of modern friendship bracelets or Claddagh rings. Favors were tokens of affection. “Right,” Marissa replied, “a token.”

“Yes. Exactly. They are also called tokens. Well, my ex-girlfriend gave me a favor with a blue feather on it, to represent the Richard Bach book. It was very sweet and thoughtful and a great befitting symbol. Then, about two years later, the SCA decided to support some kind of a pro-gay movement and the gays chosen symbol was... a blue feather.”

“No way!” Marissa laughed. “That’s right. The gay group is the Blue Feathers!”

“Right! So, now, I was pissed! I could never wear that favor again! Because everyone would assume I was queer.”

“That’s hilarious!”

“So, getting back to your straightedge tattoo question, I was worried about getting an X on my hands because I thought - what if a decade or two from now, that symbol changes in our culture and it no longer represents being straightedge? What if the meaning of the symbol changes, and suddenly I’ll be completely misunderstood and people will think I’m gay or hold some kind of militant political stance or something? The Blue Feather Factor. That’s another reason I don’t want to get any straightedge tattoos. Plus, everyone thinks the ‘sXe’ means ‘sexy’ and that’s annoying to have to explain.”

Laughing, Marissa got it. “Okay. That makes sense.”

“Yeah. No ink for me.”

As they fastened their seatbelts, she asked, “You were never curious about getting high or anything?”

The line of questioning made him nervous.

Why did she keep coming back to this?

One of the things that attracted Rusty to Marissa the most was the fact that she never smoked or used drugs and barely ever drank any alcohol. She was almost straightedge. Rusty loved her for that.

However, when people start prodding you with these questions, Rusty discovered that they typically drop a big “confession” on you afterward. Like they used to smoke weed everyday in the 8th grade after school, or they used to attend 12-Step addiction meetings. Lots of people do that. They live with a hidden sordid past and then claim they have always been sober. Few people were like Rusty, who were genuinely pure every day of their lives. Even a majority of people who boasted of practicing a “hardcore straightedge lifestyle” were often just recovering addicts.

“No. My grandfather smoked cigarettes and so did my mom and they both smelled awful. I never needed to experiment with smelling like that. It was disgusting. I still think smokers are revolting because they smell so hideous.” Rusty was giving her his canned answers. The answers he gave to everyone. The responses he learned would shut people up. These were the replies he had been giving to folks for years. Rusty would never say anything more. A few brief jokes about stinky clothes and disinterest and no one would pressure him. Rusty learned if he sounded nonchalant about the subject, then people would let it slide.

This time, it was different.

He wanted to tell Marissa the real reason.

The one he never spoke about.

Rubbing the stubble he usually never wore, Rusty said, “Of course, there’s a little more to it.”

Marissa looked at him and smiled. “Go on.”

Grinning into the past, Rusty looked away and stared out the car window at the burnt orange and golden rainbow of Fall leaves kaleidoscoping past. “Once upon a time, there was a sweet and innocent little boy who lived in a loving home with his grandparents. One summer, his drug-addict mother came for him and took the boy to live with her and her violent alcoholic boyfriend. Every night, the little boy would hear his mother getting beaten and thrown across rooms and see her break tablelamps with her face as she was hurtled into them.”

Rusty paused and Marissa swallowed the silence.

Continuing, Rusty said, “In front of the apartment was a balcony. There was a little step up to the balcony that was about 3 or 4 inches high. And everyday, the little boy would go out on that balcony and pray to God to have his wonderful grandparents come back and take him away from that awful place. The little boy believed God and angels were up in the sky, in Heaven. By being a few inches higher, on top of that little step, just a little closer to God, maybe there was a better chance for God to hear his prayers.”

This time, when he paused, Marissa said, “Oh, Rusty. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know - ”

“ - Wait. The story isn’t finished. So, everyday the little boy saw the kind of violence and anger caused by alcohol and the stupidity and ignorance caused by drugs and the toxic air caused by cigarettes. And he vowed that he would never become like any of those people. He swore to himself, and promised God, that he would always stay in the light. And then one day, after months that had stretched on so long they felt like decades, his prayers came true. His loving grandparents came and took him away and he lived with them for the rest of his childhood, until he was old enough to have his own apartment.”

Looking back at Marissa, Rusty explained, “I have never and will never break the promises I made to that little boy. I swore to him that I would never poison myself like those terrible people. I would never allow my soul to become possessed by the demons that live at the bottom of a bottle. I would never cloud my judgment with the befitting namesake of ‘dope’. I would never dull my pain with drugs, because drugs were already the source of my pain. If my life could become that bad when I was not the person doing the drugs, how bad would life become if I took them myself? You want to know the real reason I’ve remained a clean-and-sober straightedge since the day I was born? That’s why. Because I have a promise to keep. To that little boy praying on the balcony. And no man of honor ever breaks a promise. Even if that promise was one he made to himself.”

Marissa kissed Rusty at the next stoplight and told him she loved him with a sincerity that staved off the Fall chill.

§

Lithe and elegant in her poise, Marissa paused in the doorway of her bedroom as the sounds of the Karma album by Delerium trickled around the incense and candlelight.

Dark hair rained over her shoulders and down her chest, barely tickling the curves of her flesh, softly feathering around maroon dark upon her chest. Tracing his eyes down her skin, Rusty admired every freckle, yearned for the flavor of every pore.

When she strolled nearer her bed, Rusty slipped out from the covers, as he so longed to embrace her before she even reached the sheets. He needed to touch her. Those extra two seconds were an eternity to wait.

Heart racing, he slid his hands to her hips. The moment his skin met hers, he felt it again. The shock. The charge. That quiver making his heartbeat strange. Almost as if their pulses were changing just to match one another.

Then the instant they both loved the most.

Pulled in close.

Thighs to thighs.

Chest to chest.

Arms cocooning each others backs, touching, caressing, drawing as much flesh as possible onto the other. Bodies the cool velvet of quartz, warming into the melt of honey. The scent of her hair, the taste of each others skin as lips found necks.

Her eyes closed involuntarily as she felt the taste of his sweet breath on her cheek. As her mouth parted, a shiver rippled from the base of her skull and swirled down her spine, tingling to her fingertips and toes. Kissing him was always floating in tropic seas and coconut winds.

As Marissa crawled into the pillows with Rusty, their eyes never parted.

The dark hood of her hair poured down onto his face, enveloping them in a candleshadow dreamworld of passion and fire. Feeling her weight atop him, every joy of their touch increased tenfold. He felt himself grow harder as the warmth between her thighs heated the thin sheen of air between them. The more her body pressed into his, the more he felt whole. The missing fragments of his soul, slipping gently into place.

Strong and firm, yet ginger and tender, Rusty touched her like Marissa always dreamed of being held. Guiding her body under him with a confident hand, her frosty pallor flowed beneath his muscled frame like silk ribbons.

Smooth against skin, Marissa moaned as she felt him press between her thighs. Wet and hard, their bodies moved in rhythm.

As their lips touched, they breathed as one. Every exhale from the man became the inhale of the woman. Every breath softly drawn from the body of the other.

Every second, every fragment of their lovemaking, was savored and cherished and treated with awe and reverence. By the ancient rites of candlefire and incense smoke, these were holy hours.

Yet something was different this time.

Stronger.

The pulse of heartbeats grew quicker. The electricity of their bond spilled out of their veins and encircled their very auras. Their hearts wrapped in the flow of binary suns, burning bright in the firmament. One drawing the energy of the other and flowing it back. Symbiotic. Joined. A union beyond the mortal coil.

Their eyes remained focused.

Pupils dilated in the dim of candlelight.

Shadows danced odd forms in retinas that quivered with the roil of boiling stormclouds. The night was not meant to move in these ways. Visions of love dared not undulate into these, the wavelengths of forbidden, where souls weave into the very fabric of one another. They felt like they were falling. Gravity itself seemed to vanish and the entirety of the world disappeared to send them hurtling into the void of the cosmos and stardust. Shattering a hundred billion suns. The very origin of the universe quivering a birthsong, down violin strings taunt as musclechord steel.

He knew not where his heartbeat ended.

She knew not where her breath began.

Every thought.

Every feeling.

Every ounce of blood in the other shuddered in their own veins.

The whole of infinity stared into their hearts through the doorway of the others gaze.

As he pulled his head back, working to refocus his dizzying sight, the sensation didn’t cease.

They saw it.

They felt it.

The looks of fear and ecstasy on their faces was identical.

Each of them knew...

This was no illusion. They weren’t alone.

Each of them were feeling...

... the same sensation.

Barely able to breath, they were each suffocating in a darkening tunnelvision. The music seemed to grow quieter and they could only hear each others skin. Feel each others thoughts.

“What’s happening?” Rusty asked in a whisper.

Marissa flashed a grateful smile. Yes. Yes! She wasn’t dreaming this. He felt it too!? “I don’t know.” She whispered with equal wonderment.

They fell back into each other, adrift in the endless euphoria of this strange dreamfasting.

He entered her as the sensation reached it’s zenith and all the lost stars of the universe spiraled into the surface of their skin exploding dustshine glow across the heavens and dazzling the night.

Love and lust groaned and screamed to crescendo.

Hands clawed.

Fingers intertwined.

Gripping.

Sweating.

Quickening.

He felt her clench tighter around him.

She felt him swell harder inside her.

All the fervor of a thousand new senses brought to life. Chakras burst open to a flow of soulfire they had never known before. The very spirit of their humanity evolving to a higher plane in a sea rife with maelstroms of desire.

Collapsing.

Sighing.

Breathing.

Feel me.

Muscles tensed and quivered to rippling. Undulating dizzy as the twilight tide. Their very bones shimmering light as clouds in a summer heaven.

§

Rusty went to bed the next night all smiles.

Weekdays, Marissa had to work at the college.

Meanwhile, Rusty was doing junior design work at a little architecture firm downtown. The hour drive between them, plus their careers, made moving in together impractical. They both knew the logistics were not feasible, so the topic of living together never really came up.

Nevertheless, Rusty always found it hard to leave her.

Every time he stepped out her door, he wished he didn’t have to.

Chuckling, he still laughed to himself when he thought about a conversation he and Marissa had earlier that day about bathroom etiquette.

Rusty told Marissa the story of an ex-girlfriend, Louise, who walked in on him while he was “doing his business” and how he freaked out on Louise for opening the door.

“Hey. Hey! I’m in here! What are you doing!?”

Louise didn’t understand why Rusty was so upset. “We just had sex. That’s a lot more intimate than this.”

Rusty’s voice raised to higher and higher octaves as he spoke. “I know we just had sex! You don’t need to remind me. And, yes, it is more intimate. And it was wonderful. And I loved it. And it was fantastic. But if you watch me taking a shit, I’m thinking you won’t have sex with me again! So, can you please get the fuck out of the room!?”

Much to his pleasure, Marissa agreed that walking in on someone like that was never a good idea.

They always seemed to connect and agree with everything.

Rusty couldn’t help but smirk at how strange some of their conversations happened to be. Laying back in his own bed, he wondered, with bemusement, if other couples talked about things like the bathroom habits of former lovers?

Of course they do.

But, being young and in love and wanting every thought and conversation to be special, Rusty imagined other couples didn’t.

That was part of what made Rusty so happy with Marissa.

Nothing taboo.

Nothing inappropriate.

Every topic of life could be met with mirth and laughter.

As Rusty started drifting off to sleep, that slight sense of floating one feels when incredibly relaxed, started to hover over him. He wasn’t sure if he was being gently pulled up from above or softly pushed up from below.

Suddenly, he could feel that strange presence again.

Something was in his bedroom.

Something was watching him again.

He wondered, if Marissa were with him, would she feel it too?

The feeling grew much stronger this time. More pronounced. He felt like his grandparents were right there. Right next to the bed. He could almost hear them breathing.

Fearfully, he again spun around and looked at the spot where he could feel them standing.

Again the room was empty.

But this time, the presence of the beings didn’t vanish. Even when he was staring into the empty room, Rusty still felt them watching him. There was nothing there, but he could feel eyes upon his skin.

Rusty sat up and spoke out loud to the darkness.

“Look, gramma, grappa. I’m not sure if you’re really there or not. I’m not sure if my ability to sense your presence is just my imagination or what. All I know is that it feels like you are there. It feels like you’re watching me. I can sense you standing there. I want you both to know, that I love you very much.” Tears began to well and Rusty surprised himself at how easy it was to start crying over them.

“And I miss you everyday. And I appreciate you wanting to look out for me. I really do. But, showing up in my room like this, really freaks me out. I can feel you there, but since I can’t see you or hear you, I think maybe I’m just going crazy. Maybe you’re not really there at all.”

Rusty sighed and looked down at his sheets. “Listen, I don’t want to hurt your feelings or offend you in any way. Like I said, I love you both and I really miss you. But showing up like this, it’s really kind of... frightening for me. So, please, just, don’t do this anymore. Okay? I want you here. I love that you want to watch over me and look out for me. That’s great. I do appreciate it. Just, please do it in a way that’s a little less... unsettling. Okay? Can you do that for me? I mean, just imagine how I feel. Try to put yourself in my place for a second. How would you feel when you were alive, if ghosts were watching you sleep? Having ghosts of your dead grandparents floating over your bed when you sleep is kind of scary. I hope you understand. Please continue to keep watch over me, just don’t do it like this anymore. Okay?”

Despite how kind he tried to be, Rusty felt terrible saying that.

Felt silly saying it to an empty room too.

After he spoke his peace, the sense of beings in his room faded.

Again, he found himself feeling alone.

Relaxing, he rolled back over and closed his eyes.

The hush and gentle voice of rainclouds spoke from his bedside.

“We want you to meet someone.”

Rusty screamed louder than a preschooler who just got his fingers crushed in a car door. Without thought, he leapt away from the direction of the voice, slamming his face directly into the wall beside his bed and whimpering from the pain of his forehead cracking the plaster.

Christ. Did he dent it? His hand absently reached out toward the drywall. No dent. Shockingly. But his head was throbbing.

“Damnit.”

Spinning around in horror, his room was still empty. No sign of anyone standing there. “What the fuck!?” He yelled, half in fear and half in anger, thinking if he responded furiously, he might scare away whatever it was that spoke to him.

The apartment was silent.

Crickets outside.

Nothing stirred.

Jeezus, his head was throbbing.

Rusty could hear the rustling of his covers and his own breath.

Whatever had spoken, was gone.

He didn’t feel the presence of his grandparents anymore.

“Daddy?” The spectral blonde girl who poked her head around his bedroom door looked like she was no more than 12 or 13 years old. Glowing with a soft aura, she illuminated the doorway with a firefly golden light. Blackened lips and fingernails glimmered the moonstreak razors of candledim light. Flowing around her lithe young body was a simple gown of billowing sleeves and gossamer lace like a thousand spiderwbes spun from inkwell dark. Skin the silken pallor of glazed icicles in sunshine, kissed with a summer tan of dandelion, every inch of her was unspoiled purity and radiant warmth. For a girl who appeared so dread sinister and dark, her eyes shone with a delight that made you know her heart was good and true. Tresses of curly hair billowed past her shoulders and her face was all the tenderness of butterfly kisses and puppylove. Despite the slight light emanating from her entire body, she was distinctly solid. Moving feather and wispy as any vision of a ghost, she was not some translucent spirit. Certainly phantasmal, Rusty couldn’t see through the preternatural girl, and she wasn’t glowing white; only golden with lightningbug dust.

This was no hallucination.

She was real.

Damn real.

Real as his own icy veins and racing heartbeat. Although Rusty should have been horrified at the vision of an apparitional child standing in his doorway, instead he was overwhelmed by love at first sight. Love like he had never quite felt before. He felt drawn to her in a way he couldn’t explain. The entire room seemed to shrink on him and move him closer to her, like that dolly zooming camera trick they do in movies. He found himself aching to touch her, to hold her, to draw her into his embrace and always care for her. Oddly, these emotions weren’t exactly sensual. The feelings didn’t quite strike him in an erotic way. That confused him. He felt so attracted to her. So compelled to her. Yet, his feelings were totally innocent and pure. Brotherly. Paternal.

Who was she? What was she?

Why did she make him instantly feel this way?

He should have screamed.

He should have been mortified.

Instead, he gasped, but said nothing.

His heart flapped harder than a goldfish on hardwood floors.

“Hi, Rusty,” the girl said. As she spoke, her glow faded until she was just as corporeal as any living person, standing in the dark of a bedroom. “My name is Isabeau. I’m your daughter.”

Her voice was crisp and young like bamboo flutes and woodland brooks. The kind of voice a girl has when you’re first falling in love with her.

Rusty said nothing. He just stared in shock. The fact that she was no longer glowing, somehow made her more frightening.

After all, most men would rather get caught with the ghost of a beautiful 13 year old girl in his apartment than with a real one.

“Who the hell are you!?”

“I just told you, silly.” The girl giggled. “I’m your daughter. Isabeau.”

“How did you get in here? Get out of my apartment! I don’t have a daughter!” Rusty tried to sound angry. Every word had a hard time leaving his chest. As if he shouldn’t dare speak to this thing at all. As if something terrible would happen simply because he acknowledged the presence of this creature. Rusty tried to convince himself that her glowing faeriedust had been a hallucination. No. This wasn’t a ghost. That was crazy. This was some psychotic girl who had broken into his apartment.

Or...

Damnit. Had he gotten an ex-girlfriend pregnant?

Some girl who never told him!?

Wait.

No. That’s impossible. This chick was like 12 years old. Rusty didn’t lose his virginity until 8 years ago. This couldn’t be his daughter.

This is a psycho burglar.

“Sorry, daddy.” Isabeau bit her lip. “I know this isn’t exactly the best way to appear to you. But, greatgramma and greatgrappa figured, since you’d be startled no matter when I showed up, now was as good a time as any.”

The thought occurred to Rusty that his natural reaction should have been to scream at her and ask again how the hell she got into his apartment. But somehow, he already knew those answers, and he didn’t want to think about them, so he didn’t riddle her with those questions.

The longer he started at her, the more his rational fears faded and the more his fear of the unknown began to surface.

“Oh. Okay.” Rusty clamored back against the wall. He still wasn’t sure what was going on. His tone had changed so drastically, it was as though his words were spoken by a different person. Like he was shooting a movie and offering different takes for a scene.

First be terrified.

Now be more relaxed.

Rusty was almost crying and he wasn’t sure why. Fear? Joy? Shock? All of the above? Maybe it was the simple fact that he hadn’t been breathing for about half a minute.

Realizing that, he stared to take in a few raspy breaths.

Was she a ghost?

Was she real?

Those were the only two thoughts going through his head. He had no idea how to process this experience. Maybe it was all a very real dream?

He had been laying down for awhile.

Yes. Yes, of course! He must be asleep.

No reason to freak out.

Dreaming. That must be it.

But he knew it was no dream.

He was just starting to wish it was.

Hypnogogic vision?

It must be that.

But he wasn’t laying down anymore.

“You’re kinda freaked, aren’t you?”

“Uh. Kinda. A bit. Yeah.” Rusty acknowledged.

“I’m sorry. I could leave and show up during the day, if that would be easier for you or - ”

“ - No! No. Please. Don’t... don’t go. Don’t go.” Rusty found his heart sink when she mentioned leaving. Despite ordering her to leave only a moment ago, he suddenly got an awful feeling that if she left, his life would diverge onto a path where it didn’t belong. Horrified as he was, the thought of this little girl leaving him was heartbreaking. Realizing this, he was more confused than ever. What the hell was he thinking? Heartbreaking? Why would he be heartbroken if some creepy ghost were to leave him alone and stop haunting him? Of course, he had never seen a ghost before. He didn’t even believe ghosts existed. But, despite being scared to death, he thought, wouldn’t anyone, skeptic or not, be horribly curious to speak to a ghost if one suddenly showed up?

She didn’t look like a ghost anymore though.

She only looked that way when she first appeared.

Was he seeing things?

Jeezus, he must be asleep.

Instead of demanding her to leave, he decided to ask the only question he had running through his head.

“What do you mean you’re my daughter?”

Before she answered, he repeated his first question, “How did you get in here?”

Yes. Of course. She was no ghost. That’s not possible. She was a flesh and blood girl who had somehow broken into his apartment.

“I wasn’t. Then I just... was.” The girl replied.

“You weren’t my daughter, then you were?”

“No, no. I mean that’s how I got in here. I wasn’t. Then I was. I’ve always been your daughter, silly.”

“Well, I can see - Uh. You need to go back. To whereever it is you are from.”

“I thought you didn’t want me to leave.”

This was crazy.

This wasn’t a ghost. This was some crazy little girl who was going to get him arrested as a pedophile.

Yet...

Those eyes...

There was something about her.

She was no stranger.

“Are you... a ghost?” Sounded so stupid to say out loud.

“Not exactly. I’m sorry. I know this is very strange for you.”

Maybe it was the fear, maybe it was the fact his head still hurt from hitting the wall, maybe it was that he was half asleep, but suddenly, Rusty just started rambling. “I’m sorry. I’m - Yes, I’m kind of scared to death right now. So, uh, I apologize if I’m... if I’m coming across as a bit rude or, um... if... if I don’t appear to be thinking... very clearly. Okay? I don’t see how you could have possibly broken into my apartment. I mean, I’m on the third floor. So, I must be dreaming.”

Isabeau moved closer to the bed and held out her hand, “Oh, no,” Isabeau said, sounding truly remorseful. “Daddy, please don’t be scared. I know my showing up like this has to be a shock. I’m really sorry for that. But, I promise I’m not some awful dark spirit come to harm you in any way. I really am your daughter and I need your help.”

That caught his attention.

Rusty recalled a psychology class he took long ago. One of the common aspects of most human personalities is that you can calm consternation in people by asking them for help. The idea behind the psychology is that people are basically good at heart and want to accommodate those who claim to need assistance.

Rusty wasn’t sure if that was true.

All he knew was, the second she claimed to need his help, he knew he’d do everything he could to give her anything she required.

She was still moving towards him.

He held up his hands, “Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Okay. Could you just stop and, um, maybe just... uh, how about you sit? Okay?”

He just wanted her to stop reaching towards him.

He wasn’t about to touch a ghost. Or a child prostitute.

Books and movies never tell you what might happen to your soul after you touch a ghost, and he wasn’t too eager to find out.

What were those lines in Hamlet?

Be thou a spirit of health or goblin damn’d,

Bring with thee airs from heaven or blasts from hell,

Be thy intents wicked or charitable,

Thou comest in such a questionable shape

That I will speak to thee

Isabeau moved toward the corner of the bed.

Rusty stopped her again, “Whoa! Hold on. No, no. Not there. How about there?” He motioned to the floor, next to the dresser. “Okay? Over there? Just sit on the floor and, um, we’ll talk. Okay?”

Isabeau smirked. “Okay.” She thought it was cute that her dad was being so sweet, yet so paranoid at the same time. Of course, she couldn’t blame him. Who wants a ghost sitting on his bed? Once he trusts her, then she can flop on the bed anytime she wants without a care. But for now, she was happy to ease his mind by taking a seat on the carpet.

She spun and sat, making her dress flow in a graceful swirl. Everything about her was elegance. Rusty wondered, how could such an angelic creature be his daughter?

Rusty stared at her a little longer than he intended. He wished he knew the color of her eyes. He couldn’t tell their color in the dim light that trickled into the room, from streetlamps in the apartment courtyard. He somehow knew those eyes had to be different. Even without seeing them, he knew they weren’t green or blue or brown. They would be brown with gold. Blue with azure and green. Hazel with silver flecks. Whatever they were, he instinctively knew, they weren’t like any others he had seen.

Calming himself, he began to talk to her. He had watched some television programs on ghosts and stuff and apparently you’re always supposed to speak to ghosts using only very simple questions. Something about them getting confused and angry if you get too sophisticated in the way you talk to them.

“Let’s take this one step at a time - ”

“ - Isabeau.” She repeated.

“Isabeau?”

“Yes.”

“Beautiful name.”

“Thanks to you.” Even in the dim, her smile was luminous.

Rusty couldn’t help but smile back. “My daughter, you say?”

“Yes.”

“And you need my help?”

“Yes.”

“With what?”

“Being born.”

Rusty stared at her blankly. “I... I don’t understand.”

“I’m your daughter. I haven’t been born yet. I need you to help me. I need you to make sure that I am born. I need you to make sure I exist.”

Suddenly, Rusty realized she seemed to be the one speaking in simplistic terms for his benefit, instead of the other way around.

“How do I do that?”

Isabeau was about to answer, when she saw his face reeling with other thoughts. Rusty could think of nothing else to say other than repeating the question that had been on his mind since she materialized at the door, “Are you a ghost?”

He didn’t seem to notice he had already asked her once.

“I don’t think so. Not exactly.” She was calm and sweet and not the least bit annoyed at having to answer the question twice. She replied as respectfully as if he was asking for the first time.

“What do you mean?”

She smoothed her dress with a shrug. “Ghosts are spirits of the dead. I’m not dead. I haven’t even been born. I can’t be a ghost if I haven’t died. Right?”

Rusty furrowed his brow, “Well, yeah. I guess that’s true. So, you’re more like... what? An angel?”

“Angel. Ghost. Something inbetween? I don’t think I can really explain it. I don’t think there’s quite a word for me. I think I’m a rare thing.” Isabeau winked playfully.

“A rare thing?” Rusty cocked his head, thinking she had quite a gift for understatement.

Isabeau shuffled her dress, “I don’t think most souls know what they are, before they are born. Whatever I am, I get the feeling my kind of... ‘being’... doesn’t happen too often.”

Rusty thought about that and nodded. “Fair enough.”

He got that feeling too. Whatever that meant.

He found himself already growing more at ease with Isabeau. Something about her was incredibly endearing. If she was telling the truth, and she was his unborn daughter, then being endeared to him would stand to reason. Surely, it explained his emotions for her. But it seemed to him it was more than that. He got the feeling that she was a truly good person. The sort of person who would put anyone at ease in any situation. He could visualize this beautiful girl growing up into a kindhearted and classy woman. A lady of poise, decency and decorum. That made him very proud. As that pride swelled in him, again he caught himself. Confused. Upset. Was he seriously taking pride in what might become of some creepy ghost chick that appeared in his room and may or may not be his future daughter?

Rusty sighed.

What the hell was he doing, he wondered?

One of the questions that scared him the most was the one he had to ask next. “So, you’re not... okay, so you’re like a ghost.”

“Kind of.”

“You’re sure? You’re not some psycho girl who broke into my apartment and is going to accuse me of trying to molest you or something?” Rusty jumped out of bed for the first time and hopped over to the window. He peeked out the blinds, looking for police cars.

“No.” Isabeau laughed. “What are you doing?”

Rusty was honest, “Looking for the cops.”

Isabeau laughed harder, “Daddy, come on. My pimp is parked out back. Not in the front.”

“What!?” Rusty spun around, clutching the windowsill behind his back.

Laughing deeper, Isabeau said, “I’m kidding! I’m kidding! I promise you I’m not some child prostitute here to get you arrested.”

Now that this fear was out in the open, and Isabeau looked so real, Rusty was really not amused. Maybe this girl was nothing more than a child hooker. Oh, cripe. That’s it. His life was over. The cops will bust down the door any second. She’ll claim he tried to rape her. He’ll go to jail. He’ll get murdered with a pipeknife in some filthy prison cell by a big black dude named Bubba. He could see it all now. That’s it. His life is done.

“Look, I’ll prove it.” Isabeau said, “Follow me.”

She got to her feet, turned and walked out of the room.

“Wait!” Rusty called out, “Hold on! Where are you - ” Rusty followed and the second he rounded the corner into the hallway, she was gone. “ - going?”

The livingroom was another ten feet away and he could see the front door of his apartment. The front door of his apartment hadn’t opened. There was no way she could have made it into the livingroom so fast. He rushed down the hall. Searched the living room. The kitchen. Nothing. No sign of her.

“The fuck?” Rusty said to his empty apartment.

There was no evidence she had ever existed at all.

This was a dream.

Had to be.

He didn’t want to consider that he might be hallucinating.

Was he?

The bump on his head?

Did he hit it so hard he was having visions?

Rushing to his front door, he checked the hallway outside his apartment. Not a trace of her. The deadbolt was firm and true, no evidence of the door kicked in or the lock jimmied.

How the hell did she get in?

He scurried back to his bedroom and felt the floor where she had been sitting. Cool to the touch. Not warm. No sign a living body had been there.

He rushed back down the hall in the opposite direction. She hadn’t gone that way when she exited the room, but he looked anyway. Rusty checked the spare bedroom, the bathroom, he even looked in the hallway linen closet, despite knowing it was impossible for anyone to fit inside there - not even a little 13 year old girl. He double-checked his front door. No sign of forced entry. The door was still locked. He even went to his windows to look for ladders propped up against the building. Of course, that was stupid. He was three stories up and would have heard the glass shatter if someone broke in through the windows.

As he went back toward his bedroom, he was surprised to discover he felt more depressed than relieved. He didn’t want her to disappear. He just wanted to make sure he wasn’t going crazy or being set up for something sinister involving pimps and underage whores.

He laughed at himself, when he realized how stupid that sounded. Why the hell would a pimp send an underage hooker to break into some random dudes apartment in the suburbs in the middle of the night? Just for laughs? That didn’t even make sense!

He turned to step back into his bedroom.

“Told you!” Isabeau said, sitting on his bed.

Rusty jumped about five feet in the air, flew backwards and slammed into the wall so hard, he was grateful there wasn’t a window behind him instead. “JEEZUS!”

His hand covered his heart as he laid in a crumbled mess in the hallway.

Isabeau giggled, “Guess it’s your turn to sit on the floor and I get the bed?”

Oh, yes. This had to be his daughter. Only a kid related to Rusty could have learned to be such a snarky little smartass. She was glowing again, just like she had when she first appeared. As he stared at her, the glow slowly faded once more. Must be a natural phenomenon, he thought, resulting from her initial materialization. He smiled slightly to himself. Natural phenomenon? What was natural about any of this? Supernatural, more like.

What was he doing?

Now he was an anthropological expert, researching the ghosts of unborn children?

“Cute.” Rusty said, still sitting on the floor. “Okay. Okay, I believe you. You’re obviously, um... obviously not a living person.”

The spirit that I have seen

May be the devil: and the devil hath power

To assume a pleasing shape; yea, and perhaps

Out of my weakness and my melancholy,

As he is very potent with such spirits,

Abuses me to damn me.

Isabeau wrestled her smile away. She didn’t say anything.

Rusty felt his heart racing again.

Saying those words aloud frightened him all over again.

Obviously not a living person?

Do you realize what that means?

He was either dreaming or hallucinating or...

...or he was a witness to a genuine miracle, something profound beyond anything he could articulate, with implications about life and spirituality that he couldn’t even begin to imagine.

“Isabeau.” He whispered.

She seemed to know all his fears and they were eased deep in a smile that had not yet come to the surface.

Rusty didn’t even realize he had said her name.

“You okay, daddy?”

“Give me a minute.” Rusty didn’t get up.

He just sat there.

He wasn’t lost in deep thought.

He didn’t want to think about this.

Damn, he just wanted to go to bed!

Not have conversations with... with... whatever she was.

But as he stared at her, those emotions flooded back.

He really felt something for this young girl.

She needed his help.

And he would do whatever it took to be there for her.

“Isabeau.” This time he knew he said her name.

“Yes?” She replied this time.

“You said something about... your greatgramma?” Rusty said.

Isabeau grinned but soft. Her expression held a wizened tenderness and compassion to it, precocious for her age. She knew how much Rusty missed his grandparents. She knew this would be a difficult subject for him to talk about.

“Yes,” Isabeau said. “Greatgrappa too. They both wanted me to show you, well, to show up now. They... thought it would be good for you.”

“What else did they say to you?” Sure enough, Rusty was misty already. Just thinking and knowing that his grandparents might really be out there. Not only was he unsure of ghosts, but he was definitely unsure of any sort of afterlife. He only made that earlier speech to calm his nerves. He wasn’t sure he believed.

Could his grandparents still exist?

Could they truly be watching over him?

He wanted to believe, even though there was no evidence to support such dreams.

“I’m sorry, daddy. I can’t tell you much. I really just felt them.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s not like you think.” Isabeau explained. “It’s not like I saw them and spoke to them. I could just sense them. Kind of like we are now.”

“What do you mean? I see you right now. I’m speaking to you.”

“Sort of. I’m... I’m sorry. I’m not explaining myself very well.”

Rusty nodded. He wasn’t upset with her, just perplexed. He wanted to grasp what she was talking about. “Okay. Well, just take your time. I’m patient.”

Isabeau sighed, “Well, like I said, I’m not a ghost. Greatgramma and greatgrappa, they died. So, they would be ghosts. I’m not the same as they are. So, it’s not like I’m just hanging out with other spirits and having conversations. I could just feel their presence. Kind of like you did. You feel them watching over you. Right?”

Rusty would have been embarrassed to admit that to anyone else, but with Isabeau, he had no reason to lie. “Yeah. Sometimes. It sure seems like it.”

“You know how you could feel them watching over you? I think maybe my... what’s the word?... my... vision, of them is a bit different than yours. Kind of like, you felt them in your mind, but for me, it’s almost like seeing them in a dream. Seeing them is more real for me than it is for you, yet it’s not more real at all. Does that makes sense?”

This girl certainly didn’t talk like any 12 year old child he had ever seen. Rusty sighed, “Not entirely. No. But, I think I understand the gist of what you’re trying to say.”

“I’m sorry, daddy. I’m not trying to be... I’m not trying to hide stuff from you, or anything like that. I just can’t describe it very well.”

“It’s okay. I just...” Rusty exhaled again. “I just miss them. That’s all.”

“I know. I promise if I can ever explain it better someday, I’ll tell you more.”

Rusty beamed. Someday? Did this mean Isabeau was planning to reappear more in the future? The thought made him happy, but he didn’t know why. This whole thing was far more terrifying than thrilling. Yet he found himself hoping this would not be their only meeting. He wanted to know if she’d come back, but he didn’t want to pester her with that kind of question just yet.

“One last question.” Rusty said.

“Okay.” Isabeau giggled. “That was easy. Just one more? I figured you’d have a lot more than that.”

Rusty smirked, “True. Okay, one more for now. How’s that?”

“Okay.”

This one scared him even more than suspecting she was a prostitute. How could he phrase this delicately? “You aren’t the ghost of an unborn daughter who is... uh, already waiting to be born?... Like you’re not already... um, conceived? Not already waiting in someones... womb... perhaps?”

Isabeau chuckled, but her tone was comforting, not mocking. “No, daddy. How could I be? If I were already a spirit with a body, inside of a womb, I couldn’t exactly be appearing here, now could I? I could show up in your dreams maybe. But I couldn’t show up in your room. Not anymore. So, no, don’t worry about that. None of your ex-girlfriends are knocked up somewhere.”

He was impressed by how perceptive she was.

She had jumped to exactly the right conclusions.

That was precisely what he feared.

Her response was a relief.

Rusty didn’t want to tell her that Marissa was the only girl it could be. Partially because his quantity of sexual partners didn’t seem an appropriate topic to talk to a daughter about, and partially because even when talking to the angel of an unborn daughter, the male ego wanted to preserve the image that he had tons of potential ladies fawning for him.

Now that he had asked all these questions, Rusty found himself finally starting to come to grips with the implications of what was happening.

“A daughter?” He said. Somewhat to her and somewhat to himself. “I’m going to have a daughter? You’re my daughter?”

“I hope so.” Isabeau said. “We need to find my mother first.”

Rusty grinned lazily. He just loved the sound of the word.

Daughter.

Who would have thought? Him? A dad? Hard to imagine. What a wonderful girl he would bring into the world. Her last sentence didn’t really sink in until a few seconds had passed. “Wait. What? Find your mother? So, if you’re not already conceived and in someone’s womb, who is your mother? The girl I’m dating now?”

Rusty already knew what the answer would be. It was Marissa. Obviously. It had to be. She was the most magical girl Rusty had ever dated and meeting Isabeau is the most miraculous experience of his life. What about dreamfasting? He never felt that bond with any other girl in his life. Obviously, they would spend their lives together. No one would ever throw away that kind of love. Why else would Isabeau show up now? All the hopes he had been feeling with Marissa were correct. This confirmed it. It had to be Marissa. He couldn’t wait to tell Marissa that he had met their future daughter!

Isabeau leaned forward on the bed and rocked back. She looked a little hesitant to answer. “Well, that’s the whole reason I’m here.”

“What do you mean?” Rusty squinted.

“I told you I need your help. I’m here to help you find her.”

Rusty felt ashamed. Of course! Isabeau said she needed his help! He sat there asking her questions and never bothered to ask her what she needed help with! What a jerk! “Help me to find her?”

“Yes. To help you find my mother. So I can be born.”

“Yes, well, I think I already know. I mean, I think I found her.”

“You did?” Isabeau’s eyes widened.

“Yes. I mean, why have you shown up now? You could have appeared at anytime in my life. Right? Why now? What makes this moment in my life different from any other? Maybe it’s because I already found her. Maybe you’re here to let me know I’m on the right path.”

Isabeau didn’t look convinced, but she smiled, hopeful at the notion. “I don’t know. I can’t explain why I’m here now. Why does anything in life happen when it does? Why do you meet people at certain times in your life? There’s usually no rhyme or reason to it. Things just happen in due time.”

“True. You’re pretty smart for a girl who has never lived.”

“Oh, I’ve lived, daddy. I’ve just haven’t been born yet. Big difference.” Isabeau giggled.

“What?”

“I’ve lived before. We all have. But I know you don’t really believe in that sort of thing, do you?”

“Were you some kind of princess or queen?” Rusty asked skeptically. “People who preach past lives always act like they were some kind of royalty.”

“No, daddy. You’ve always treated me like royalty. No one else has.” Isabeau said with a sincerity that shocked him.

“Right.” Rusty couldn’t help but smile back at her contagious laughter. “Wait. So, I’ve been your dad before?”

Isabeau cocked her head like a child imitating a bird. “Can’t you feel it?”

Rusty knew she was speaking of that inexplicable connection. Grinning, he nodded at her. “I guess I can.”

He almost wanted to touch her as he spoke, but his heart was still racing with a little too much fear to dare such a thing.

“So, what do we do now? Hey, you want to see a picture of her?”

“A picture of who?”

“The girl who is going to be your mom.”

“Sure!” Isabeau smiled.

Rusty went over to a drawer and pulled out a photo album.

Isabeau got off the bed and wandered out of the room.

Afraid, she’d disappear again, Rusty called out to her, “Hey, where you going?”

“Just wandering about.” Isabeau grinned and dragged her hand on the doorframe as she meandered down the hallway.

“Well, hold on! Don’t vanish again.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Isabeau’s voice came from around the corner.

Rusty closed the drawer and followed his future daughter into the livingroom. She turned on a light and flopped on the couch.

He had been right about her eyes.

Wait. She turned on a light? Rusty was shocked.

Ghosts aren’t supposed to be able to do things like that.

Then he corrected himself - right, not a ghost.

“Show me.” She pointed her chin at the album.

There were a few shots of Marissa he had taken on her 24th birthday at a nearby arboretum.

Rusty sat next to Isabeau on the couch. For the first time, he noticed she was wearing perfume. Or perhaps it was a scented oil. Reminded him of the one he and Rosalind had worn. Strange that a spirit could be so real. She may claim she wasn’t a flesh-and-blood girl, but everything about her said she was.

Stranger still that he was already more at ease with being so close to her. But, he still didn’t want to touch her, even though it was hard to resist a finger-poke to her shoulder to test how solid she happened to be.

Just as Rusty was about to open the album, she stopped him.

“Wait.” Isabeau shook her head, “Let’s not.”

“What? Why not? Don’t you want to see her?”

“Daddy, do you really love this girl?”

“Yes. I do.”

“Then what if it’s not her? I mean, what if she doesn’t feel like my mother when I see her? Maybe it would be best to just let things play out naturally.”

Rusty hadn’t thought of it that way, but she had a point.

He did love Marissa.

What if Isabeau said it wasn’t her?

How many other girls might he need to date?

Wouldn’t such foreknowledge become the bane of all his love affairs? He would never take a risk again! Never give his heart to anyone unless the girl met with a “seal of approval” from Isabeau.

Did he want to live that way?

What if she confirmed that Marissa was her mom?

Would Rusty propose immediately?

Worse, what if Marissa wasn’t Isabeau’s mom?

Would he immediately break up with Marissa?

How?

What reason would he give for ending a great romance?

“Sorry, baby. A ghost told me this wouldn’t work out. Later.”

Maybe fate would have it that his relationship with Marissa would lead him to the girl who would become Isabeau’s mother. So, maybe he shouldn’t risk messing with the natural course of their love affair.

The more all the scenarios played out in his head, the more he realized using Isabeau as a barometer for a romance might be a terrible idea.

“Yeah,” Rusty nodded, slowly closing the book. “I get it.”

He thought a moment more and said, “But, how can I help you to be born? I mean, didn’t you just say that’s the whole reason you’re here? Is there a danger you won’t be born? How can you help me find your mother? I mean, if you never see the girls I’m dating, how will you - ”

“ - Here.” Isabeau pointed to his heart. “Feelings. The vibe. I didn’t have a picture of you either, daddy. I didn’t know what you looked like. I just felt... drawn. You know? Drawn to you. Like you just know. You can’t really explain it.”

“I get it. A picture might not even tell you if it was her or not.”

“Yeah. Exactly!” Isabeau lit up, giddy that her father grasped what she was having such a hard time explaining. “It’s gotta be here.” Isabeau pointed to her own heart. “I can’t see that in a picture.”

Rusty nodded in understanding.

“Well,” Rusty noted, “in that case, why not look at her? You just said you won’t know for sure anyway.”

Isabeau considered it briefly and could tell this was more about her dad sharing his joy over Marissa. Isabeau grinned, “Okay.”

Rusty flipped open the album and explained when and where the pictures were taken.

Politely, Isabeau traced a finger over a portrait of Marissa. Grinning with the warmest and most sincere delight, Isabeau announced, “Wow. She is beautiful. Looks like that girl in Braveheart.”

Rusty beamed. Yes. This was the ultimate magic.

Marissa was The One.

Obviously.

“I think you might be right.”

Rusty nodded, “I knew it. Wait. How do you know about Braveheart? Come to think of it, how do you know about any movies?”

“I know more than you might expect.” Isabeau winked.

Rusty was about to ask her what that meant when she started talking again. “As to your other question, yes, there is a chance I won’t be born. Every opportunity in life only has a certain window of time during which it can potentially happen. There was a time when you couldn’t have had a child. There will be a time when it’s too late for you to have me.”

Rusty wanted to ask what would happen if she wasn’t born, but that sounded rude. He didn’t want to give her the impression that he was trying to prevent her birth or weasel out of being her father.

Truth be told, he would feel awful if he couldn’t bring this wonderful soul into the world.

What would happen if she missed her window of opportunity?

He honestly didn’t want to know.

Besides, if the universe was manifesting her in such an astonishing and unprecedented way, surely there had to be some sort of miraculous fate awaiting her life. Maybe she’d cure a horrible disease or become some charismatic world leader, shaping the lives of billions of people. Surely she would be born unto some wondrous destiny beyond what Rusty could imagine.

Right?

What would happen if she wasn’t born?

No. Rusty didn’t even want to know the answer to that.

He must become her dad. Period. You don’t dare defy the universe when it bestows such a wonderworking gift.

“We should get to bed.” Isabeau added suddenly.

Rusty was caught off-guard by her abrupt change. That was it? Just like that? For a moment, her “we” made him uncomfortable again, until he realized she meant nothing perverted about it.

She wasn’t a child prostitute.

She wasn’t a child prostitute.

She wasn’t a child prostitute.

“Oh.” Rusty stammered, “Uh, if you, well, you are welcome to use my bed and I’ll stay on the couch and - ”

Isabeau shook her head, “ - No, daddy. Thank you. I’ll find my way. I’ll see you again soon though. I promise.”

“Wait. You’re leaving? Can’t you stay? I mean, I have so much to say, and talk about, and things I want to ask you! Where do you go back to?”

Isabeau thought a second and said, “If a person in a dream asked where you go when you wake up, how would you answer them?”

“Um. Well. I. Uh, I don’t really know how I’d answer that.”

“Me neither.” Isabeau smiled.

“I get it.” He nodded.

“This isn’t the last time you’ll see me. I promise. I promise. This is much bigger than tonight. This is our lifetimes.”

With that, Rusty smiled.

Yes. Of course. Lifetimes.

But still, why did she have to leave so soon?

“I love you, daddy.”

Rusty fidgeted. “Uh.”

Isabeau giggled, “I don’t expect you to say it back now. I just want you to know that do.”

Rusty sighed nervously. His daughter winked.

“Goodnight, daddy.”

His daughter rose awkwardly from the couch. She obviously wanted to kiss his cheek, or hug him, or even shake his hand, but the fumbling body language between them made her simply give a quick bow of her head and a little wave and she walked out of the room.

“Well, wait!” Rusty got up to chase after her and when he looked down the hallway, she was gone.

He didn’t bother searching the bedrooms this time.

He knew she wouldn’t be there.

Smiling at his empty hallway he said, “Goodnight, Isabeau.”

Rusty walked slowly back to his bedroom.

After that night, Rusty never sensed the unnerving presence of the spirits of his grandparents standing over his bed again.

But he felt more confident than ever, they were always there.

§

“Hello?” Marissa answered groggily.

“Marissa? I need to see you, right away!”

Rusty wasn’t sure if he should just drive down to her place or call her first. He decided a phonecall was better. He had been pacing around his room and apartment ever since Isabeau vanished.

“Rusty? Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m fine. I’m fine. Everything is okay. I just - Something happened and I need to see you.” He figured if he waited until the next day to tell her, she’d never believe him. It was better to tell her right away. He figured the levity of the situation would be more believable if he acted immediately.

“Now? It’s... Rusty,” he heard her groan as she rolled towards her nightstand, “it’s... it’s 1 o’clock in the morning.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I know it’s late. Believe me, I wouldn’t call if it wasn’t important.”

“Rusty, it takes you an hour to get here.”

“I know.”

“And you have work tomorrow.”

“I know.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes. I’m fine. I promise you everything is okay.”

“Then can’t this wait until tomorrow?”

Rusty thought it over and conceded that it could. After all, she was going to think he was crazy no matter what.

In fact, the more the thought about it, maybe telling her anything at all was an awful idea. Crap. What was he thinking? Calling her in the middle of the night was obviously a stupid mistake. What was he going to say!?

“I met the spirit of our unborn daughter! Marry me?”

Yeah, right.

Great way to make a girl break up with you in 2.5 seconds or less.

He’d get an extra second-and-a-half grace-period simply because she was half asleep.

He couldn’t tell her!

What was he thinking!?

No. He can’t ever tell her what happened.

Not until they already are married. And she’s pregnant.

Even then, it may be a terrible idea to tell her.

Damnit.

Marissa was the most important girl in his life.

He just had the most miraculous experience of his life.

And suddenly he realized he could never tell Marissa!

Not now. Not yet. He had to calm down first. Get his emotions in check. Ranting like a lunatic about spirits and ghosts of unborn children? That would freak her out. That would freak anybody out. She’d think he was a total nutcase.

He could imagine her placating response already.

“I believe that you really think you saw Elizabeth...”

“Isabeau. Her name is Isabeau.”

Ugh.

No. That would be horrible.

And that conversation would drive her away.

Of course she’d break up with a psycho hallucinating boyfriend.

Who could blame her?

There’s no guarantee that you can’t screw up destiny.

Remember, Isabeau didn’t say she would be born.

Isabeau said, Rusty has to help her so she could be born.

In other words, there’s a possibility she won’t be.

If Rusty makes Marissa run away, Isabeau might never exist!

Maybe her appearance wasn’t an omen. Maybe it was a warning!

Maybe the universe was telling him, “Screw this up and you’ll never get to meet your little girl.”

Damnit!

No. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t risk that.

Cripe. What was he thinking?

This was a bad, bad idea.

He definitely shouldn’t have called Marissa.

He sure wished he had thought of these things before dialing the phone.

“Yeah. Okay. You’re right. Look, I’m sorry I woke you. It can wait until tomorrow. You’re right.”

He’d have to make something up when he talked to her in the morning. Figure out some sort of lie. On principal, Rusty was an honest man and he hated lying in any context. Especially to Marissa. He had never lied to her about anything. But he had no choice. He couldn’t be honest. Not about this. For now, he just wanted to get off the phone before he dug himself any deeper. He felt like an idiot for calling her now.

“You sure?” Marissa asked.

“Yeah. I’m sorry I woke you. It’s not a big deal. It can wait.”

“You know you can come over if you need to. I just might fall back asleep.”

“No. No. Really, baby. It’s okay. I can wait. I’m sorry I woke you. Really. It’s not a big deal. I promise I’m fine. Just go back to bed.”

“Okay. I’ll call you in the morning?” Marissa offered in a yawn.

“Okay. Goodnight, baby.”

“Goodnight.”

Click.

Oh, that was stupid.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

What the hell was he going to say?

What would his excuse be?

He started pacing around his apartment, thinking things over.

Bad dream?

No. That sounds so sissy.

Wait. Yes! Bad dream. He had a bad dream about her. He was half asleep. He wasn’t thinking too clearly. He just picked up the phone and called.

Maybe?

Someone broke in next door? Cops showed up. He was nervous and - no. No. No. No. That sounds like he’s a sissy too. Best to not make the lie too crazy.

Wait.

Partial truth.

Yes! He’ll tell her about feeling the presence of his grandparents and claim it was a dream. He felt them in his room and it freaked him out. Because he was half asleep, he wasn’t sure what was real and what wasn’t. Before he dialed the phone, he wasn’t sure it was a dream. Once they started talking, and he woke up more, he realized it couldn’t have really happened. He was embarrassed and that’s why he got off the phone so quick.

Yeah.

Perfect.

That will work.

Still sounds crazy, but at least it’s not totally insane.

Plus, you know, it sounds endearing. Missing his grandparents.

And it’s not exactly a lie. It’s the truth, just with a little less disclosure about haunted children.

He can act embarrassed and say he doesn’t want to talk about it.

Claim he didn’t mean to call her and was half dreaming.

That will totally work.

He could even start with, “Hey, um, did I call you in the middle of the night?” Act like the memory was vague.

Yeah! That will work! He might sound like a fool, maybe even kind of a wimp, but at least he won’t come across like a psychopath, claiming he’s had conversations with ghosts.

Okay. That’s the plan.

Rusty climbed back into bed. He figured there was no way he’d get a wink of sleep. After everything that happened, he was sure he’d be awake until dawn.

Less than ten minutes later, he was out like a light.

Slept like the dead.

He didn’t wake up until the phone rang eight hours later.

“What was it that had you so upset last night?”

“Huh? Oh. Um, what? Did I call you in the middle of the night?”

§

Rusty and Marissa were parked blocks away from Metropolis Nightclub for the annual costumed Halloween party. They walked arm in arm through the streets, passing occasional ghouls and comic book characters and classic monsters.

He dressed as Willie Wonka.

She dressed as Harley Quinn.

“You sure your head is okay?” Marissa asked.

Bashful, Rusty brushed it off, “Yeah. Fine. Fine.”

She reached up towards it.

“Don’t touch it.” Rusty scolded her fussing.

“That’s quite an egg.” Marissa giggled.

“Yeah, you mentioned that before.” Rusty said, not nearly as annoyed as he was pretending to be. He appreciated her concern and loved the attention. Adorable to have a girl show she cared.

“Well,” Marissa chuckled, “it just looks bigger under the streetlamps.”

“Oh, very funny.” Rusty imitated her, “That’s what she said.”

“Oh, so you’re just going to fuck me in an alley now?”

“That’d probably turn you on. You little street hooker.”

Marissa gasped. “Oh! No! I don’t fuck Quasimodo heads.”

Rusty burst out laughing, “You fucking asshole.”

Marissa laughed so hard her headpiece tassels jiggled.

“I’m sorry.” Marissa stifled another chuckle, but it still tickled out her nose a little.

“You’re a jerk.” Rusty said. “Quasimodo? That’s it. No sex for you until 60 seconds after we get home!”

“I’m sorry, baby. I shouldn’t make fun. It doesn’t look that bad.”

“Oh, sure. Now she backpedals.”

“No, seriously, it’s not noticeable. If you hadn’t told me, I don’t think I would have even seen it.”

“That’s sweet. It’s bullshit. But it’s sweet.”

Turns out he had whacked his head against the wall harder than he thought. Must have been why he had that weird dream about that little ghost girl.

Weird part was, his photo album was still on the couch.

Rusty kissed Marissa. They were almost at the doors of the club.

“Do you think it was really them?” Marissa asked. “That dream you had last night? About your grandparents?”

“You mean do I think they were really in my room?”

“Yeah.”

Rusty didn’t want to lie. Of course it was real. But he didn’t really want to believe it. The whole thing had him pretty freaked out. So, he gave her the answer he wanted to hear. “Aw, heck, I don’t know. I have no idea if that sort of thing is real or not. You know? I just... I feel like a fool to claim I have a definitive answer either way. You know?”

“Yeah. I see what you mean.”

The nightclub was packed as a line of patrons filtered halfway up the block.

Once they got in the doors and the bouncers checked ID, they were hit with the sounds of a techno version of The Monster Mash

Rusty never said a word to Marissa about Isabeau.

§

“You swear it’s just your period?” Rusty asked the next morning.

He spent the night at her place and found her on the rollaway in her livingroom.

Apparently, Rusty snored. Instead of rolling him over, or elbowing him in the ribs, Marissa had a habit of leaving him in her bedroom, while she slept on the couch.

There’s a strange loneliness to go to bed with someone, only to awake alone. Rusty always took it kind of personally, even though she repeatedly insisted it wasn’t a slight against him.

Marissa leaned over and kissed him five times all over his face and gave him a huge hug, “Yes. Yes. Yes. I swear. I adore you. I’m not making up excuses. It’s just my period.”

Rusty giggled and pushed her away from the tickle of being kissed like that. “Okay! Okay! I believe you!”

Marissa slapped him with the end of a blanket.

“Soooo, can I ask you something?” Rusty wondered, flashing his puppydog brown eyes at her.

“What?”

“Do you get more horny or less horny on your period?”

Marissa was paralyzed with surprise and took a few seconds to reply, “Why are you asking me that?”

“Well, because. Some women get more horny when they’re on their period and some women get less horny. I was just wondering what kind of woman you were.”

“Men aren’t supposed to know that!”

Rusty laughed. “Well, I told you I know more about women than most guys.”

Marissa was duly impressed. “But men never know about that. How do you know?”

“Because I pay attention, my dear.” Rusty winked and kissed her.

“I guess so! Yeah, you do a good job of that. You weren’t kidding. I guess you do know a bit about women.”

“So, which is it?”

“Which is what?”

“More horny, or less?”

Marissa snickered in a sheet. “More.”

“Reaaaally?” Rusty groaned.

“Yes.” Marissa grinned bashfully, burying her chin in pillows.

Smiling, Rusty announced, “Well... I don’t mind if you don’t.”

“...Really!?” Marissa perked up. No guy ever offered that before.

Rusty had never propositioned any other girl during her cycle.

He was happy to try it with her. “Yeah. Really.”

§

As they passionately kissed after their simultaneous orgasms, Marissa and Rusty were drenched in sweat. The unusual heat of a sweltering Fall day made it stifling and erotic as the steam and heat of one another turned their skin to ice cream slippery. Marissa warned Rusty that she bled “a lot” so, they decided, they’d put three or 4 black towels on the bed, remain in missionary, and never change positions.

Climbing off of Marissa, Rusty looked down to get the condom.

Terrified. “Oh. My. God.”

Marissa looked embarrassed.

“Holy crap!”

That wasn’t just sweat.

Looking down across each others bodies, they were both slathered in blood from their knees to their solar plexus. Rusty freaked out. Did he just screw a vampire? How could a woman lose that much blood and still be alive!?

They both looked like a horror film.

“Are you okay!?” He asked, his voice half quivering with fear and half with amusement.

“Holy crap! Yeah.” Marissa looked just as surprised as him. “Yeah, I’m fine. I told you I bled a lot.”

“You didn’t tell me we’d look like Carrie! Have you ever done this before?”

“No! I’ve never been with a guy when... well, you know. No. Never on my period.”

“Oh, shit!” Rusty laughed.

“I’m sorry.” Marissa frowned, terribly ashamed for turning her boyfriend into a slasher-film victim. “You must be so grossed out.”

He consoled her immediately. Climbing back on her, he kissed her, “No, no, baby. It’s okay.” More kisses. “I’m not grossed out. Not at all. I swear. I’m a little freaked out that you’re still alive. We look like a murder scene.” He joked.

“Shut up!” Marissa covered her face playfully.

“What? If the cops burst in this room right now, they’re gonna ask where we hid the body!”

Marissa laughed. “You asshole.”

Rusty explained, “It’s true! We look like a pagan orgy.”

“Oh, God.” Marissa snorted with giggles.

“Baby, seriously, I’m not grossed out. Hey, I asked for it! Remember? I don’t mind.”

“That’s true.” Marissa conceded. “You did ask for it.”

“It’s kind of sexy.”

“Oh, okay, you little vampire freak. Get off me. That’s just gross.”

Rusty snickered at her. “Why is it gross? It’s your blood. I don’t see why you’re grossed out more than me!”

Marissa wiped her hand over her face, still feeling bashful. “I don’t know. Just shut up. We need to take a shower.”

“Why?” Rusty glanced at his chest and wiped a finger through the menstrual red. “I feel baptized. It’s kinda sexy! We don’t need showers. It’ll just dry and flake off.”

“Ew!” Marissa screamed. “You are so nasty!”

Hitting him, she clamored up to her elbows.

Rusty busted up laughing, rolling backwards, but careful not to get his blood-saturated body on anything but the towels. Marissa struggled to get out of bed without touching her sheets and Rusty made monster faces at her as she ran from her livingroom as though tiptoeing through beartraps.

Clutching his chest, he wailed, “They got me, baby! I don’t think I’m gonna make it! Save yourself!”

“Boys are gross. Nasty, nasty boy! Get away!”

“Boys are nasty? Boys don’t douse people in coochie blood!”

“Oh! My! God! Coochie blood!? Coochie blood? You did not just say that. Shut! Up!” Marissa was already down the hall and out of sight.

“Wow.” Rusty yelled toward the hallway, “I am covered in blood from my knees to my tits! This is a new experience!”

“Fuck you!” Came Marissa’s muffled voice from the bathroom.

He met her in the shower, once he stopped crying with laughter.

“You’re a jerk.”

“Awesome. I hear chicks dig jerks. Wanna screw?”

§

As much as he loved his time with Marissa, his whole drive home, all he could think about was Isabeau.

Did it really happen?

Was she real?

He was hoping he’d see his daughter again that night.

“Why wait until tonight?” Isabeau’s voice came from the passenger seat.

Rusty jerked the steering wheel so hard as he screamed, he came inches away from slamming his car into the oncoming traffic.

Furious horns blared.

Obscene gestures flashed.

“Daddy!” Isabeau pointed at the cars and covered her mouth.

“JEEZUS CHRIST! ISABEAU! God damnnit!”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, daddy!”

“Don’t you ever do that to me again!”

“I’m sorry.”

“You know, I can’t help you be born if you get me killed!”

Rusty’s heart skipped beats harder and faster than a Parkinson’s patient on a Harley.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you like that.”

“Dear God, in Heaven. You scared the -” He was about to say “shit” but suddenly remembered, this was his preteen daughter and he wanted to clean up his language. “ - living crap out of me.”

“Sorry, daddy. I’m really, really sorry. That was stupid of me.” Isabeau was half-giggling, but swallowed genuine remorse in her hand-covered mouth.

“It’s okay. I’m okay. We didn’t die. What am I saying? I didn’t die. I’m sure you don’t need to worry about dying.”

“No, but I need to worry about it if you die. If you die, I think we both will too.”

“Yes, well, keep that in mind next time you decide to frighten me into a fatal car accident.”

“It’s your fault too!”

“My fault?”

“You were thinking about me!”

Rusty was silent. Was she serious?

That was all it took?

Thinking about her?

He started to consider the possibilities. What if he was in the toilet? Did this mean she could read his mind? What if he thought of her during sex with Marissa? Would Isabeau just - POOF! - show up? That would be horribly awkward.

“So? Are you... wait, are you trying to tell me that you show up just because I’m thinking about you?” The thought scared him. What if he’s looking at a dirty magazine? Raunchy porn on the Internet? Is she going to know that too?

He didn’t like that.

Oh, no, he didn’t like that one bit.

“Well, not just because. But partially.”

“How much partially? You don’t mean I like, summon you?”

Isabeau smacked his arm, “Summon me? Dad! I’m not a... demon! You don’t summon me!”

She paused before saying the word “demon”.

Rusty felt it too.

That was the first time they ever made physical contact.

His shoulder smarted. She was definitely not a ghostly apparition.

Moreover, there was an amazing energy that fizzled between them like soda pop bubbles tickling your nose, but it shot down their spines instead.

Apparently, the soul does strange things when parents and unborn children touch one another.

They both ignored saying anything about the bizarre sensation.

“I didn’t mean to imply you were a demon. You can summon a genie too, you know? Cute. Pretty. Flowing silk pajamas.”

Isabeau pondered briefly. “Oh. Yeah. I hadn’t thought of that. Well, a genie is nice. I could be like Bewitched.”

Rusty wondered how a girl who hasn’t been born could make a reference to a television show that had been off the air for decades.

“Come on, Isabeau. Seriously. What do you mean when you say I summoned you?”

“I said you didn’t summon me. You used the word ‘summon’.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I don’t know. It’s like being a living girl and you call me from in the kitchen. I don’t have to show up. But you taught me good manners and if I’m in my room and I hear you, I’m usually going to answer.”

“All it takes is me thinking about you?”

“Not really. Again, it’s like when you call me. You have to think about me then too. Then you have to actually say it. This is kind of the same thing. You have to think about me, but you have to really mean it. You have to want me to be there. Otherwise, I can’t hear you. Just like if you thought about me in the kitchen, but didn’t actually say my name, I wouldn’t have heard you.”

“I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about - what the heck you’re talking about.”

Isabeau grinned at her father correcting his “hell” into “heck” but didn’t say anything about it.

Rusty wondered, “Are you saying you can read my mind?” The question he was afraid to ask.

“Of course, I can read your mind. Your every private thought.”

“You can!?”

“No.” Isabeau snickered, “I’m just messing with you.”

Rusty nearly crapped out an elephant. “Oh, that’s so not funny!”

Isabeau laughed.

Rusty smirked, but didn’t laugh much. Isabeau could see something was upsetting him. Isabeau asked, “What’s wrong?”

Rusty fidgeted. He wasn’t sure he wanted to tell her.

“Nothing. Just your demon comment got me thinking.”

“About what?”

Rusty realized that he needed to tell Isabeau about his feelings for Marissa if she was truly going to help him with their romance. “Well, I have some concerns.”

“About?”

“Marissa. I mean, you said that you need to help me find your mother. So, I presume that means you want to know about our relationship? That’s how you’ll know if I’m on the right track with this girl. Right?” As Rusty asked the question, he realized that he still didn’t fully understand what Isabeau was expecting from him.

Isabeua swept a finger back and forth on the passenger window and confirmed his question. “Yeah. Of course. Tell me.”

Rusty wasn’t sure how much to say.

How do you tell a little girl about adult relationship concerns?

Chewing his lip, Rusty began, by saying, “Well, okay, Marissa and I had a great weekend together, but I feel like she’s just getting sick of me. She didn’t seem to want to commit to seeing me next weekend. It seems I am always screwing things up. I am constantly blowing things out of proportion. I have a great thing going with Marissa and I seem to find demons around every corner. That’s why your demon comment made me think of it. What the heck is wrong with me?”

Rusty felt odd unleashing all of that on this young girl.

Yet, he also felt he should be forthcoming.

After all, if Marissa was her mother, maybe she’d have some insights. Maybe Isabeau could explain how Rusty got past this time and won Marissa over.

“How often have you seen her lately?” Isabeau wondered.

“Like 3 weeks in a row.”

“Three!? Daddy, you’re right. You’re blowing things out of proportion. If she’s seen you that much, she obviously likes you. And if she wants one weekend alone, it’s not the end of the world. Doesn’t mean she wants to leave you. She needs a break and some time to herself. Be patient. Be understanding.”

Rusty blinked at the windshield.

That was her response!?

He was stunned that this child gave such an adult reply. That was the most Isabeau had ever said to him at once and he was blown away by her insight and maturity.

Repeating her advice, Rusty said, “Okay. Be patient. Be understanding.”

“Yep.”

“Or else she wants to leave me?”

“Once again, if she does want to leave you, and I assure you she doesn’t, then being mopey about it will not win her back.”

Rusty nodded slowly and then more rapidly, “I know. I know.”

“You want to know your biggest problem regarding Marissa?”

“What?”

“Same old thing, you are constantly losing your perspective.”

“Same old thing? How do you know my relationship habits?” Rusty chuckled.

Isabeau gazed out the window as the highway scrolled past. “I know. You lose it from one extreme to the other. First, you are convinced she is your soulmate. Next thing you know, you have become positive that she’s going to leave you within the next 5 seconds. Stop that!”

“I only want Marissa to tell me that she’d like a break. I mean, it bothers me that she just blows me off instead of saying, ‘I’d like some time alone this weekend.’”

Isabeau, flopping onto a new position in her seat, pointed at her dad, “Maybe you’re too demanding.”

“Maybe I expect too much?” Rusty groaned in exasperation, knowing she was right. “Uuuugh!”

“Daddy, just chill out! Remember you spoke to Michele on Friday night and Michele went on and on about how happy she sees Marissa being with you? She told you that Marissa talks about you all the time. She gets all giddy and she wants to do more for you. Remember?”

Michele Turno was Marissa’s best friend. And Isabeau was right. Michele did say those things.

“Wait. How do you know that? I thought you couldn’t read my mind!”

“I told you. Feelings. I get snippets of things. I know what you feel. I know what you think. I know what you say. But I’m not eavesdropping. I’m just, well, sensing.”

Rusty was skeptical. “Uh huh.” He was thinking Isabeau could read his thoughts, regardless of what she claimed. He was also bothered that Isabeau knew about conversations that took place before they met. How long had Isabeau been around? Had she been watching him for weeks? Or years?

The idea of her reading his mind scared him, because his brain had a perverted sense of humor. Like, if cops could read his mind, he’d walk past police stations thinking, “I dumped the body in the woods!” or “I love to rape babies with severed puppy dicks!”

Goodness knows what kind of inappropriate and disgusting lies his brain would think around Isabeau, if it believed his daughter could read its thoughts.

“Michele did say that stuff, right?” Isabeau repeated.

“Yeah... Yeah, I know... Maybe it’s something else bothering me.”

Isabeau pursed her lips. “You told Marissa that you miss her. And she said nothing in return.”

“What the heck!? How do you know all this?”

“I just told you.”

“No! You’re totally reading my mind! You can’t know details of conversations when you weren’t there!”

“Daddy, I’m always there. I’m always with you. Sometimes I’m just in the other room. Like I explained before.”

Rubbing his face, Rusty felt a lump in his throat that was like a chunk of apple he hadn’t chewed well enough. “Okay. I really don’t know what all of that means. I’m sorry. I know you’ve explained it multiple times, but I’m just not getting it. You’re always here, but you’re not always here. You need me to find your mom, but you won’t know her if you see her, you’ll just have to feel the right vibe from her. I’m just not getting all of this.”

Isabeau didn’t reply.

She simply smiled.

Not a smile of mockery or bemusement or ridicule. Simply a tender smile of patience and understanding. The kind of smile you’d expect from a grandmother, not a young girl.

Ever so slowly, Isabeau nodded.

Rusty understood right away.

Her gesture was telling him to take his time. To be patient. To allow himself to gather his wits.

Moreover, the compassion in her body language told him to keep talking about Marissa. Tell her more. Finish his story.

Isabeau had been right.

Rusty was upset that when he told Marissa he’d miss her, she said nothing in return.

That was exactly it.

Red flag.

Rusty tried to brush it off, “Look... So what? Who cares? It’s just like Marie and I. Only this time, I’m Marie and Marissa is me. It will never work out. She will never love me as deeply as I love her, and she will never understand my love, or trust that I’m not smothering her in my heart.”

Rusty felt uncomfortable to suddenly lapse into such cynicism. He was starting to become just worried about failing Isabeau as much as he feared losing Marissa.

Marie had been Rusty’s only true long-term relationship.

In the end, he just didn’t want the same things and couldn’t love Marie the way she wanted to be loved.

Of course, like any romance, that made him the bad guy in the relationship. The one all the friends agree is an asshole.

Marie was the hard loss.

The one that scarred deep.

Were Isabeau to magically know all his past heartaches, he would certainly never need to elaborate upon this one.

“There’s never anything to understand about love, daddy. But if if what you say is true, then you only have two options; Enjoy it while your relationship lasts. Or, enjoy being totally wrong about your bleak assessment. Either way, the answer is the same: Enjoy. Cherish the time while you have it. Remember - Perspective and a tranquil heart. Keep your head about you... and wait until she calls you for now!”

Rusty chuckled and rubbed his eyes.

When he opened them again, Isabeau was gone.

Startled by the empty seat, he almost hit another oncoming car.

§

The new nightclub was rather swanky.

Marissa had her weekend alone, then made plans with Rusty the next Friday.

Rusty and Marissa were so accustomed to going to small little punkrock dives that a place like the Frankfort was totally unexpected as a venue for underground and alternative clientele. A modest facade, tucked around a backalley in the warehouse district, the interior opened into a cavernous space with a two-level dancefloor, a massive trapezoid-shaped bar, and an upstairs VIP lounge.

Days earlier, for the first time, Rusty told Marissa he loved her.

She said it back.

That was their first night out clubbing since.

They danced and talked and socialized and he proudly introduced her to all the friends who hadn’t met her yet.

The night was a blast.

Being a new scene for a familiar alternative dance DJ meant the club was packed with dozens of Rusty’s acquaintances plus two scores of people he had never seen before.

Then he saw her.

There’s always that one girl at the club.

The one that catches your eye even when you’re in love. The one who brims with a sexuality and a lust like no other. The siren call. The seductress. The one who is clearly out of your league and you can’t take your eyes off her all night.

Yes, even when you’re madly in love, “that girl” always shows up.

Everytime.

This time she was brunette and about 5’3” with a shapely black sequins dress and a tight jeanjacket halfcoat. Sexy, classy, yet strangely tomboyish. She didn’t dress to call attention to herself and she didn’t need to. The lady looked refined - like the type who had been a goth girl 5 years ago, and now she owned a successful salon. She may have looked fairly mainstream, but you know she had handcuffs and Front 242 albums at home.

She caught his eye many times throughout the night.

Of course, Rusty never caught hers.

Why would he?

She was too far out of his league.

Besides, he was in love with Marissa.

Madly. Deeply. Completely.

He snuck quick glances at “that girl” for more than an hour, but she never once looked at him. Rusty never saw her talk to anyone. No boys. No girls. She appeared to be there all alone.

“Hey!” The seductress smiled at Rusty as he spun near the edge of the dancefloor.

He nearly fell over.

Where the hell did she come from!?

He didn’t even realize she had been standing right next to him. Last time he saw her, she was hanging out way over by the pool tables.

She spoke as if she knew him.

Wait. Had he met this girl before?

“Hey!” Rusty smiled back.

“This place is pretty cool!” She leaned in.

He couldn’t hear over the sound of Echo & The Bunnymen singing “Lips Like Sugar”. “What’s that!?”

Gently, she touched his arm and pulled him closer. Her perfume filled his air and she smelled sweeter than he would have fantasized. Like falling into a vat of carnival taffy. “I say this place is pretty cool!”

“Oh! Yeah! It is!”

Motioning towards the staircase next to them, she asked him, “What’s up there!?”

By this time, she was fully gripping his forearm.

The VIP lounge. Dark. Private. Couches. Sofas. Corners where lovers can disappear from the crowd.

What the hell was going on here?

Where was this girl when he was single 6 months ago!?

Was this really happening?

The hottest girl in the entire club was hitting on Rusty!?

Looking across the dancefloor, he saw Marissa smiling and talking to one of her friends by the barstools.

So pretty. So oblivious. And she loved him back.

Marissa loved him.

She said the words.

His dreamgirl. His queen. His everything.

Dreamfasting! He had never felt anything like that with any other lover in his entire life.

Unbelievable.

Rusty gently pulled his arm away from the seductress, in a way that was very nonchalant. He didn’t want to hurt her pride. After all, there could be no way this girl ever knew the sting of rejection. Surely, he was about to become the only man in her entire life to ever walk away from her. She was beauty like a Victoria’s Secret model. Rusty didn’t understand. He knew he wasn’t unattractive, but he certainly wasn’t on the same level as her. The laws of the universe simply didn’t allow girls that gorgeous to hit on him, and he knew in that moment, this may prove to be the worst decision of his entire life. “I don’t know what’s up there! You should check it out! Pardon me! It was nice talking with you!”

She grinned back. “You too!”

Years later, Rusty would often look back on that moment and wonder if he had made a huge mistake. Was that his one chance in life to be with someone that beautiful?

He just couldn’t go up the staircase with that girl.

He knew himself too well by that point.

He would never resist a woman like that.

Were he to go up those stairs, he would have cheated on Marissa. He would have broken her heart. He would have done anything this seductress asked him to do. Anything.

So, he got away from her as fast as he possibly could.

Did being loyal to a false soulmate mean he may have missed the real one?

He never even got her name.

§

“Hello?”

“Hey!” Marissa said on the other end of the phone.

“Hey, baby. What’s up?”

“You still want to learn swing dancing?” Marissa asked.

“Swing dancing?”

“They’re teaching a class on campus tonight. It’s free. I thought we could go together!”

Rusty was so shocked that Marissa was asking him to come do something. He always had to initiate things with her. Plus, this was something he really wanted to do.

“Sure! That sounds awesome! What time?”

§

The night was a disaster.

Rusty was a very good dancer. Get him in a nightclub with some hard hitting industrial music and he was in his element. He was athletic and coordinated and dextrous and strong. But that night with Marissa, he discovered, for some reason, he had two left feet when it came to swing dancing. He looked about as graceful as an ostrich trying to fuck a Buick.

Gene Kelly he was not.

The worst part of it all was that he didn’t have a sense of humor about it. He really wanted to learn and be good at it. So, he took it all very seriously. The fact that he was so clumsy when he was so athletic at other things, left him frustrated.

Marissa tried to make light of it.

After all, they were just having fun.

The more she laughed and teased Rusty, the more agitated he became. He tried to get in the spirit and not be so graven, but he couldn’t help himself.

Mortified, Rusty watched his behavior from outside - it was one of those moments when you see yourself screwing up, and you just can’t stop your own stupidity.

Then it got worse.

After spending an hour dancing like an epilepsy patient in an earthquake, Rusty was introduced to Marissa’s college friends for the first time.

He totally blew it.

He wanted to make a good impression.

These were her oldest and best friends. The dearest people in her life. College bonds are the strongest friendships of ones lifetime. He wanted them to like him. To approve of him. To think he was cool. To fit in.

As they sat in the dorm commonroom, sprawled on couches and lounge chairs, Rusty never felt like more of an outcast in his life.

This was a group of twenty people who had spent four years dating each other, and studying together, and sharing classes, and working jobs together, and attending the same parties, and getting lost in the same buildings, and forming a camaraderie of inside jokes and memories and mannerisms that no outsider could ever hope to penetrate.

Rusty couldn’t carry on a conversation with them.

He didn’t understand anything they were talking about.

Everything was a reference to an inside joke shared weeks ago, or a party attended months ago, or a class studied years ago, or a relationship he knew nothing about.

Rusty just sat there with a dumb grin on his face, trying to look bemused or friendly or entertained, when he really just looked like the weird laconic douchebag with a creepy smirk.

When they went back to her room, Rusty couldn’t stop apologizing to Marissa. He didn’t imagine the night unfolding like this at all. He imagined a night of fun swing dancing and tons of laughter and good times with her friends.

Instead, he was grumpy as hell at the dance, and a wallflower with her pals.

He blew it.

Marissa was sweet. She was understanding and compassionate.

She never got upset with Rusty or irritated with him. Or, if she did, she never showed it.

Nevertheless, Rusty couldn’t shake his sense of failure and that he had disappointed her.

Sex didn’t even help.

§

On his walk back to his car, he saw Isabeau was sitting in a streetlamp shadow next to a tree. They didn’t even say hello to each other. She just looked at him and said, “That could have gone better.”

“As much as I appreciate you in my life, I’m still not used to you just popping up like this.”

“You sound used to it.”

“I adapt quickly.”

“Should I go?”

Rusty stole a quick glace back toward the dorm, “No. Just... don’t let anybody see you.”

“Why? You embarrassed of me?”

“Of course not! I just don’t want to have to explain to my girlfriend who the 12 year old blonde chick was I picked up in the parking lot.”

“Sorry. Yeah. That would make a bad night worse.”

“Wait. Can other people see you?”

“What’s more important right now is how you screwed up tonight.”

Deflated, Rusty groaned. “I know!”

“Not so good, sport.”

Rusty chuckled at her calling him “sport” and shrugged, “I think I need to change my lifestyle a little bit, in regard to social activities.”

Isabeau curled her lips at him.

“What?” Rusty asked, defensive.

Isabeau explained, “Hm. That sounds suspiciously like another way of saying you need to get out more.”

Ugh. There it was again.

Isabeau knew how much her father hated that phrase.

Her cheeks quivered wry wriggles.

Rusty rolled his eyes. “Shut uuuup.”

As she stood up to walk with him, brushing off her dress, she chortled. “Huuuh! You can’t speak to your sweet and innocent young daughter like that.”

“I can when she’s being a little jerk!”

Isabeau didn’t bother to ask why he needed to change his social activities. She already knew. “Life is boring without someone to share it all with?”

“Yup. Nailed that one right by about 10,000%.”

Rusty loved how she would suddenly pull these odd philosophies out of thin air. Indeed she must be his daughter. He spoke the same way all the time, yet he never knew a single other person in his life who really talked like that. Rusty just loved speaking in a way that made his real life sound like a movie.

Pausing for only a few seconds, toying with the corner of her dress, Isabeau asked, “Dad, why do you live?”

Rusty burbled. “What? What kind of question is that? Sweetheart, I don’t even feel like attempting that riddle.”

Isabeau stared.

Rusty knew he wasn’t getting out of it. “Okay. Fine. For her. I always felt like I live to find her.”

“Your soulmate. My mother.”

“Yes. I mean, obviously, I think there is more to life. But that has always felt like the first goal I needed to reach. Like that’s when my life really begins.”

“What if she is not here?”

“Well, she’s clearly not in this parking lot.” Rusty said as he opened his passenger door for Isabeau.

“You know what I mean.” Isabeau said in a sing-song tone.

Their conversation stopped while Rusty walked around the car and climbed in himself. Once he sat down, he told his daughter, “Yes, I know what you mean. But that’s impossible. If she didn’t exist, neither would you. Aren’t you kind of confirmation that she is a real person.”

“Well, I don’t exist. Not yet. So - ”

“ - So what are you trying to say?”

“I never said she didn’t exist. I said maybe she’s not here. Big difference. What I mean is, maybe my mom isn’t the kind of woman you think she is. You honestly think you reunite with soulmates in every lifetime?”

Rusty stared out the front windshield at the building Marissa lived in. “Well, I did think that, until you put it that way. You mean what if my oldest dream, what if the one thing that has... kept me alive through my darkest moments is... just an illusion? What if the only thing which keeps me going... is a lie and doesn’t exist?”

“Yes. What if the answer to your oldest sorrow is the one and only answer you have always refused to consider?”

Again, Rusty thought about his ex-girlfriend Marie and how they kept up that horrible cycle of heartbreaks and make-up-sex for years. “You know, one of my former girlfriends, Marie Greer, once told me the same thing. Kateri’s little sister?”

“Kateri?”

“Oh. Yeah. Kateri.” Rusty rattled off the story like a list of boring statistics. “She was my first love. Met in high school. We were 16. Never dated or kissed. She joined the military. Married another guy. Had a kid. Got divorced. Killed herself at 22. You know. Youthful romantic tragedy. Blah. Blah. Blah. I never got the girl I truly loved. Woe is me.”

Isabeau didn’t react to the story the way most people would.

Instead of being shocked or sympathetic, a strange look came across her face. As if she were remembering having heard it all before. The natural response would be to hold Rusty’s hand and give a trite “I’m so sorry” but Isabeau loved her father too much to do something so placating.

Now she understood why his romance with Marie lasted so long.

Obviously, they bonded over the mutual pain of losing Kateri and neither one of them could ever let go of each other. Not for years. No matter how incompatible they might be.

Isabeau felt her heart shatter, knowing that Rusty was so flippant only because he was still so broken. And probably always would be.

You never overcome that pain. You learn to endure it. Despite the lies told on inspirational posters, you never heal from that kind of loss. Wounds heal. Limbs don’t grow back.

Isabeau nodded for Rusty to continue. He didn’t see the tears she was holding in.

“Anyway,” Rusty began, “Marie said my obsession with finding a soulmate was a game to me. That I loved the romanticized idea of searching more than the possibility of actually finding her. Like I loved the image of being some kind of lone-knight on a desperate quest. So I’d do whatever I could, to maintain that image of myself. Marie said, if I found my soulmate, I wouldn’t know what to do with my life. That I sabotage myself. I make it impossible to find a soulmate, because I’m only interested in the pursuit.”

Isabeau wrinkled her gorgeous face. “Well, that’s a terrible thing for her to say.”

“Not if she was right.”

A gentle hand reached for his face, but he turned to her just before she touched him. “Daddy, I’m not saying you are sabotaging yourself. I’m simply asking you, what if the way you’ve gone about the pursuit has been all wrong?”

§

Mike Boatwick was one of Rusty’s best friends and he chuckled into his coffee after Rusty told him the whole swing dancing story. Mike was also one of the few friends who would occasionally hang out with him.

“Glad one of us finds it entertaining.” Rusty said between bites of diner waffles.

“Dude, you’re making too big a deal out of it. Why don’t you date that Cheryl chick? That little pixie girl photographer. Whatever happened to her? I thought you liked her.”

“Oh, hell, no.”

“No? What happened?”

“I haven’t liked her for a long time.”

“Why not? She was hot, dude.”

“I still hang with her sometimes, but I’d never try to date her again. Totally lost all respect for that girl.”

“Why?”

“I ever tell you about her and Sean?”

“No. Who’s that? Boyfriend?” Mike tipped a shoulder in compassion.

“Not exactly. Basically, he was this dude she was banging -”

“ - Boyfriend.”

Rusty snickered like he had just seen a humiliating fail video on the Internet. “Not exactly. So, she’s hooking up with this guy and he lives like 2 hours away. Well, he totally falls in love with her and decides that he’s going to pick up and move here so he can be with her.”

“Okay.”

“And she broke up with him.”

Mike leaned back in the booth and shook his head, “Wait. I don’t get it. That means she was free. Why did you stop liking her after she broke up with this dude?”

“Because of her reason for doing it. She told me that he didn’t seem committed to being with her.”

“What? I thought he was picking up his whole life and moving to a different city just to be with her.”

Rusty pointed at Mike, “You got it, buddy. I lost all respect for her in that moment. Because I realized she was full of shit. It was like, for the first time, I saw the evil bullshit of a girl from the outside instead of being the victim of it. The truth was that she just didn’t like him very much. But instead of admitting that, she tried to turn it around and blame it on him.”

Mike scoffed, “Chicks, man.”

“Totally. This poor guy is so into this girl that he’s prepared to change his job, his apartment, his whole life, just to be with her. And she splits because she says he’s not committed enough!? What kind of bullshit is that?”

“Sucks, man.”

“Yep. So, after that, I lost all interest in the girl. I just couldn’t respect her anymore when I found out she’d fuck over a guy like that. If she would be such a cuntrag toward him, what would she do to me? She wasn’t even attracted to me. At least he got to fuck her. I never did.”

Mike grumbled, “Well, it sound like you made the right choice. I mean, it sucks, but at least you didn’t get involved with her emotional baggage craziness.”

“That’s true.”

“Does she know that’s why you stopped liking her?”

Rusty chuckled and couldn’t stop laughing. “Oh, no. Hell, no.”

“What’s so funny?” Mike asked.

“She thought I stopped liking her because she told me to.”

“What? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“We were talking once and she commented on guys she wasn’t interested in crushing on her. And she was like, ‘I don’t see why they can’t just stop liking me if I tell them to. That’s what you did.’ I mean, she honestly thought I lost interest in her, just because she didn’t reciprocate my attraction.”

“Oh, Christ.”

“Yeah, it was hilarious. I laughed my ass off when she said it, but I never explained why.”

“Damn, that’s funny. Clueless chick.”

“Totally clueless.”

“Speaking of fucking up relationships,” Mike shook his head, as if wondering why he’d humiliate himself by telling the following tale, “You story about being a douche when you went swing dancing isn’t as bad as what I did. I ever tell you about that girl Ursula I met? From Canada?”

“No. Ursula?”

“Yeah, I know. It’s a weird name. I always think of that Disney movie with the mermaid.”

Rusty chuckled. “Yeah. Exactly what I was thinking! No, you never told me about her.”

Mike grumbled at his mug, “Oh, boy. So check this out. After one of my gigs last summer at the music expo, I meet this really hot Canadian girl. Right?”

Rusty laughed.

“What?” Mike asked.

“Oh, she lives in Canada. You wouldn’t know her.”

“Shut up. No. She’s real dude.”

“Okay.”

“So she’s here on a vacation, and she’s totally into my music, and we hook up, and it’s great, but I don’t really think I’m going to see this girl anymore.”

“Right. Because she lives in Canada.”

“Right.”

Rusty didn’t understand how a fling with a foreign girl had any correlation to his being in love and making an ass of himself, but he let Mike continue.

“Well, we exchanged numbers and when she went back to Toronto, we actually kept in touch. And we started talking all the time and I was really starting to like this chick.”

“Cool.” Rusty said, glad it was getting somewhere comparable.

“So, I finally decided that I’d go visit her in Toronto. So she’s all excited and I offer to get a hotel and she’s telling me what a gentleman I am because I didn’t assume I’d be sleeping with her - ”

“ - Wait a second,” Rusty interrupted, “I thought you said you already hooked up with her.”

“No, I didn’t mean like a sex hook up. I just meant like we hung out and we hit it off. We like, made out and shit, but we didn’t fuck.”

“Ah. Okay.”

“So, I offer to get a hotel and I go see her. Well, the night I get there, she has me come over and she’s all happy to see me, but she tells me she’s having a party. I was kind of pissed, because she knew I was coming, and I kind of wanted some time alone with her.”

Rusty sipped orange juice, “Yeah. I could see you being upset. That’s kind of rude to have a bunch of people over when you know you have a guest showing up.”

“Yeah. Totally! So, you know, we barely get to talk because she’s running around talking to all these people. And I, of course, don’t know anybody, so I’m just kind of sitting there. And I’m getting more and more pissed off as the night goes on, because it’s pretty obvious she’s trying to avoid me.”

“That sucks.”

“Yeah. So, I tell her I’m leaving and going back to my hotel. And she looks really bummed out. And she’s like, but you just got here, and stuff. But I’m really angry at this point for her just brushing me aside for this dumb party she was throwing, and I didn’t feel like getting into a huge fight in the middle of the party, so I just left. But she knew I was pissed.” Mike rubbed his temple, swirling memories like the creamer in his coffee.

“Well, I don’t blame you. That was shitty of her. You don’t go alienating your houseguest and planning a party when you know you have company coming over. That’s rude.”

Mike smirked, his face pained with embarrassment. He looked humiliated as he said, “Yeah, but what I didn’t stop to consider was maybe she was throwing the party for me, because she really liked me, and she had been bragging about me to all of her friends, and she wanted them all to meet me.”

Rusty put his hand over his mouth in shock. “Oh, ssshit!”

“Yeah.” Mike said with deadpan shame.

“Did she tell you - ”

“ - Yeah, the next morning, we went out to breakfast and she told me all of that. She wanted it to be a surprise and that’s why she didn’t let me know ahead of time.”

Rusty’s hands covered his face. “Oh, shhhhhhit! You done fucked up, buddy. So, this girl throws a party just for you, and you get up and leave?”

“Yeah. I’m a fucking asshole.”

“Damn.” Rusty giggled. “That’s... Dude, you really fucked up. I’m sorry, man.”

“Yeah, I know. I know. But, oh, it gets worse!”

Rusty could help but laugh. “Worse!? Oh, no. Then what did you do?”

“So, we’re sitting there talking and I don’t know how the fuck this comes up, I think we were talking about being a gentleman and doing the right thing and looking after a girl and stuff.” Mike was shaking his head, as if he were hoping the movement, like an Etch-A-Sketch, could erase the memory of what he did next.

“Okay.”

“You know, just, whatever. So, somehow that turns into the idea of protecting the girl you love and I actually said to her...” Mike paused, and took a big sigh, “...and I can’t believe I said this. What I said next was one of the stupidest things I’ve ever said in my entire life.”

“Okay.” Rusty chuckled, morbidly eager for this zinger.

“So, I says to her, God, what was I thinking?... I actually said that I would rather my girlfriend be murdered than raped.”

“...WHAT!?”

“I didn’t - ”

“ - Why the fuck would you say something like that!?”

“I don’t know!”

“When would a statement like that ever be appropriate? Especially with a girl on one of your first dates!”

“I know! You know, as the words were coming out of my mouth, I tried to stop them.” Mike reached his arms out in front of his face, “I could see them floating in the air and I just wanted to grab them and take them back, but it was too late.”

“What did she say?”

Mike did a double-take out the window of the diner trying to look away from the memory. “Oh, God, you should have seen the look on her face. It was awful. Her whole facial expression changed and she just had this look on her face like, ‘Get me the fuck away from this psycho!’”

“Why would you say that?”

“I don’t know! I was trying to point out how bad I thought rapists were, and trying to be all supportive of women and stuff, only it came out all wrong. You know, because as a man, if you fail to protect your woman from rape, you have to deal with that guilt everyday of seeing her.”

“Oh, nice. So, you’d rather your girlfriend died, so you wouldn’t have to feel guilty!? Dude, that’s gotta be the most selfish, chauvinist fucked-up thing I ever - ”

“ - Dude, I know. I know! It was the dumbest thing I’ve ever said in my life.”

“Yeah, I’ll say! I think most women would disagree about the preference of being raped or murdered. I don’t think most women would perceive that as being supportive and chivalrous.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

“I don’t know that much about women, but I don’t think they appreciate men who offer those two things as their only options.” Rusty giggled, far more insidiously than he should have, in glee for Mike’s embarrassment.

“Very funny.”

“Why would you ever bring up that kind of a topic on a date!? Forget a first date, you could be dating a woman for 5 years and you should just... never go there.”

“I know!”

“Hypothetical conversations on a date should be, ‘Hey, what would you do if you won the lottery?’ Not, ‘Hey, would you rather be violently raped or brutally murdered?’”

“Dude, I know!”

“I mean, I think rapists should be killed and women evil enough to make false rape accusations should be killed. But I’m not going to admit that to any girls I’m dating. Ever.”

Rusty loved rubbing it in. How can you not when you have such great material? “So what happened then?”

“That was pretty much it. I mean, we still hung out for the weekend, but nothing sexual happened between us, and we pretty much stopped talking after that trip.”

“Damn. I’m sorry, dude. That sucks.”

“Well, my point is, don’t feel bad about Marissa. You didn’t screw up as bad as I did.”

“I guess not. I still got laid that night.”

“Fuck you.”

Rusty laughed heartily and deep. “I can’t believe you said that.”

“You guys doing okay over here?” The waitress asked.

“Yes, thank you.” Rusty smiled. He wanted to ask her, “Would you rather be raped or murdered?” but since she wasn’t in on the joke, that would be crossing the line.

Mike saw the question in Rusty’s eyes and glared.

Mike motioned to his cup.

“More coffee?”

“Yes, please.” Mike replied.

“Coming right up.” The waitress was halfway away from the table as she finished her words.

“Speaking of miscommunication, Marissa told me that she almost canceled our first date because of something I said.” Rusty smirked.

From behind a crinkled brow, Mike asked, “What the hell did you say?”

Chuckling, Rusty explained, “Oh, it was completely innocuous! That’s what makes it so funny.”

“How so?”

“Well, apparently, the first time we talked on the phone and made plans to hang out at her place, I inadvertently made her uncomfortable because I said, ‘Well, I don’t mind getting home late. I have an hour drive, but you can just roll over and go to sleep.’”

“What’s so bad about that?”

Rusty cocked his head.

Then Mike got it. “Ohh! She thought you were talking about fucking her!?”

“Exactly! When I said she could just roll over and go to sleep, I meant it as a figure of speech. I meant, she didn’t have to do much to get ready for bed, whereas I had an hour drive ahead of me.”

“But she took it literally?”

“Totally. She later confessed that it freaked her out, like I thought I’d just come down to see her and get laid on our first date. So, she was all nervous and almost canceled.”

“Did she ask you what you meant by that?”

“No! She didn’t tell me this until weeks later! After we had been dating for months.”

“Well, what the hell? Why did she let you come over then?”

“Because she said once she thought about it, I didn’t seem like that kind of guy and she wanted to give me the benefit of the doubt.”

“That’s hilarious, dude.” Mike said as he sipped his now-refilled coffee.

“Yeah. But it just got me thinking how much that would have sucked if she had canceled. I would have been all upset and confused and I never would have understood why this really cool girl just started to blow me off and ignore me.”

“Well, at least you know she likes you now. Even if you’re a shitty swing dancer.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m telling you, man, just find a decent girl and be happy. You keep holding out for this faeries and unicorns dreamgirl of yours and you’re going to wind up alone. There’s no such woman, dude. She doesn’t exist. You know the old saying: There’s only one bitch in the world - ”

“ - One bitch with many faces. Yeah. I know. I know. Life keeps proving that is true, I just never want to believe it.”

“Well, then life will keep beating you over the head with it until you listen.”

Maybe Mike was right. Rusty was getting insecure over nothing. He and Marissa were still together. They still make love everytime they see each other. She still tells him that she loves him.

What more could a man ask for?

Everything will be just fine.

§

“Take the day off work.” Rusty said into the phone.

“What? You’re crazy.” Marissa answered. It was 8am.

“Would you look at this day! Let’s go to the beach!”

Rusty was right. On a day of fluke weather, it was over 70 degrees in November. A rare thing for an Ohio winter. He had already called in “sick” and now was convincing his girlfriend to do the same.

Marissa agreed.

They spent the day hiking in the woods of Hinkley, exploring caves and scaling mossy boulders, then went to grab some lunch and windowshop the pagan bookstore and play at the vast beaches of Mentor Headlands.

As they toyed on the jungle gym, Rusty leapt from the second level and jumped onto the firepole, sliding down to the sand below.

Marissa, who was a very athletic girl and always held her own against him, awkwardly slammed her groin into the pole so hard, the galvanized steel actually clanged.

Wincing at the sound and the poor look on her face, Rusty crossed his legs and held his own crotch in sympathy.

“Oooooh!” He grimaced. “Are you okay?”

Stifled breath caught in her throat. Each word locked in her chest. “Yea... Fine... I’m good.”

“Well, you don’t sound so good.”

Marissa sighed. “Oh, cripe, that hurt.”

Rusty started laughing. “How did you manage to do that?”

“I don’t know!” Marissa pouted.

Not five minutes later, Marissa accidentally picked the smallest swing on the swingset. The buttocks of an anorexic kindergartner couldn’t fit on that seat. Marissa simultaneously bruised both of her hipbones on the metal eyehooks as she plonked down on the plastic.

Pained air hissed between her teeth.

“Okay,” Rusty laughed. “I think it’s time to go home. You’re just injuring yourself far too much on this playground.”

“Yeah, I think maybe you’re right.” Marissa massaged her hips.

Rusty giggled as he started the car. “I’m sorry, baby. I just... God, when you pounded your crotch into that pole! That was just too funny. I know. I’m a jerk. I shouldn’t be laughing.”

Marissa pouted and said, “Well, you can pound me later to help me forget about it.”

That shut him up.

“What!?”

Rusty laughed harder than ever and Marissa joined him.

“Oh, my God!” He said with saucer-eyes, “I can’t believe you just said that!”

“Well, fine, if you don’t want to.”

“No, no, no! I definitely want to! Yes. Very much so! It’s just, well, you never talk that way. You’re always so proper.”

“I’m not that proper.”

“No, I didn’t say you were a priss or anything. I just mean, you never talk like that.”

“Does that bother you?”

“No! Not at all, my love. You want to make me offers to pound your crotch, I’ll accept those offers all day long.”

“Yeah, I thought so. So, shut up and stop complaining.”

“I wasn’t complaining. I was just - ”

“ - Shut up and drive.” Marissa grabbed his shirt, pulled him over and kissed him.

“I.” Kiss. “Wasn’t.” Kiss. “Complaining.” Kiss.

“Shut up.” Kiss.

They grabbed each other and couldn’t stop. Hands. Tongues. Reaching under shirts. Skin. Breath. Fall winds stir to the hearthfire, billowing the scent of faint smoke and pumpkin spiced airs brisk as seafoam. Sour flavors of honeydew sweetness mixed with something of the end times and the cobblestone shrill of cemetery dust. This is the touch of loveaffairs in autumn. And so their lovemaking swam in a winter day too hot for the season, when November air was embroiled with summer wind.

§

After their perfect afternoon, Marissa ruined the whole day.

She started talking about moving to New York again.

She told Rusty all about her ex-girlfriend trying to convince her to move and how it looked like her plan of how to do it would truly work.

So, Rusty did what you should never do in those situations.

He tested her.

They were having a “if I won the lottery” conversation (much better than a “raped or murdered” conversation) and he asked if she’d take him to New York with her.

“Well, not right away,” she explained. “I’d still need to find a place to live first.”

Sure.

If she loved him, she would have said, “Of course!” or “Absolutely!” or “I’d never want to go without you.”

But even in her fantasies, she didn’t want to bring him along.

If a girl isn’t dreaming about being with you, she isn’t with you.

She had already decided what she is going to do.

Living in New York was more important than being with him.

She would move there.

And when she does, she will leave him. Rusty knew she would toss their relationship away and tell him she “still wants to be friends” like they all do.

She will ruin it all.

She will destroy the best relationship either of them ever had.

Rusty was looking at old journals and realized that a dozen years had passed since he began writing them.

And nothing had saved him.

Nothing was any different except for the fact that more time had gone by. More years of potential joy which are lost forever.

And nothing will get that time back.

He never heard of anyone lamenting such things at his age. Only those who are close to the end of their days speak of such regrets.

Sometimes, he doubted he had much time left.

How long could he survive without Her?

Without “The One”?

And no one, no one he had ever met, or ever known, understood this. No one ever grasped his urgency or the imperative of making this dream come true.

This wasn’t a selfish desire to dispel loneliness.

This was a sense that he had something greater to gift unto the world. Something he could not achieve alone.

Perhaps, he thought, Isabeau may be a veritable messiah.

Perhaps she is the reason for the instinctive urgency that has always plagued him. Perhaps he won’t make any difference at all. Perhaps his mission to change the world lies in what his daughter shall be destined to achieve.

And he was failing in that destiny.

§

Days later, Marissa and Rusty were caught up in a conversation about books they had read and loved as kids.

Nonchalantly, they walked naked down the hallway and headed toward the bathroom as they continued talking.

Somewhere between The Island of the Blue Dolphins and The Chronicles of Narnia, as Rusty sat on the toilet, Marissa squeezed some toothpaste on the brush and froze.

Rusty looked shocked.

Suddenly, it hit both of them at the same time.

“Hey! W-What are you doing in here? I’m using the toilet.”

“What am I doing in here? It’s my apartment.”

“Well, yeah, but... I was in here first!”

They both started laughing.

They were doing exactly what they talked about never doing.

The bathroom etiquette conversation.

Rusty had been so freaked out when his ex-girlfriend walked in on him in the bathroom. Now, here he was with Marissa, both of them so comfortable with each other, they didn’t even realize what they had done.

Rusty was falling for this girl more deeply than he ever expected.

Jeezus! He was so comfortable with her that he was taking a dump in front of her!? He could never do that with anyone! That’s disgusting!

With her, it was so natural to be in her presence that nothing phased him at all.

He could only hope the feeling was mutual.

Deep down inside, he knew it wasn’t.

But he still held on.

Everyone always holds on.

§

Rusty was eating dinner on his couch watching Big Trouble in Little China when Isabeau told him, “Dad, you need a girl who knows that being with an engaged guy is stupid. Remember that line on that TV show? You don’t need a girl who is learning her life lessons on your time. You need one who already has her act together, the same way you do. You need a girl with the courage to be devoted to you. Someone who appreciates who you are. If she loves you so much, and you treat her so well, doesn’t it prove she is not right for you, if she isn’t wise enough to hold onto your romance?”

Rusty knew Isabeau was right.

Marissa was a mistake.

A couple years back, Marissa had an affair with a married guy when she was on a summer internship. A breech of morality that Rusty was always uncomfortable with and Isabeau was now calling to task.

He hated the way Isabeau did that.

But, he would always forgive Isabeau because of her motives - she just wanted to live. Who can blame her for being blunt and brutally honest? Isabeau didn’t have time for games, and that’s part of what he loved about her; Brutal truth.

Putting down his fork, Rusty conceded, “She isn’t ready for me, is she?”

“No. She is still a young girl. Still thriving on attention from young boys. Still unable to have a committed romance with a guy like you. She’s just a kid. Do you think her soul is a part of yours?”

“Yes.”

“And is she as old as you are? Do her actions seem like those of an old soul?”

“No. But that doesn’t change my one problem.”

“Namely?”

“That I have fallen in love with her so deeply, I would marry her in a heartbeat.”

Isabeau shook her head. “That is not your problem at all.”

“Oh, no? What is my problem?”

Isabeau tilted. “Daddy, your problem is that you have convinced yourself that you must make a final, 100% committed decision as to whether or not to let her go or fight for her. And you have no idea which decision is best. One hour you are convinced you will never be with her again. The next hour you want to propose to her. You may not be painfully depressed, but a lack of depression is not proof that you are ‘dealing with it really well.’ You seem to be making choices on a heart which is far from tranquil.”

“I know. I know.” Rusty repeated the mantra that had helped him cope with the final heartwrenching breakup from Marie years earlier, “Make your decisions with a tranquil heart and the wrong decision you shall not make.”

Isabeau patted his knee. “You got it daddy-o. Get some rest. Be at peace. You are not ready to decide anything yet.”

As she left the room, he felt a tingle in his leg.

That was the second real physical contact they had ever made.

Rusty caught his breath. He felt strangely invigorated and exhausted all at the same time. The thought rang in his head all night - I’ve been touched by the spirit of my unborn daughter.

Any attempt to express those emotions in words, would fail.

§

Marissa asked, “Isn’t there an event in Cleftlands this Saturday?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Well, are you planning on going? Because if you were, I was thinking I could see you then. I could meet you there. I wasn’t sure I was going. But I will if you are.”

Oh? Rusty thought, why the hell can’t she just come up to see him for him and not as some excuse to go to a social event?

Whatever.

That was one of many little hints that it was the beginning of the end. Those awful times, when we deny and rationalize and tell ourselves we’re being paranoid or unfair, when the truth is, the end is in sight and there is no escaping it.

§

Not far from the architectural firm where Rusty worked, there was a small park along the Lake Erie shores. He often went there to have his lunch. The coastline at Overlook Beach Park must have been less than 200 feet long, surrounded by cliffs and homes on either side. The tiny alcove of sand was always abandoned. Never did he see another person there. The perfect place to think.

Something was strange that day.

Something was off.

As he walked past the picnic tables and swingsets, closer and closer to the beach, he realized what it was.

Silence.

He could hear no waves.

The day was ashen and gray with a tar of thick fog.

When he walked to the shore, the waters were deathly still.

He was shocked.

Never in all his life had he seen the waters of Lake Erie look like glass. Yet there it was. A beach of sand sloping gently into water as smooth as polished silver.

He could only see a few dozen feet into the lake, as the fog was so dense it faded into the hue of the sky and it felt as if all the color had been strained from the world.

Isabeau came walking up the beach towards him.

He was already getting used to her appearing out of nowhere. She grabbed a nice flat stone and skipped it three times.

“Not bad.” Rusty complimented his daughter.

“You’ll have to teach me all over again once I’m born.”

“I look forward to it.”

Suddenly, for the first time, Rusty wondered if he could shoot video or take a photograph of Isabeau. Was that possible? What would happen? Would she show up on film? Could he show the 5 year old Isabeau pictures of how she will look when she’s 12 years old?

“Do you want a memory so you can hold on to Marissa?”

“What?”

“Do you want that? Daddy, she is you.”

“No. I do not need a memory. I want the way.”

“You fear her. You fear she will leave you. Betray you. Love another. She told you this. She told you that she feared hurting you. Leaving you. She told you that after seeing him for 3 months, she would have married Jason. She chose to be the lover of an engaged man. What does that speak of her character?”

“You’ve said this before.”

“You still haven’t listened. So, I’m saying it again.”

Looking deep into the fog, holding a stone he was about to skip, Rusty announced, “Marissa may be my hero. My idol and the one who sees me as her champion.”

“What on earth are you talking about? She is not ready for you.”

“Will she ever be?”

“Sometimes it may not feel like forever.”

“In Marissa, I found one who passed every test, the one who exceeded every hope, who was greater than every expectation. All of that was not enough.”

Isabeau put a hand on her hip and looked sidelong at her father. “Daddy, do you even have a soulmate?”

“Yes. Of course I do.”

Grinning, Isabeau wondered, “More than one?”

“Possibly.”

“Do you? Or is the idea of having more than one soulmate merely a way to comfort yourself and to rationalize relationships which don’t work out as well as you had hoped?”

“Your point?”

“Just an idea to contemplate.”

“It’s not Marissa, is it?”

“Daddy, did she ever go out of her way to do one, single, solitary altruistic deed for you? Think about it. She bought you two things since you’re known her - both early Christmas gifts. She never got anything else for you. She wrote one letter to you. One. You’ve written her about a dozen. Remember Halloween? You offered to buy her gloves for her costume. You looked all over for a vest for your costume. She never offered to return the favor and buy a vest for you. In fact, you had to ask her and she was hesitant, irritated, and complained how inconvenient it was.”

Rusty defended Marissa and argued. “Buying material gifts isn’t proof of devotion. Look at Rosalind. That girl bought me gifts everytime I saw her. In the end, she left me too. Buying trinkets is proof of nothing.”

“But it does prove you are on someone’s mind.”

Rusty squirmed, unable to argue that point. “True.”

“When she took you car shopping, she complained about needing to get home. You asked her to come to your office party. She agreed. Then she never brought it up again. She only calls to see you when she has nothing else to do, and no one else to spend time with. Think about it. You are never her first choice. You are her last resort. She only invites you to do things that she is already planning to do without you. She called you a few Sundays ago, when the college campus was deserted. Do you recall when she called before that?”

“No.”

“Has she called since?”

Rusty sighed. “No.”

Rubbing his eyebrow with the palm of his hand, Rusty added, “But... but when she does see me, I get to spend a lot of time with her!”

“Only if it is convenient for her. Only if it suits her. Think about it. All I’m saying is she never voluntarily went out of her way for you. Never. That doesn’t mean she is wrong for you. But what do you think you deserve? How many times did she come into town, with no intent of calling you or telling you? At least twice that you know of for sure. She was never a true love or a magic child in the way that she treated you. She was just a girl you were dating. Nothing more. How long do you think it will be before she calls you again?”

“Birthday. Maybe. Cripe, you are so right about everything. Simple little facts I never noticed before.”

Isabeau corrected him, her breath slightly steamed on the chill of fog, “You noticed. You noticed all along.”

§

Fixing breakfast, Rusty looked at his daughter at the kitchen table. “Isabeau, can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“I’m curious about your age. Can you be any age?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you look like you’re about 12 years old all the time. Now, I can understand the idea of a ghost looking like the age they were when they died. But you’re not a ghost. You’ve never been born. So, why do you always look like you’re 12 years old? Couldn’t you look like you were 6 or 25 or 40? Why is it always 12?”

Isabeau puzzled about it for a moment. “I’m not sure. I think it has a little to do with you too.”

“With me? What do you mean?”

“I mean it’s not just about the way I choose to appear. It’s also about the way you choose to perceive me. I think as the two get closer to each other, you see me as you wish to see me.”

“The two? Two what? Oh! You mean your will and mine together? They both work to create your appearance?”

“Something like that.”

“Oh.” Rusty chomped his cereal.

“I think it’s also your favorite age to be a dad.”

That made Rusty chuckle. How could he have a “favorite age to be a dad” when he’s never been one before? “How so?”

“I’m at your favorite age to be a parent to a child. Old enough that you can have intelligent conversations with me. Young enough that I’m not ignoring you and chasing after boys. It’s the oldest any child ever becomes before they start to pull away from their parents. The final years of innocence. The best age to be daddy.”

§

The week had arrived.

After almost 5 months of dating, Marissa was going to break up with him any minute. He knew it. This wasn’t insecurity or paranoia. The moment was coming.

They hadn’t spoken for 5 days and Marissa was starting to make comments on the phone like she’s “starting to think I made a mistake by getting so involved with you.”

Need a bigger hint?

Looking back on conversations he had with Michele Turno, he finally started to get it. The poor girl was trying to warn him! Michele liked Rusty. She liked Rusty and Marissa being together. She thought Rusty was a great guy. But Marissa confided to Michele many times that Rusty was blowing it. He was too heavy. Too deep. Taking it all too seriously. Marissa wasn’t ready for that.

So, Michele did the best she could to warn Rusty, without betraying Marissa’s trust. She would tell him to calm down. To ease up. Poor Rusty was oblivious. He was proud of his love and affection. Foolishly, he thought Marissa appreciated it. He thought he was doing the right thing by being a guy who was honest with his emotions and wasn’t afraid of expressing his adoration for the woman he loved.

He was wrong.

And he finally saw the curtains closing.

Rusty wrote a letter. Six full pages talking about how much he adored Marissa and how important their love was and how magical and unique their dreamfasting moments were and how those feelings couldn’t happen between two people that weren’t destined for something special.

On and on.

Meaningless tripe.

The kind of blather that feels so important when you write it, and feels nauseously embarrassing to read 6 months later.

But he wrote it.

Oh, did he write it. Blah, blah, blah. Blather and blather.

He said everything he could think of.

He didn’t mention Isabeau.

He never mentioned her.

There were some lines Rusty was wise enough to never cross.

But the letter didn’t matter.

He was too late.

Not only do we always hold on too long...

But the letters always come too late.

§

Isabeau sat on the bed, interrupting Rusty as he wrote in his journals. “The sooner you get over her, the better you will deal with it later.”

Rusty sighed and finished writing of his fear that Marissa would throw away his letter, even though he knew she was the sort to save every one.

Never throw away your old loveletters. One day they will be the conduit through which the most vital days of your past are remembered. Therein were the hours when you transcended all that you have become and you were mighty as any God ever regaled to myth and lore. Those hours are few in life. Cherish the minutes you are given.

Isabeau continued, frustrated how her father was clinging to Marissa memories. “Daddy, she is not the one. She got involved with a guy who was engaged! And, the worst of it is that she said she would do it again and she would have married him! She told you that! She came right out and admitted it. You are not assuming she would - she would. She did not voice sorrow or regret for her sins. She freely admitted that she knows she would commit them again. You’re no saint. You’ve done bad things too. But you regret them all. Is hers the morality or the wisdom of your beloved soulmate? Is she someone who would take care of your heart?”

Rusty drank it all in and nodded. “So, she is not the one.”

“No. As long as she maintains her attitude of such self-centered behavior, she is not the one for you. What did everyone you talk to ask you about this weekend? What did they all say?”

Rusty squirmed. “They asked, ‘Aren’t you seeing your girlfriend this weekend?’”

“Why aren’t you?”

“Because she was busy. Today she has meetings and yesterday she went to that Society for Creative Anachronism event.”

Isabeau nodded grim and accusatory. “And she didn’t want you to go. You wrote her on Thursday night. It’s Sunday. Did she get back to you? Has she called? Written?”

“No.” Rusty said to his bedsheets.

“How long has it been since you spoke?”

Rusty had to think about it. “Thursd - No. Wednesday night. Three full days ago. Almost four days.”

“Four days? Four days with no phonecall? No quick little email? A text message? Nothing?”

“No.”

“What kind of girlfriend does that? I’ll tell you - the kind that’s leaving her boyfriend, but hasn’t mustered the courage to do it yet. Daddy, do not be dismayed. Your heart does speak true unto your soul. Marissa is the most wonderful girl you have ever been with. You are happier with her than with anyone else you have ever dated. You feel a connection with her like you’ve never had before. It is only natural that you would lose your perspective in a situation like that. You will begin to have hopes and dreams and wishes which you had never dared have before.

“Nevertheless, although she is truly the most ideal, the most compatible girl you have ever had the privilege of being with, she is not the one you are here to be with.

“There are other magic children.

“There is another.”

Rusty sat there for a long time. He didn’t look up at his daughter.

He just gazed down at the wrinkles of his sheets.

Gazed until he daydreamed them mountains and Hot Wheels cars. Missing those days when making roads in bedsheets was all he needed for a fulfilling life.

Finally, he asked, “So how will it end? Will she leave me for another? Cheat on me? Die? Move far away? Simply lose interest? What?... And what do I do until then?”

Isabeau settled further into the bed. “The when and why and how are irrelevant. All that matters is that your time will come. The day will arrive. And when it does, be not dismayed. Hold to your truth. Hold to the beauty of living life. Keep your perspective.

“Remember you knew it was going to end.

“Be grateful for the time you had with her. And remember that you know who you are... and why you’re here.”

Rusty told her, “So often, I take comfort in such words. But I so often pray that one day, such knowledge of a future loss of joy shall be mistaken, and that I shall be wrong, and I shall remain happy.”

Rusty loved how Isabeau spoke to him. He often had to “dumb down” his mannerisms and speech for most people. For Rusty it was perfectly natural to say, “I shall endeavor to make it so” instead of “I’ll try to do that.”

With Isabeau, he could talk the way he felt comfortable.

When he spoke like that with living people, they always looked at him like he was a freak.

“Did you like fucking Erin?”

Rusty looked up at Isabeau, startled. “Isabeau!”

“Did you like fucking Erin?”

“Could you please use more polite language? If you were alive I’d ground you for talking that way.”

Isabeau, graciously apologized, “I’m sorry, father. Did you like... being intimate with Erin?”

“Erin Ricci? That was like 2 years ago!”

“Did you like being with her?”

“Wait. How did you know about Erin?”

“You told me she was the first girl you dated after Marie, but it didn’t last long.”

“Oh. Right. Well... I... I guess I liked being with her. Sort of... Yeah, it was fun. But... I dunno. I’m not too comfortable talking about sexual details with my underage daughter.”

“I’m not any age, remember? Besides, I never asked for any details. I just asked if you liked being with her.”

“Yes. I did.”

Isabeau nodded, “Do you recall how you felt with her? Do you recall your emotional state? Your attitude towards the relationship?”

These questions were uncomfortable.

Rusty and his friend Erin had been fuckbuddies.

No strings.

He loved it. She was a great friend and he really cared about her a lot. But she started falling for him, and it made him uneasy. So, he pulled away from her more and more, until finally they just stopped seeing each other.

Isabeau told him, “That’s how Marissa feels about you. She is cold, removed, distant and detached. She feigns affection only because she doesn’t want to hurt you. She cares for you. But not deeply. Not with a soulmate love. Never give your heart to someone who won’t take good care of it... Remember?...”

“Yes... Yes, I know...”

“Daddy, you wrote to her on Thursday to invite her to a movie and a concert. She never responded. And she told you that she went to the movie this weekend with her family. You asked her what classes she was going to take at the SCA event. Again, she never got back to you. Today, you invited her to dinner at your moms. No response.”

Rusty defended her. He was still in denial. “But she was busy. She wasn’t home to get my messages.”

“She had time to respond about the film and the concert.”

“No, she didn’t!”

“She could have told you just now. It’s now 9pm and you spoke at 7 o’clock. She could have told you on the phone at 7.”

“Maybe it just slipped her mind. But I did tell her that I want to see her this weekend because I haven’t seen her for two weeks.”

Isabeau knew the painful answer to her next question. “And what did she say?”

Rusty sighed. “That she just spent the whole weekend with me... but that was two weeks ago. I had to remind her. She thought it was one week. And then she said she wants to go to fighter practice next week too.”

“In other words,” Isabeau said compassionately, “she doesn’t want you around. Daddy, no girl ever forgets how long it’s been since she’s seen the boy she loves.”

Rusty repeated, “She thought it was two weeks. She honestly didn’t remember.”

Isabeau told him again, “Because she doesn’t want you around.”

“Yes. Basically.”

“Daddy, can I ask you something?”

“Certainly. Of course... What?” Rusty thought it was funny of her to say that during a deep conversation.

“What are you so upset about?”

The seemed an odd question. “...What?”

“What are you so upset about? You are upset, are you not?”

“Well... yes. I am.”

“About what exactly?”

“Well... I fear that Marissa is not the one. I think she and I will break up.”

Isabeau nodded quickly, and looked far more like a scolding parent than a daughter. “Now that is one melodramatic loss of your good old perspective! Why fear breaking up with the wrong girl? That isn’t the problem. What is the problem? Really?”

Rusty thought before he spoke. “I feel neglected. I feel like she is taking me for granted and that she doesn’t really care about me very much. I mean, she was ‘having people over’ tonight! She didn’t invite me to that... She never invites me to do anything with her friends! I invite her to do things constantly!”

Rusty hated to be reminded of the fact that maybe Marissa didn’t invite him because he was such a jackass when she asked him to come swing dancing. He hoped Isabeau wouldn’t bring that up. She didn’t. But he was visibly getting upset and Isabeau patted his foot under the covers. “Shh... A tranquil heart... Now think... Calmly. Serenely... You always say you know exactly what you deserve. You know exactly what you are worth... Does Marissa treat you the way you deserve?... Does she know what you are worth?”

Rusty started to speak.

He was quickly interrupted. “The truth is - ”

“ - Daddy, stop it. Stop jumping to the conclusion of the worst scenario. Be patient with her. You said so yourself - she is the greatest girl you have ever dated. Do you really want to talk yourself into ruining that or throwing it away?”

Rusty breathed heavy through his nose. “I am really looking forward to the holidays and I am terrified to lose her before they arrive. You know, I’ve still never had a girlfriend at Christmas.”

“Then do not live in fear... Be confident... You still have a chance...”

Rusty wasn’t sure why Isabeau seemed to have a sudden change of heart. All this time, telling him Marissa was a mistake and suddenly she was trying to convince him they still stood a chance!?

Why?

Rusty couldn’t help but wonder if Isabeau was being encouraging just to be kind. Surely, she didn’t believe a word she was saying. But Rusty wanted to believe, and sometimes trusting comforting lies from our ghosts is preferable to embracing harsh truths in our hearts.

“...What must I do?”

“Just be you... Your light... You are light. You are the Prince of Dreams and the King of Wonderment. Imagine... Remember... Every hour you have spent with Marissa has brought both of you joy and happiness. Hold to that. Hold to it. Forget it not. Give her time. Give her space... Remember... Sorrow and self-doubt will only weigh her down. It will assure that you shall lose her... Don’t give in to sorrow. Instead, be confident. Be strong.”

Isabeau was being darling.

Rusty knew she didn’t believe that stuff anymore than he did.

But it was so wonderful of her to tell him those lies.

Two days later, it was nearly December. Rusty mentioned that he’d love to see Marissa on Christmas. Her response was that she “wasn’t sure what was going on yet.”

Right.

Far in the dungeons of his heart awaited blackened Gods which spiderwebbed the earth as a thousand catacombs breathing shadows.

How many more hints did he need?

§

They broke up in her livingroom, the last Sunday of November.

She never gave him a reason.

“It’s not working out.”

“It doesn’t feel right.”

“No, I’m not interested in anyone else.”

All the meaningless passive phrases that never really express any true feelings but just mask over the emotions like a fog.

The simple truth was, Marissa loved Rusty, but not nearly as deeply as he loved her.

That’s it.

He loved her more than she loved him.

Simple as that.

And he knew that.

She never told him that. Such honesty was too cruel.

No. She could never tell him.

She knew he’d figure it out on his own.

He never said it, but she knew he wanted to marry her.

He never said it, but she knew he wanted her to have his kids.

He never said any of those things to her.

But he didn’t have to.

She knew.

And that isn’t what she wanted at that point in her life.

More importantly, that isn’t what she wanted with him.

They both cried.

They kissed goodbye.

They knew they’d stay friends, but they never said it out loud.

That was too horrible to say out loud.

Maybe because they knew that friendship would fade too.

Isabeau rode next to Rusty in the car on his whole drive home.

Isabeau never said a word.

But she was there.

And that was enough.

§

“Daddy, you can’t give up.”

“I know.”

“No. You don’t understand. It’s not a suggestion. It’s a statement about your nature. You are incapable of giving up.”

Rusty grinned. “So I guess that will be my ultimate downfall. If the cliché is true, that Fate gives us our true love when we stop looking, then all hope is lost for me, isn’t it?”

“Remember, she is looking too. There is no one you have ever met in this world who is like you. She is.”

Isabeau stayed on the end of the bed as Rusty rolled over.

She stayed until he fell deep, deep asleep.

Until he could dream again.

§

The ending came slow.

After they broke up, Marissa and Rusty still talked.

Still saw each other from time to time.

There were still long and passionate awkward kisses at her door.

Neither one able to let go.

Never again did they dreamfast.

Never again did they feel flesh against flesh.

The ending came slow.

And cruel.

Like all endings where you try to stay friends.

Rusty realized he was taking things a lot more seriously than she was. When he looked back, he could see how it was all him. He saw her enthusiasm for the relationship was very immature. She was like a high school girl. A teenager in puppylove. She was sincere and passionate, but the conviction of her sincerity was flighty.

She had no clue what she wanted.

First she wanted to be an inker at a comic book company.

Then she wanted to be an editor.

First their romance was having troubles and she told him she doesn’t want to give up.

Then, three weeks later, she broke up with him.

First she wanted to move to New York City.

Then some guys in London get a crush on her and she decides to move to England.

First she claims to be a solitary person and likes to stay at home.

Then she tells him she loves being social and is comfortable around strangers.

First she tells him she has a hard time breaking up with people.

Then she breaks up with him.

She was a living contradiction.

Rusty may have learned a lot about women, but he was still too young to realize all women behave that way, at every age of their lives. That never changes. Rusty didn’t know that. He was gullible enough to think women eventually stop acting that way.

Rusty knew he could not be with a person who is so unsure of who the hell she is.

Being confused and uncertain is one thing. Being diametrically opposed to everything you claim, every two weeks, is entirely different.

§

A revelation came to Rusty. He loved Marissa so deeply, that he would do anything for her - including leaving her forever.

If that was what she wanted, so be it.

He couldn’t make her love him.

Even if leaving him was wrong.

Even if she was making a terrible mistake.

Her choices were her own. He did not control her Fate. He could merely influence her desires. He could not change them.

Her choice was hers, and hers alone.

Thinking of soulmates, Rusty realized for as long as he could remember, finding her is all that really mattered to him.

In his earliest memories, he recalled being drawn to a smile, a gaze which he could recognize as ancient.

Unto her, he would have the need to make no vow. Shine with no promise. For in the first instant they discover each other again, they will not be reunited with remembrances of endless lifetimes, but rather with infinities of every omniverse of the spirit.

She thinks of him. Even now.

She believes.

His breath finds her pulse, as the serenity of his heart speaks across time, and through the tranquil whispers of her dreaming.

She smiles behind the veil of yesterday, and patiently awaits the hour they shall meet, upon the bridge of now.

Her spark has glistened in the eye of others. Small hints of an irresistible magic.

They are not of this realm, she and him.

Moreso than simply feeling out of place.

They are the only ones of their kind.

She has learned, from the frozen moments of holding to the heart, for every second of precious life they possess.

She is the voice.

She is the wonder.

She is the power of every dream which awaits them.

At their first gaze, they shall be each others.

She has not always done right by her own heart. At times, she loved a traitor and convinced herself that his heart was true. She forgot her way and knew she would again.

There is a road. A path. A course to this journey.

If she is not in this life, he trembles with only one fear - that there are no other lives to live. That this be the last. The final dreaming wold.

A deep serenity lies in the knowing of all she has vowed to him.

He follows those footfalls. He knows the quest.

When he rests, he weeps for the moments they are missing.

Even for the silence.

Years have passed without knowing her.

Endless moments never to come again.

Laughter. Comfort. Warmth. Peace.

The brutal rage of time lost.

There is a great deal to be said of love within the comfort of stillness.

Marissa.

Her name faded from his life like a sigh in the wind.

No drama.

No turning point.

Just a slow fog vanishing in the dawn light.

And like so many others...

She was gone.

Chapter Three

The club reminded Rusty of something he’d seen in movies set in New York City. Rusty had never been to New York City, but the building still reminded him of Broadway. The outside was an unassuming little brick facade with an old staircase burrowing into the sidewalk.

Once you descended the steps, inside the doors, the lobby opened into a space far larger than you’d ever suspect it possessed.

“Hey, Rusty, you made it!” Cheryl hopped over, still filled with all the energy of a chinchilla dusting in cocaine.

“Hey, Cheryl.”

A quick hug and she was bounding away again.

At a folding table sat a man and woman with paperwork and release forms. “Are you here for the audition?”

“No, no.” Rusty explained. “I’m here to help her.”

Rusty pointed at the bouncing Cheryl.

Jeff Guthrie came to the lobby and greeted Rusty. “Hey, you made it!”

“Hey, Jeff. How’s it going?”

“Good, good. Crazy. But good.”

“Cool. Well, don’t let me keep you.”

“Yeah, yeah. We’ll talk later!”

Jeff was the one who had rented the location for the evening, so he could do a casting call for an independent film noir he planned to shoot over the summer called, Search for the Concubine.

Six months had passed since Marissa left Rusty.

He was in that limbo after a breakup - no longer depressed, but definitely not looking to be with anyone else. Rusty never understood people who get into new relationships in a week. He always had months and years of being alone. Wasn’t that normal?

Red dreadlocks fluttered back to him. “You ready?”

“Sure. Just tell me what you need.”

“Okay. Come on.”

Cheryl grabbed his hand and lead Rusty back out to the street where she proceeded to load him up with reflectors and tripods and flash equipment.

Back inside, girl after girl showed up on stage and read her lines.

Cheryl snapped photos of them while Rusty ran video.

None of the actresses stood out.

No one was special.

They were all dressed in modern clothing and you couldn’t see them in the role of a classic film noir vixen.

Jeff didn’t look too inspired by any of them either. As the night rolled on, you could see his disappointment growing. He may not find anyone tonight. He may need to do another casting call.

Then she appeared.

Amy Ambrosini.

A veritable Italian goddess, Amy Ambrosini wasn’t the kind of girl Rusty would even bother flirting with. From the second he laid eyes upon her, it was obvious this woman was far, far out of his league. She was a six-foot-tall glamazon princess, voluptuous and buxom as a Golden Age movie star, blessed with the body of a brunette Veronica Lake. The lady looked like someone who had just stepped off the cover of Vogue Magazine, circa 1945. Everything about her was sultry and sensual yet dripping in class and elegance. Her wardrobe. Her perfume. Her hairstyle. Her every mannerism reflected a worldly charm. She even enunciated with an unrecognizable lilt of an accent, speaking her every word in a way which made the very air around her seem exotic and intriguing. The woman seemed to be adorned with a halo crystallized from her own atmosphere and breath from a sky that was far more regal than our own.

This was not a woman who would find Rusty attractive.

No way.

Not ever.

She was far removed from the kind of woman Rusty could ever imagine himself with.

Rusty fantasized about her all night.

Especially when he was back home in the shower.

But after that night, Rusty forgot all about Amy Ambrosini.

§

Weeks later, he got the phonecall from Cheryl.

“Hey, you want to be my assistant for another shoot for Jeff?”

“Sure. What’s up?”

“I need to shoot the movie poster for Search for the Concubine.”

“Cool. What are you shooting?”

“Jeff picked the lead actress. We need to go to her house and get some pictures of her.”

“Cool. Who did Jeff pick for the lead?”

“Amy Ambrosini. You remember? That super tall brunette?”

Cheryl went on to explain how she didn’t remember who that was, but Jeff had described her that way.

Rusty hadn’t forgotten.

He didn’t hear much else of what Cheryl said.

All he heard was that name.

Amy.

They were going to her house?

Amy?

After that, the only thing Rusty heard was what time to be ready.

§

“Hi, pleased to meet you.” Cheryl shook Amy’s hand at the door.

“You too. Again. Come in.” Amy offered, stepping aside. Her laughter was charming and genuine. Amy’s home was modest, but she greeted you like the dazzling trophy wife of a billionaire. The house may have been in the suburbs of Rocky River, but her charismatic delightfulness made you feel as though you were stepping into an English manor.

As Cheryl and Rusty walked through the doorway, Amy greeted Rusty too. “Hello. I’m Amy.”

“Rusty. Good to meet you.”

“You too. You too. You can just put that stuff right there.” Amy motioned to an empty space behind the livingroom sofa. Rusty complied and set Cheryl’s camera bags down.

After the traditional offers of something to drink and the traditional declines, the three of them got to work.

The Ambrosini family home was as fetching and elegant as Amy, yet reserved. Perched atop wooded cliffs, next to a vast parkside river, it was dusted with a Victorian flair of wooded banisters, velvet furnishings, flowered wallpapers, and delicate iron chandeliers. The perfect location to shoot a dashing woman for a classic movie noir poster.

The daughter of antique store owners, Amy was kissed by sophistication in a way no girl in Rusty’s life had ever been. He grew more and more intrigued by the woman every minute. Throughout the course of the photoshoot, he learned she owned her own business, reselling jewelry. One of her big passions in life was world travel. She would sell her jewelry for 6 months, save her money, then travel the world for 6 months. Then, she’d repeat the cycle all over.

Work. Travel. Work. Travel.

Rusty was utterly charmed by her. He had never met anyone like this in his life. Most girls he dated just went to college or worked in a shopping mall. Here was the first “older woman” he was ever enchanted by - granted, she was only 4 years older, but considering her rarely dated anyone over 21, a sophisticated woman, 32 years of age, felt vastly more mature. The more she spoke, the more he felt himself drowning in her voice. She could read ingredients off a box of cereal, and her charisma would make it inadvertently sound seductive. Amy Ambrosini was a lady right out of a movie. He never met a real person with such an interesting life.

Ask her about any continent on earth and she had stories to tell.

She wasn’t merely a tourist either.

These weren’t weeklong excursions in luxury hotels.

She’d safari in Africa for a month.

Hang out in India for four.

Live in Thailand for 2 years.

Another couple of years as an Australian waitress.

The woman was dazzling in ways no one else in his life had ever been. He could listen to her stories all day.

Although she was born and raised in the United States, Amy was frequently asked what country she was from, because her accent carried an odd lilt, flavored with a slight honey between English and French, wherein no one could ever quite place the inflection of her dialect. All her traveling, and consequently being surrounded by so many accents of English, changed her pronunciations. Apparently, before her years of world travel, she claimed to have possessed a plain Midwestern American dialect, just like everyone else Rusty knew.

Thank goodness she had a boyfriend.

He lived in Chicago and they had been together about two years.

Rusty was thrilled. He could avoid the inevitable rejection.

No need to humiliate himself.

“Do you want to shoot some?” Cheryl asked.

Rusty peeked around his reflector that was bouncing windowlight onto the bed. “Me?”

“Yeah. You should totally do some.”

Rusty may have worked in a small architecture firm, but his true love was photography. He always dreamed of shooting for Playboy Magazine or Vogue or National Geographic but he never had enough faith in himself that he could succeed. Always seemed like a crazy and unrealistic pipe dream. Architecture was much a more practical and tangible way to pay the bills. Getting paid to create concrete objects seemed far more stable a career than someone paying him to take pictures of pretty girls.

“Sure.” Rusty shrugged.

“You’re a photographer too?” Amy asked.

“Sometimes.” Rusty was blushing as he and Cheryl swapped reflector and camera.

After Cheryl bragged about his true ambitions, Amy was impressed. “Well, an architect and a photographer.”

“Yep. Well, I’m not some amazing architect like Frank Gehry or something. I’m designing like little 20 foot room additions onto an American Legion hall and stuff like that. Nothing big.”

“Still, I couldn’t do that. Photography and architecture are impressive, Mister Renaissance Man. Is there anything you don’t do?”

“Um. Women as beautiful as you? Unfortunately.”

“Oh, God!”

All three of them burst out laughing at that one.

Cheryl suggested, “You should shoot with Rusty again. He really does beautiful women’s portraits. My headshot on my website was done by him.”

“Really?” Amy sparked. She loved Cheryl’s headshot. In fact, she had even told her boyfriend about it.

“Yep.” Rusty commented, trying to play it down.

“Then you need to get to work, buddy!” Amy demanded.

Amy was laying on her bed in a red silk kimono.

Removing his shoes, Rusty stood over her. He’d never been in a more innocent situation that felt more erotic. Cheryl was standing right there. Amy was completely covered, and didn’t even have cleavage showing. Nevertheless, looking straight down on her, fantasizing about slipping his arms beneath her back and pulling her into missionary position, Rusty felt his heart begin to quicken.

He remained professional the whole time and they quickly had her change outfits and move to some outdoor shots where Cheryl took over photographer duties again.

Rusty stared at Cheryl.

His eyes said, You did that on purpose.

Cheryl’s expression smiled, Yes.

§

“Dude, did you see that? She’s totally into you.” Cheryl nudged Rusty as they walked back to her car.

“What!? You’re crazy. That woman is so far out of my league.”

“Oh, you have got to be kidding. She totally wants you.”

“She does not! What are you talking about? How do you know?”

Cheryl moaned and her eyes wiggled like marbles on ice. “Wellll, I’m a woman. I pick up on woman things that you don’t see.”

Rusty thought that was a load of crap, but he didn’t want to argue. “Okay. Sure. Woman things.”

“I’m serious! You’ll see. You need to call her. Hang out with her. You’ll see. Trust me.”

“Okay. Well, thanks for giving me the excuse to get her number. I saw that.”

“Did you see that? Am I good? I was totally hooking you up, man!”

Rusty laughed. “Thanks, Cheryl.”

There once was a time when Rusty had a big crush on Cheryl, and he told Mike that crush faded because he had seen some awful sides of Cheryl she didn’t even know she had. That was why those days of crushing on her were long gone.

But it was more than that.

Truth was, Cheryl seemed so much more alive than him.

That is what drove him so crazy.

Rusty didn’t hate Cheryl for rejecting him.

He hated her for living a scintillating life, that he never shared.

He was jealous that she didn’t want to let him into her world.

Most of the time, she was an irritating, overly-hyper little pixie bitch with a catheter firing lava up her ass. But sometimes, like that day, the chick was a pretty cool girl.

§

The third time Rusty and Amy hung out, they didn’t even take pictures anymore. Amy asked him to come to the thriftstore with her, so she could find some more good wardrobe for the movie. After that, they ended up at the park to have an early dinner and take a hike in the woods.

Despite the reassurances of Cheryl, despite the two of them starting to hang out, Rusty still didn’t see Amy as a woman he’d stand a chance with.

Woman.

That was a key word.

All his life, Rusty had dated girls. In fact, on her 24th birthday, Rusty had told Marissa that he realized she was the oldest girl he’d ever dated.

He was nearly 30 when that happened.

“That’s kind of sad and scary all at the same time.” Marissa replied.

Rusty had to agree.

He always dated girls. Never women.

Amy was undeniably a woman. He had that sense about her from the second they met, but it just became reinforced the more time they spent together. There was nothing “girlish” about her. She was mature and ladylike in every way.

No.

He stood no chance with her.

Plus, she still mentioned her boyfriend in Chicago. A lot.

She occasionally called him her “ex-boyfriend” and other times her “boyfriend” and then she’d claim she didn’t know what to call him. Had Rusty been a little less naïve, that alone would have clued him in to her building interest. Apparently, she and her boyfriend had broken up and reconciled multiple times and Amy was thinking of leaving him again. So, she kind of felt like he was both a “current” and an “ex” all at the same time, because he had already spent so much time being both.

As they walked down the path back to the car, Rusty snickered. “You really have no idea what he is, do you?”

“No.” Amy pondered the passing canopy of trees, and conceded, “You’re right. I have no idea.”

Gazing upward with Amy, Rusty watched the rolling kaleidoscope of leaves that outnumbered grains of beach sands. Each step they took, smelling of richer soil as the woodlands weaved the blue of skies between the brown of gnarled limbs and the green of leaves that shimmered in a stainedglass tapestry.

Rusty, offhandedly, reached to take Amy’s hand as they made their way down a steep slope, dotted with a staircase of old logs.

That’s when things got weird.

Amy yanked her hand away and said, “No!”

Slapping him on the wrist, she admonished him in the sing-song voice of a little girl. Spending all these weeks perceiving her as a mature and composed adult woman, it was a bit startling for Rusty to see her behave so childishly, even if it was in a joking manner. That just wasn’t her style.

The moment was one of those strange instants in a relationship that may seem tiny and irrelevant, but it actually serves as a catalyst to change everything.

Rusty felt his walls going up in that instant.

He was angry.

He wasn’t hitting on her.

He wasn’t making a pass at her.

He was sincerely just trying to help her down the muddy hill.

The fact that she jerked her hand away, as if rejecting his advances, infuriated him. Being rejected for hitting on a girl is far less offensive than being rejected by someone you’re not hitting on at all.

He didn’t confront her on it.

Instead, he just gave her a passive-aggressive chuckle.

The kind of chuckle that only a mother, wife, or a child could recognize as Rusty being utterly livid. Everyone else, including Amy, could never hear the disgusted fury in his voice.

In that moment, he didn’t like her at all anymore.

And he wanted to sleep with her more than ever.

§

Right away, Isabeau didn’t seem to approve of Amy. Sitting in a chair next to Rusty, as he worked late into the night at his office, she noted, “I think you deserve to be treated better than that. Don’t you?”

“Hell, yes! Absolutely! You’ve got that right!”

Isabeau made a face like a baby eating a lemon. “Then forget Amy. You don’t need to waste your time trying to ‘convince’ someone to care for you. The right girl won’t need convincing. She’ll just know. Someday, you’ll find a girl who not only appreciates you, but values your relationship together and holds onto it, instead of tossing it aside.”

“Really? Wow. I’m sure that will be a fun weekend.”

Isabeau stuck out her tongue and Rusty had a moment of panic - what about the janitorial staff? He never thought of that until just now. What if his boss came back in? How would he explain having a gorgeous 13 year old girl at his drafting table? Worse yet, could people not see her and they’ll think he’s gone crazy talking to himself?

§

“What time do you get off work?”

“I should be home by 6.”

“You need to let me come over.” Amy demanded.

“You’re welcome to come over anytime.” Rusty replied.

“Cum over what?” Purred her honey voice.

Rusty was silent.

What just happened?

Did she really just say what he thought?

Did she say “come” or “cum”? He wasn’t sure.

Recomposing himself, Rusty said, “What? If I didn’t know better, I’d say you just flirted with me.”

“Well, it’s Wednesday.”

“Wednesday? So, that’s your flirting day?”

“Something like that. I don’t know what I’m talking about. I’m coming over.”

“I look forward to it.”

Despite her sudden change of heart by flirting with him for the first time ever, Rusty thought nothing of it. They always enjoyed a brisk and witty banter like a pair of classic moviestars. This was obviously nothing more than that.

Plus, he was still pissed about the hand-holding-incident.

Yeah. The hell with her. He still didn’t like her much.

Rusty and Amy had been hanging out a couple days a week for a good two or three weeks by that point. Never in his life had a girl taken him out of the “friend zone” (Hell, had any woman in history ever done that?) so he never imagined anything would happen between them. Not that he was complaining about it. He wasn’t one of those scumbags who felt entitled to get laid just because he played the role of a “nice guy” for a few weeks. Rusty didn’t mind her disinterest. He enjoyed their friendship and appreciated her companionship. Being “just friends” was fine with him. There were far too many reasons for her to not like him anyway. Those reasons clearly outweighed anything she might find appealing.

She was four inches taller than him.

She was sophisticated.

She had that ephemeral Chicago boyfriend.

She constantly shot down his flirtations.

She looked like a Miss America contestant.

Rusty was still the homely boy band dude.

He never got the hot groupie.

Guys like him were never that lucky.

He simply didn’t end up with a woman like Amy. Not ever.

§

“Can we just cuddle on the couch? I need that right now.”

Without waiting for a reply, Amy laid on top of Rusty, burrowing her head into his neck.

Smelling her hair, he held her tight.

“Sure. We can do that.” Rusty’s voice was sly. Confident.

Rusty was pissed.

That flirtatious Wednesday had long since passed. This was the third day in a row she was pulling this “can we just cuddle?” load of bullshit. What the hell was she doing? He was done. This was ridiculous. Teasing. Flirting. Leading him on.

What was this? Junior high?

He didn’t give a damn about her anymore. He was sick of her little games. No more innocent flirtation. He was going to make a pass at her, and if she rejected him, he didn’t care if she left and never came back. Manipulative bitch. This was ending. Right now.

Rusty leaned down, his cheek touching hers.

When she didn’t pull away, he knew.

Turning to face her, he gently took her chin in the cup of his finger and thumb. She resisted for a second but he was having no more of her coy act. They were going to start fucking or she was leaving. Take your pick, honey. He forced her lips to his and they kissed deep and passionate.

Tongues slid.

Lips tasted.

She didn’t resist again.

Hands tore away shirts. Underwear landed mixed in a pile of pants next to the couch. Every dream and fantasy and lust that had been building in them for weeks came rushing out in a deluge of passion.

Amy. Like a sigh.

Amy. Like a whisper.

Amy who was the dream of every man. Amy who shouldn’t acknowledge his name. Amy who moved in lioness paths, who grinned in madman glee. Amy the woman with goddess skin, with warrior flesh. Amy who finally belonged to him. For one day. For one moment. For these brief hours, this perfection of femininity, this immaculate desire of sinful, sinful, sinful heat could melt into his every pore. Drunk on her sweat and intoxicated by the flavor of every inch of her skin.

Rusty’s hands slid up the buttery flawless thighs of those endless runway legs and he drank every ounce of wetness flowing from within her as his tongue gently parted the sweetest flesh. She who tasted like the exotic jungles of every corner of the world she had visited. The soul of a thousand cultures, the lust of a thousand men, who all dreamed of her scent and never touched her. Rusty became the embodiment of their every wish. The vessel through which countless beasts could only fantasize. She groaned with a carnal and devilish desire the long forgotten men could only imagine and would only hear in their dreams.

Then it came to sweating and moaning and the rhythmic squeak of couch springs as she uncontrollably shuddered her hips up into his. He didn’t remember ever being buried quite so deep as he was in that moment. This Goddess. This Amazon Queen. This elegant Empress he thought he would never touch. Penetrating further into her than any other woman he had known, hips nearly dislocating to devour each other, he felt euphoric scorching heat flow endlessly inside her. A hundred boiling oceans roiling just for them. Just for everything wrong and naughty and for a glorious shame to brag about for a lifetime.

Legs locked tight around his back as she recoiled into a ball, opening herself up to him, letting him plunge as painfully hard as he could possibly move. And still, she wanted more. Every inch of her stretched and swelled to consume him. And still, she wanted more. Vanilla needles of electricity sparked into every vein. And still, she wanted more. He could move. He could dance. He could electrify depths of her body that she thought were untouchable - the secret confines no one had stirred, since that one true love in college. And still, she wanted more.

She grew dizzy.

The room spun.

She wanted him to go all day, yet she prayed he’d stop soon.

Another orgasm slammed into her like falling onto cinder blocks.

Usually, the first time is awkward. Nervous.

Usually, the first time, she didn’t come.

This time?

With him?

Amy felt the breath stick in her throat three times that afternoon.

Parts of every woman grow frosted and cold by the age of 32. Too many broken hearts and disappointments and lies of men. In this sweat and heat, Amy felt those iced chambers of her heart melting in his hands. Were Rusty a devil, she would have regrettably pledged him every ounce of her soul in that hour. Signed on the dotted line in blood and pleasure. Without thought. Without hesitation. Without the foresight of heaven or retribution. For the first time in years, she surrendered everything to a man. For the first time in years, her lover was the only being in the universe, for even her own spirit ceased to exist when her body belonged to him.

Quivering, she could barely stay on the couch as they collapsed into the tangled mass of mercury slithering limbs and red flesh drenched in the waters of rasping breath.

And so the ocean calmed.

The seas be still.

The dripping of the thunderstorm trickled from summertime gutters as the growl of skyborn lions faded with the leaving wind.

Thus departed the first flames.

Nothing remained but a warm lust that many mistake for love.

“God, I’ve been wanting to do that since the first second I saw you.” Rusty proclaimed, his breathing still fluttering desert flavors.

“Mother warned me about men like you.” Amy said in that deep and sultry voice of an imaginary dialect.

“Aren’t you glad you finally met me?”

Amy laughed heartily and deep. Again, Rusty felt like this was 1934 and he was with a movie starlet. “You are so cool. You never miss a beat, do you? You’re like Han Solo, the way you talk.”

Now it was Rusty’s turn to chuckle and blush. “Han Solo? Nice. Well, flattery will get you everywhere. Comparing me to Han Solo? That will get you far. Be careful though.”

“Careful?”

“I always say, the only virtue I lack is humility. Last thing you want to do is increase my ego.” Rusty winked.

“Nice! But I’m serious. You’re very quick with the wit, sir. And I am glad I met you. You’re quite a lovely devil, despite what mother says.”

“I guess she didn’t give you adequate warnings.”

“Not really. Adults never tell kids much about the fire and brimstone of sinning, they just scare you with pictures of pitchforks.”

Rusty chuckled at the image. “Well, I’m happy to taint and tempt you with what I think is your kind of sinning.”

“It sure is.” Amy groaned teenage lust. “Corrupt me, baby. Corrupt me!”

“Oh, God.” Rusty moaned at her cheesy comment.

Amy added, “I can’t believe it took me so long to realize I had a crush on you.”

“So, how’s that crush doing now?”

“Oh, it’s a lot bigger now.”

Gazing down, Rusty declared, “You made me a lot bigger too.”

“Oh, God. No, no. Don’t ruin it with corny jokes.”

“Hey, you started the corny jokes! And I’m serious. I don’t think any other woman has ever made me quite so... (ahem) eager.”

“Really?”

“Yes. That was a whole new level.”

“Well, thank you.”

“Thank you.”

“At least you didn’t apologize.”

“Apologize?”

“Yeah, my ex-boyfriend, or current, or whatever the hell he is - the guy I was kind of seeing - he’d apologize after he came.”

Rusty propped up on his elbow and puzzled at her. “What? Apologize? What do you mean? Why would - Why?... Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“I mean, isn’t cumming kind of the whole point of doing this? Why would you apologize for... reaching the goal?”

Amy chuckled and Rusty felt like he was sleeping with Ava Gardner. “I don’t know! It was weird. It always kind of creeped me out. Plus it just ruined the moment.”

He could imagine.

“How so?” Rusty knew the answer, he just wanted to hear it.

“Well, afterward it’s nice to kind of bask and enjoy the experience. And he’s over there feeling bad about it.”

“Was he premature or something?”

“No. That was the weird part. He could last just fine. It’s not like it was over in 2 minutes. I think he thought he was premature. Or that I wasn’t ready for him to finish, or, I don’t know.”

Rusty looked devilish, “Well, I’m not finished yet.”

Amy brightened and her lips tingled at the thought. “You’re not? I thought you, um...”

“Oh, yeah! Totally. I came. I meant I can go again.”

“Reallllllly?” Amy groaned, wriggling under him with her arms tossed about his neck.

“With you? All day. All afternoon. All night.” He promised.

“Oh, I’m going to like this new element of our friendship.”

“What are friends for?”

Amy frowned. “Fucking, apparently.”

“Well, then I better get back to the obligation of our friendship.”

“Damn straight. Get to it, mister.”

§

Years had passed since Rusty had a fuckbuddy.

Erin Ricci wasn’t the first, but she was the most recent. Erin was fantastic. She was the one Isabeau began asking about, to prove a point about Marissa. Rusty and Erin had actually been friends for years before they started screwing, but there had always been a huge attraction between them. One of them was always in a relationship though, so they never got together.

One night, when they were finally both single, sitting on that same unholy couch of seduction, they had their first kiss.

The rest was blissful naughtiness for an entire summer.

Booty calls. Quick dates. A fuck, a shower and a see-you-later.

Isabeau was right. Rusty loved it.

Amy became very much the same.

Good friend. Great in bed. A summer affair to cherish for years.

For Rusty, it was wonderful to be involved with someone who was genuinely fun. Someone he wasn’t deluding himself into thinking he’d be with forever. He usually fell so hard and so fast. He’d get so caught up in so much romantic bullshit.

That never happened with Amy.

Amy was merely a fuckbuddy. Nothing more. The perfect afternoon delight. A fantastic piece of ass. Refreshing to be involved with someone for whom he didn’t fall at all.

Amy didn’t fall for him either.

Although, amusingly, she accused him of such.

Amy was constantly afraid Rusty was falling for her.

After a particularly hot and heavy afternoon of filthy sex, as he started affectionately into her eyes, she asked uncomfortably, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” Rusty had no idea what she was getting at.

“Don’t fall in love with me.”

Rusty’s laugh popped out like a burst birthday balloon. “What!? Fall in love? I’m just looking at you.”

Rusty felt bad for her in that moment.

He felt guilty for laughing at her, though she didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she seemed completely oblivious to the reason for his guffaw.

Had a lover never looked at her with care and affection without claiming to be in love? Isn’t it a beautiful thing to have someone give a damn about you, without professing lies of undying passion? Hadn’t she ever experienced such an altruism?

Apparently not.

She remained convinced he would fall for her at any minute.

He never did.

§

Isabeau wondered, after Amy left Rusty’s apartment, “And what do you think of that?”

For some reason, Amy never spent the night. She always went home. Rusty suspected spending the night would perhaps violate The Unwritten Fuckbuddy Code of Ethics or something.

“What do I think of her being convinced that I’m falling for her? It amuses me.” Rusty said, locking the door.

“Why?”

“Because I do like her, but I have no interest in being with a girl who ‘doesn’t know what she wants’ as she puts it.”

Isabeau taunted, “So, has she poisoned you? As she puts it?”

“Ha! Yeah, that cracks me up too. Poisoned me? What the hell does that even mean? She gives herself far too much credit! I mean, yes, if she left me now, I’d be hurt. I’d be sad and disappointed. But I would not be shocked. I would not be surprised. It would not be unexpected. Everyone leaves me eventually. Everyone. I never want it to happen and it always happens far sooner than I’d expect. At least I know that now. At least I can brace myself for it and no longer be hurt as much.”

Rusty wondered if that came across as overly cynical.

Claiming everyone leaves him is not exactly reassuring to the daughter he has promised he will help to be born.

“So with that in mind, you know that tonight was one of your last evenings with her. You know girls like her. The better things become, the more freaked-out they get. Tonight was the end, if not close to it.”

Rusty shrugged in total apathy. “I know.”

Isabeau folded her legs under her as she grabbed a seat on the couch and observed, “She wants to keep things secret and not let anyone know you’re together. She says she can’t date you and that she doesn’t know what she wants. You know exactly who you are. You know exactly what you want, what you are worth, and what you deserve. And Amy is not ready for someone like you.”

“I know.”

Isabeau stared hard at her dad. The kind of stare where he could feel his own eyes starting to squint along with hers. “Are you sure? You are keeping your perspective, right? Do not be naïve enough to believe in her. She is not worthy of you. She will let you down, just like everyone else you have known, if you are foolish enough to let her. She says sweet things. Yes. But you have already learned that such things are not enough. Do you think you can trust her? Do you think she would guard, protect and cherish your heart?”

That question made Rusty chortle. Protect his heart? Amy couldn’t even grasp that concept! “No. No way. Absolutely not!”

Isabeau nodded slowly, weighing Rusty’s demeanor. “Good. Maintain that perspective and you will do fine. Remember, she is just using you. Think about it. She said she ‘doesn’t want to date you’ and she could ‘fall in love in 2 weeks with someone who walks in their shop’. Then she said she ‘poisoned’ you! Think about that. What did that mean?”

“It means she thinks I am... - ” Rusty paused, “ - she thinks I have fallen for her.”

“Exactly. She thinks you fell for her. Yet she still says that she might fall for another guy! She still sleeps with you! And she keeps all of it a complete secret. She wants no one to know about the two of you! What do you think? Do you think you might deserve better than that?”

“Yeah. Absolutely!”

“Good. Because you’re right. You deserve much better. Don’t give your heart to this one either.”

“I have no intention to! We’ve just been over this.”

“Yeah, and I know I need to reinforce it three times before it sinks in and you actually listen to me.”

“Fair enough.”

Rusty was grateful that Isabeau never stated the obvious.

Why was he fooling around with Amy when he knew she was a dead end? Why wasn’t he tossing Amy aside so he could get back to finding the mother of Isabeau?

Rusty couldn’t explain it.

Something in his heart told him this was the route to take, so he was taking it. There was one thing he learned in life - it’s far too easy to second-guess Fate. And the moment you do, you tend to start getting into a lot of trouble.

He was sticking to what his heart told him to do, even when every fiber of logic told him it was a bad decision.

§

Taking her breast into his mouth, a shiver of orgasmic light undulated a tornado of banshee flesh as he swelled harder and harder inside her. Sounds of lurid hate and delight broiled deep within her chest, as she moaned in noises that were never made by humans. Hers was the lustfire of jungle dirt and ocean darkness. The wail that echoes in the void between dying stars gave pause to the boundless depths of his little death. He felt consumed by the black soil of those woodlands and the far pits of those seas.

Falling into her embrace, he was warm and wet as his entire body was swimming in her sigh.

Over far too soon.

He had barely gotten inside of her.

“Well, I hate to remind you of your ex-boyfriend, but, I’m sorry that was so fast.”

Amy was thrilled.

She knew they’d easily do it another two or three times in a row. They always do. Rusty always gave her more orgasms than any man she had ever known. Even more than her dearly departed daddy gave her, all those nights when she was 12 years old, although she’d never, ever admit to Rusty that such a thing had ever happened to her. No other person ever knew about that.

Amy wasn’t upset that Rusty came so quickly.

On the contrary. Because he had proven on many occasions that he was a man who could last for nearly an hour, the fact that he came in 2 minutes made her feel like an irresistible whore. She wasn’t upset. She was flattered. She loved it.

“Don’t worry, baby. You can make it up to me in a few minutes.”

She wriggled under his body to start licking him back to full attention.

§

Rusty washed while Isabeau dried.

“Daddy, stop pining over Amy.”

“What? Who said anything about - ”

“Look, dad, you don’t need to say it. Get over it. She’s not good enough for you. And if you ask me ‘why not’ then you are hoping she is and that is truly being naïve.”

Isabeau knew him too well. Rusty didn’t even try to argue. “Yeah. Okay. You’re absolutely right. Point well taken.”

“So enjoy this time! Relish it. Cherish it. But never be naïve enough to think it will last very long.”

Isabeau seemed to enjoy using the word “naïve” a lot.

Or perhaps Rusty just deserved it.

Rusty wondered if he was doing the right thing.

There was no question; Amy could never be Isabeau’s mom.

...Or could she?

§

“My pet peeves involve people who use the wrong phrases for things. Or the wrong words.”

Rusty climbed out of bed to use the bathroom. For so many weeks he dreamed of having Amy in his sheets, now it seemed that was the only place he ever saw her. As he walked towards the bedroom door, he turned back to Amy. “Ah. You mean like those people who say ‘could care less’ when they mean ‘couldn’t care less’?”

“Exactly!”

“‘Hold down the fort’ instead of ‘hold the fort’.”

“Or people who say ‘wallah’ instead of ‘voilà’. Drives me crazy!”

Pausing again at the doorframe, Rusty said, “You know who always does that? Archie Bunker. One of the funniest ones, I saw this one episode of All in the Family where he says in that Brooklyn accent of his, ‘Now hold on. Ya don’t wanna go reacting on da sperm uh da moment dair.’”

Amy giggled and the bedsheet jellied over her chest.

Despite being a grown woman, because Amy still lived at home, she couldn’t sleep with Rusty so long as her mother was around. Not that her mother would forbid it, but no one wants their mother to walk in on sex. Not at any age. Not even at 32. Plus, Amy and Rusty weren’t exactly a quiet and demure pair of lovers. Amy just couldn’t bear for her mother to hear the kind of noises she made with Rusty. Not to mention the filthy way she talked. How embarrassing!

When a man is 32, and lives at home, he’s pathetic.

When a woman is 32, and lives at home, all is forgiven.

Especially when said woman looks like a gameshow hostess.

Rusty never thought less of her for it. Why should he? Most women were judgmental divas who rejected him outright simply because he was under 5’11”. Yet here was a 6’0” runway model who not only adored him, but she was dragging him into a bed of steamy sex, four days a week. Who was he to belittle her living arrangements? Rusty didn’t mind at all. It just meant they usually hooked up at his place instead of hers. That was fine with him.

This was a rare exception.

Her mother was out of town.

There was something indescribably erotic about being with his lover in the bedroom she grew up in. Knowing this little bedroom was where she had her first crushes. Knowing this was the room where she first touched herself. Where she first yearned for boys in teen magazines. Where every kinky little fantasy of her perverted 13 year old mind began. Where she used to only dream of having this kind of moment with a boy. He couldn’t stop thinking about how hot that was. Loving a woman in the room where she had been a teen.

He wanted to go back in time, to ravage that 13 year old Amy and give her everything she fantasized about getting. All those nights. Alone under the covers. Her hand down her panties with the teenybopper magazine spread across the sheets.

Had he known her daddy had been there first, he would have run away screaming.

Rusty never found out.

“Come here.” She ordered as he came back into her bedroom.

She patted the mattress on either side of her body.

“Knees.” She clarified.

Rusty straddled her as she commanded.

She took hold of him, gently wrapping her lips around him and licked slow.

Rusty groaned as her grew larger in her mouth.

Just when he thought he couldn’t take it anymore, when his muscles tensed and he felt the heat and throbbing rising between his legs, she slid him down beside her.

Amy rubbed herself back and forth across him, glistening and coating him, dripping between his legs onto the bed. That had become part of their ritual. Rusty loved feeling the weight of her on top of him like that, using him like a plaything to pleasure herself. Rubbing him back and forth across her, as if he were nothing but an empty shell. Made him feel like he wasn’t even there. Like he was a toy. Worthless. Plastic. And instead of being degrading or humiliating, he found it electrifying.

He yearned to be her whore as much as she was his.

He was only using her for her body.

She was only using him for his.

And that was so wrong.

And so wonderful.

As she kneeled and he entered her from behind, she squealed like a tortured cat in heat. Frantically, he bruised her hips with each sledgehammer thrust and she maneuvered the vibrator over her lips. With every slam into her lifeless husk, Amy rubbed the buzzing plastic against her delicate skin as the tip gently tickled Rusty back and forth. The muffled noises she wailed into the pillow resounded weeping and utter bliss. She cried and screamed a kaleidoscope of each golden shuddering flamethrower heat, which tore through her hardened body, eviscerating bone from flesh.

This was only their second time that afternoon.

They often did four in a row.

This time, Amy was done.

She couldn’t handle a third or her skin would burst into flames.

§

As they ate popsicles, Amy and Rusty got to talking about their futures and relationships. They never had any delusions about their future together. They wouldn’t be with each other for long. Amy, in a classically pathetic attempt to reassure Rusty, dared to say the ultimate cliché. “You’ll find someone eventually.”

For the first time in his life, Rusty didn’t appreciate that sentiment. Something was different when she said those words. Something snapped. In fact, Rusty was rather tempted to strangle the bitch to death as they lay on his couch.

What kind of patronizing statement is that?

This is supposed to be comforting in some way?

Every girl in his life - be they friends or girltoys - told him that he will “find someone special” but none of them ever wanted to be that “special someone” they all promise is awaiting him “out there” somewhere.

Rusty met a lot of “special someones” in his life...

But they always leave.

Meeting them is easy.

Keeping them is hard.

Without even being fully aware of what he was about to say, Rusty asked, “Let me ask you a question; Can you picture someone who is fun and sexy and appealing and a good person and yet they still end up being completely alone?”

“Yes. I suppose that happens to some people.”

“Yeah? I’m one of those people.”

He didn’t intend for that to happen. He never thought about it before. Not really. The words simply rang true as they came out of his mouth. He never even considered that possibility until just that instant.

He felt awful.

He wished Amy was gone.

All he wished was that he could see Isabeau.

That he could take those words back.

That the universe wouldn’t have felt so comforting in that moment. Like invisible grandmotherly hands patted reassuring on his shoulders, pitying him for his undeniable realization. When you know that you won’t get the job, or see that person again, or something really bad will happen on that trip, you always wish you could forget such precognition.

All too often, intuition tells us exactly what we never wanted to imagine. The room turns far too still and the words hang in the air with the tendrils of a thick smoke. Like knowing the diagnosis of a terminal disease before the doctor says a word.

You know you’re dying.

And there’s something hideously palpable about the moment you taste it for the first time.

“I’m one of those people.”

§

Rusty had stopped in the woods near his apartment on a bikeride. He stared over the baseball diamonds far in the valley below. Isabeau sat on the overlook railing next to him. “Dad, what are you doing?”

“Huh?”

“What are you doing? With Amy?”

Rusty sighed.

Isabeau considered the railing for a long time. Etched with lovebird hearts and “for a good time call” phone numbers in black marker, the young girl continued staring at the graffiti when she said, “I will take that sigh to mean that you are falling for her. The upset stomach you have - and the jealous fear you have that she is seeing someone else - all of these are signs that you’re falling.”

“Okay, fine! Fine!”

He didn’t want to think about it. He wasn’t falling for Amy.

She was an awful person.

The woman couldn’t tell a single story about her life without making a reference to something that happened in another country! At first, it was endearing and made her seem glamorous. Now, it was just getting annoying as hell.

Yo! Lady! Haven’t you done anything worth mentioning in the United States? Or do you absolutely have to be climbing Mount Everest in order to be an interesting person?

“Remember last week when she went out with her friends and she tried smoking? Remember how she said she ‘knew you’d be upset’? Daddy, she came right out and told you. ‘I knew this would upset you, but I did it anyway!’ And you think that you can trust this girl? You think she will be honest and true? Would you give your heart to someone like that? Hell, even Marie gave up vices for you! Even Marie did! And Marie treated you like crap! But she respected your feelings enough regarding your convictions in your virtues that she never partook in any of those things. Amy did. Amy will knowingly and willingly do things in her life, even when she suspects ahead of time that her actions may cause you pain. Do you deserve that?”

Rusty feebly defended Amy. “Honestly, I didn’t give a damn. I didn’t care if she smoked or not. Not a big deal.”

Isabeau turned away in disapproval. “That’s fine. But that’s not my point. It doesn’t change the fact that she thought you would make a big deal out of it, and she did it anyway. Dad, don’t you get it? Doesn’t matter if you were cool with it or not. The point is, she took your feelings into account, then disregarded them.”

Rusty knew that was true.

Rusty knew that days ago.

Hearing Isabeau say it out loud just made it impossible to ignore.

Another thick smoke.

Lingering.

§

“Damnit, you’re amazing.” Amy collapsed after three rounds.

They never got out of his bed.

Isabeau was right.

What the hell was he doing?

But, damn, whatever it was, it sure felt good.

Rusty was finally realizing how some people get addicted to sex.

Amy reached between his legs and touched him softly. “And it’s just so...” Amy stared lewdly at every inch, and grunted with animal vulgar desire, “Ugh, it so nice.”

Rusty laughed, bashfully. “Well, thanks.”

“Seriously.” Amy reassured, fondling the tip. “I’m serious. It’s the perfect size. I once broke up with guy with a small penis. Because of it, I mean.”

“What!?” Rusty laughed. He wasn’t sure how to react to this announcement. He was shocked. He was amused. And somewhere deep inside, he was a little insecure and terrified.

Why was she bringing this up?

Was she trying to tell him something?

“So, if you ever decide to stop seeing me, it’s because my dick is too small? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

Amy laughed, still stroking him, “No! No, no, no.”

“Riiiight. I can take a hint. I see where you’re going with this. You think it’s too small, so you pretend like it’s not. I see right thought your reverse-psychology, lady!”

“No! I didn’t mean it like that. I’m being serious. Yours is great. Yours is beautiful. But I did leave a guy once, because he was just too damn small.”

“That’s awful!” Rusty wasn’t sure if he meant she was awful for being so shallow or if he felt awful for the poor guy. Maybe a little of both.

“I felt terrible. The worst part was, he was a really sweet guy.”

“Why was that the worst part?”

“Well, because if he was a jerk, I could have just been honest and been like, ‘Fuck you. You have a tiny dick!’ But he was a really nice and gentle guy. So, I couldn’t tell him.”

“Oh, that’s awful.” Rusty repeated. Now Rusty did feel sorry for the guy.

“The worst part was that he knew I was lying to him.”

“He knew?”

“Yeah. I was telling him that I just didn’t have feelings for him and it wasn’t working out and making up all these bullshit excuses. And he came right out and asked me, ‘It’s because I have a small dick, isn’t it?’”

“Oh, damn. That sucks. Because you know that means other girls have told him that.”

“Totally! I felt like shit.”

“So, what did you say?”

“What was I supposed to say? I totally lied to him! I kept telling him no, that wasn’t the reason and it wasn’t small. But that was totally the reason. I felt terrible. I felt like some totally petty slut.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you left that guy. Now you get to be my petty slut.”

“Oh, nice. You’re such a charmer.”

Rusty smirked, devilish eyes twinkling.

Amy continued, “Your compassion is greatly appreciated. You really know how to console a woman.”

Chuckling, Rusty berated her, “Hey, that was your choice. You had the nice guy with the small dick. You left him. Now you get the guy who is kind of an asshole with a bigger dick. You brought this on yourself, honey.” Rusty laughed.

“You’re such a jerk.”

“No, seriously, that’s terrible. Poor guy.”

“I felt so bad for him. Because you know, like you said, I’m obviously not the only woman who left him like that. You know? Like he knew I was leaving him, because I wasn’t the first.”

“Oh, man. That’s brutal.”

“Yeah, it was awful. I wish there was a way to know how big a guy was before you saw him naked.”

“Yeah, you women have an unfair disadvantage there. I have to admit, I have some compassion for you ladies in that regard. I mean, you know, men get to see your boobs through your clothing. We can tell right away. Big chest. Small chest.”

“Yeah, we’re sort of out in the open.”

“Uh, huh. Sure, women can wear padded bras and stuff, but for the most part, we pretty much know what you have. But women? You have no idea what a guy is packing until it’s too late. Could be a salami or a pencil. You have no clue.”

“Exactly! I was swindled!” Amy clapped as a laugh snorted from the back of her throat like a squeaky balloon.

“Huge dicks are rare anyway.” Rusty reassured her.

“Oh? How do you know? Seen a lot in your time?”

Rusty ignored her gay implications. “No! Only on the Internet.”

“I should have known.”

“How many porn guys have you seen with dicks over 8 inches?”

Amy frowned. She hadn’t seen much porn. “You think I measure them? Hold a ruler up to the screen?”

“I just mean a guess.”

“Not a lot.”

“Exactly. Every guy with a dick that big is already doing porn.”

Amy crinkled her forehead. “Wait. What? That doesn’t prove anything! Plus, that’s a total contradiction. You just said you don’t see many dicks that big, but they are all doing porn.”

“Sure it makes sense! It’s not a contradiction. Look, I’m a man. I know how men think. Trust me, if they could, every guy in the world would quit their job tomorrow and get paid to fuck pornstars. But we can’t. Because our dicks are too small. That’s my point. Every dude with a huge cock over 8 inches long is already doing porn. Like you’ll never find dicks that big outside of porn.”

“Oh. Okay. I follow you now. You’re full of it. But I follow you.”

“I’m totally right! That’s how I know I have nothing to worry about. I always say I’ve seen enough porn to know I’m not big enough brag, but I’m not small enough to be ashamed.”

Amy’s eyes swelled with skepticism and a sardonic giggle. “Uh, well, no, you are big enough to brag, sweetheart. Trust me. Christ, how big do you think we want it to be? You’ve seen too much porn. That’s your problem. Despite what you’ve seen, women don’t want to be torn in half by some 10 inch monster dick. That shit hurts. You know most vaginas are only 5 inches deep anyway.”

“I know that.”

“You still just think I was hinting that you weren’t big enough. I wasn’t implying you were inadequate. Yours is perfect, actually.”

“Oh, I know that.”

Amy roared and swatted him. “And so modest! But you are the best fuck I’ve ever had.”

“See?”

“God, you’re an asshole.”

“Pretty much. You know how I know I’m perfect?”

“Oh, you arrogant prick. I never said you were perfect.”

“No, no, no. Fuck off. You just said mine is perfect. You can’t compliment me, then turn around and try to take it back.”

“I lied.”

“No you didn’t.”

“No, but you’re getting too smug. Had to knock you down.”

“It’s not a knock-down if I call you out on it. I’m only smug because you give me great compliments. This is your fault. You’ve created a monster. You just said I’m the best you ever had.”

“True. Fucker. You are the best I ever had. Bastard. Fine. You’re perfect. Just stop being an asshole about it.”

They both laughed.

“Thank you. So are you. Perfect, that is.” Rusty ran kisses down her neck and across her chest until the light lashings of his tongue made her giggle and stop him from tickling. “You want to know how else I know I’m perfect?”

Amy really didn’t want to. “Oh, this ought to be good. How?”

“Dildos.”

Amy chuckled out the word. “Dildos?” That certainly wasn’t what she was expecting to hear.

Rusty nodded. “Yep. Dildos.”

“Okay. What does that have to do with - ”

“ - See, I’m a little bigger than the average dildo.”

“Yeah, you are. So?”

“Well, the way I see it, if a woman is going to go to a store and buy some fake plastic dick to use in the privacy of her own home, it stands to reason, she’s gonna buy the dick that’s the perfect size for her. Right? When a woman is paying for a fantasy cock, she’s gonna get the cock she wants most. And if you look at most dildos in the store, I’m that big.”

Amy was laughing so hard the sheets flipped atop her breasts. “There are some pretty huge dildos out there! You’re not that big.”

“Oh, no, no. I know that. I’m not talking about the crazy 18 inch horse cocks at the end of the row. I said average. You know, like all the ones in the middle aisle. Dildos are just like real men. Some are really small. Some are really huge. But the majority of them are of a size that is just like me.”

“No, you’re quite a bit bigger than average.”

“Well, yeah, I’m a lot bigger than the average man, but I’m the same size as the average vibrator.”

“Well, that’s a pretty good theory, Sherlock.”

“So, would you buy a rusty dildo?”

“Ew! You fucking sadist.”

“No! I meant Rusty like my name, not like a hunk of metal that’s got rust on it.”

“Oh!” Amy laughed even harder. “I’m sorry! I was picturing a tailpipe.”

“No. No. Not that kind of rusty.”

“Sure! I’d get a dildo molded from your beautiful cock.”

“See? Rusty dildos. Big seller!”

“Wait. No! What am I saying? I take it back. I’m not paying for that. I get my Rusty cock for free!”

“Oh, no, honey. You’re paying for this.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah. You’re gonna have to do a job.”

Rolling her eyes, Amy asked. “Oh, I’m sure I will. Do you need me to get back to work?”

“Yeah. I think I heard the whistle... blow.”

“Okay, you keep up with the cheesy jokes and you can just jerk off all afternoon.”

“Oh, fuck that. I’m not jerking nothing. I’m fucking the shit out of you all afternoon. Whether you want to or not, you’re spreading that fucking slutty cunt open and giving it to me.”

“Oh, now you’ve got the right idea, toughguy. You gonna pin me down and tell me to shut my fucking mouth?”

“Damn right, whore.”

“Thank God. I thought you’d never shut the fuck up.”

§

Amy confessed to Rusty, she liked talking dirty in bed.

She wanted him to say naughty things.

That turned him on. No other girl ever asked him for that.

The first few times, it felt awkward.

Sounded silly to say such things out loud.

As a virgin of vulgarity, he had to learn it. The pornographic voice had to manifest organically and with practice.

Then he got used to it.

Then she joined in.

Finally they started doing it all the time. Until eventually, everytime they had sex, it was flooded with the profanity of their most filthy thoughts. Every kinky fantasy. Every dirty desire. Every perverted demand. They held nothing back. How hard. How fast. How deep. He prayed the spirits of his grandparents were never around to hear that.

Nothing sounded silly anymore.

Nothing felt embarrassing anymore.

The dirty talk evolved. Beyond nasty. Raunchy. Foul.

Rusty loved it. He knew what his trampy little whore wanted. He knew all along. She wasn’t the demure priss, the sophisticated debutante, and world traveling socialite, she wanted the world to see. Deep inside, she was just a filthy little slut who wanted to screw like a cheap five dollar hooker.

The woman was perfect. Every man’s dream:

Lady in the streets. Whore in the sheets.

He could take her to a fancy restaurant where she’d be regal and elegant and someone he’d be proud to be seen with. Then back in his room, behind closed doors, she transformed into a trashy streetwalker. When she told him she liked talking dirty, he never imagined what that would transform into.

They were each masters and servants.

They were slaves to each other and in command of each other.

Their bodies were each others playthings.

§

Despite Amy’s misguided claims, Rusty was not falling for her.

Not at all.

Amy even started to accuse him of smothering her.

That made no sense whatsoever.

Despite what Isabeau had said, his feelings for Amy were in constant flux. He never thought he loved her. He just loved getting laid constantly.

“You never get jealous either.” Amy noted.

“I do get jealous, but I’m realistic about the beauty of women and the way men think too.”

“How so?”

“Well, for example, I was dating this girl one time and she worked at a video store. Her boss was a mutual friend of ours. And one day, he admitted that he thought she was really pretty and he said if she hadn’t been dating me, he would have asked her out.”

“What a jerk!”

Rusty laughed, “No. He wasn’t. See, my girlfriend thought the same thing. She was all scared to tell me this story, because she thought I’d want to kick his ass.”

“You didn’t?”

“No! See! That’s my point. Women don’t even understand what makes a man jealous. See, as a man, we don’t want other men to touch our women, but we do want other men to think our women are hot! Of course we do! That’s how the male ego works. We want to make other men envy us.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Amy muttered with tumbling eyes.

Rusty didn’t hear her and kept right on talking. “My girlfriend was beautiful. Of course he’d have tried dating her if she was single. Hell, I felt the same way about his girlfriend! She was hot too! This tall blonde Swedish bisexual chick. Oh, I loved that girl. So, I wasn’t the least bit angry or jealous that he told my girlfriend he found her attractive. In fact, I was kind of flattered for myself and happy for her. Now, if he actually did hit on her, or made a pass at her, that would be a different story. Then I’d be jealous. Then I’d be angry. I’d want to kick his ass. But to just say he thinks she’s pretty? That didn’t make me mad. Not at all.”

Amy rolled her eyes, “Oh, men. You are so clueless.”

True to her observation, Rusty had no idea why she said that. “What do you mean?”

“Rusty, your friend did make a pass at her. Don’t you see? That’s the way women are. We test men all the time. We only say half the shit we’re thinking and we expect you to read our minds for the rest. He totally came on to her and she was testing your reaction. Once you admitted that you would want to beat the shit out of him, she knew she could never tell you the whole truth.”

Rusty was hit with the light, a frozen deer in headlights.

He couldn’t believe it.

“No. No.” Rusty shook off the paralysis. “That’s crazy. She wasn’t lying to me.”

“Yes. She was.”

“No. Come on. She was not lying.”

“In her mind, no. To women, telling half the truth isn’t a lie.”

“No. I don’t believe that. He didn’t hit on her.”

“Suit yourself.”

Sometimes Amy really pissed him off.

Why in the world would this woman think he was smothering her when he often couldn’t stand her?

No.

As for smothering her, that was bullshit and Rusty knew it.

Rusty knew smothering. Rusty was the King of Smothering.

He had made that mistake far too many times in far too many relationships. He knew damn well what smothering was all about and he was clearly never doing it with Amy.

Smothering is when you call a girl everyday and she doesn’t want to hear from you.

Smothering is when you ask a girl to spend time with you and you mope and whine when she turns you down.

Smothering is when you get overly emotional and start professing your undying love to a girl who doesn’t feel the same way.

Smothering is a lot of things Rusty had never done to Amy.

He never claimed to love her. The word “love” never crossed his lips. He didn’t call her but once every few days. And although it was only Thursday, she had already invited herself over his place twice that week!

How on earth was Rusty the one smothering her?

She was the one who always initiated their plans!

No.

He wasn’t smothering.

The truth was, she was growing tired of him and she didn’t have the courage to admit it. So, instead of taking responsibility for her disinterest, she’d lie and make him feel like it was his own fault.

Stupid chick mindgames.

Why do all of them do that?

They never take responsibility for losing interest.

They always act like the guy is to blame.

Isabeau noted, “Or maybe she is falling for you and can’t admit that either.”

Bitch.

Never try to play a man who knows people better than you.

Or did he?

§

As she drove away, Rusty walked back up to his apartment chuckling in disgust. Before she left, Amy had started talking about wanting kids. Someday soon. She’d like to be a mom.

These past three months, she’d always been against motherhood.

Yet another reason to never give her his heart, he thought. She has no idea what she wants.

All Rusty could think about was how he needed a woman who truly wanted Isabeau and never changed her mind.

Isabeau was standing in the hallway by the apartment door. “Daddy, no matter how often I tell you that you won’t end up with Amy, you never listen to me. You still hope you might.”

Unlocking the door, Rusty shrugged a single shoulder, “I guess I hope it’s reverse psychology.”

“Sorry. I tell it like it is.”

“So, the day I meet the right girl, you’ll just come right out and say it?... Hello?... Where’d you go?”

The hall was empty again.

§

“Night Moves” by Bob Seger came on the radio as they drove to bring the pizza back to his place.

“They’re playing our song!”

“What?”

Rusty laughed, turning up the volume as they headed north on Ridge Road and passed beneath the 480 bridge. “That’s totally us. I used her. She used me. But neither one cared. We were gettin’ our share.”

“Oh, God. You’re right! Our relationship is a Bob Seger song!”

Amy came over on a Sunday.

They only did it twice that afternoon.

She told him he gave head wonderfully and it was about the best she ever had.

Her legs still quivering, her licked her thigh and she kicked him away. “Stop! Seriously! I can’t take anymore!”

He felt like a God.

Trying to catch her breath, Amy felt like his little bachelor twin was a kingsize waterbed. The entirety of her body seemed to undulate across the sheets, even though she knew nothing was moving but her. “You need to give lessons,” she groaned.

“Excuse me?” Rusty asked, her wetness still on his chin as he wiped it off and licked his finger of her taste.

“Other men do not know how to do what you can do. You need to teach them.”

Rusty looked at her as though her suggestion were high treason. “You crazy? I’m not revealing my secrets! Ladies want to experience the magic of the Rustyman, they have to come to the source.” He tapped his chest. “I’m not revealing the magic secret sauce formula.”

As Amy shook on his bed, he couldn’t tell if the tremors were laughter or orgasmic aftershocks.

§

“I can’t stay too late tonight,” Rusty informed his boss. “I have plans.”

“Hot date with some tall brunette?”, joked Mr. Harrison.

“Pretty much.”

Mr. Harrison gave Rusty lots of leeway at the firm. Rusty was the best architect they had and even though they were a small startup company, his knowledge of photography and design were priceless since it meant he could contribute far more than his engineering skills to the company. He constantly devoted a massive quantity of overtime and extra work with mockups and renderings. Rusty often felt like he never left the office.

When Amy arrived, Rusty introduced her. Showing her around the place, Amy displayed her sublime diplomacy by acting politely impressed and giving the false impression of being interested at all the appropriate moments.

After a brief 5 minute tour, Rusty bid farewell to everyone and started out the door.

Mr. Harrison pulled Rusty aside before he left. Amy waited by the lobby and when they rounded the corner, Mr. Harrison looked at Rusty and mouthed, “Wow.”

“What?” Rusty chuckled.

Mr. Harrison just shook his head, “You’re incredible Rusty. Just when I think I know you.”

“What?” Rusty chuckled again. “You asked if that’s what I was doing tonight and I said I was.”

“Yeah, but I was only kidding!”

“Oh. Well, I really am.”

“I can see that. Go on. Get out of here. Have fun!”

“Will do!”

Rusty had started to forget Amy looked like a Playboy centerfold.

Mr. Harrison’s reaction was a nice reminder for Rusty’s ego.

Rusty and Amy had dinner at a great Italian place near Amy’s house where Amy asked, “So, what exactly do you do?”

Rusty had just brought her to an architectural firm and that was her question?

“Um, I’m an architect. Remember the big building I just had you come to see?”

A foot kicked at him under the table. “No, asshole. I know you’re an architect. I was asking you to tell me specifics about your job. Like what’s your day-to-day routine like?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Well, as we’re kind of new, there’s still a lot of planning stages. Getting systems set up. That sort of thing. But once our salesman gets new clients, I meet with them and go over ideas for whatever they need to build. For things that are more complicated, we might build a physical model. Most the time it’s computer renderings. I’ll use lots of my own photography to take pictures of a site and map out what things will be like.”

Chewing her fettuccine, Amy swallowed and smiled. “Cool. I was just curious. Why do love photography?”

“Other than meeting hot chicks?” Rusty snickered a wry grin like a teen sex symbol, obviously insinuating Amy herself.

“Other than meeting hot chicks.” Amy blushed.

Rusty dropped his sardonic tone and looked at Amy with utter sincerity. “Posterity. That’s why I love it. Photographs are a magical thing. Most of the time, we take them and toss them aside as inconsequential. But in ten or twenty years, a simple photograph becomes a cherished heirloom. These images are the stories of our lives. Ordinary people don’t keep journals or write autobiographies. Home movies and photographs become their history. More valuable than homes or clothes or cars. I love being a photographer because I write those chapters of time for families. Capture a moment that might seem trivial in that second, but soon becomes priceless.”

Amy was floored. “Wow. Amazing answer. You rehearse that?”

Chuckling, Rusty noted, “No. Just gave it a lot of thought.”

“If you have that passion, why don’t you do more photography?”

The question fell over Rusty’s shoulders like an uncomfortable jacket that didn’t fit. He tried to shrug it off. “I don’t know. I would like to. I’ve always wanted to.”

“So why don’t you?”

Rusty fidgeted through everything he started to say. “Honestly, I just worry that I won’t succeed. I mean, the idea of getting out there and finding clients and pursuing freelance work and trying to get hired for weddings or product shots or fashion magazines or whatever. I mean, I dunno, I just don’t know how to do all of that.”

“You’re scared to try.” Amy’s tone was unexpectedly sweet and understanding. She was being genuinely compassionate. Rusty relaxed his posture slightly.

“Yeah. I am.” Rusty sipped iced tea. “I mean, I genuinely enjoy architecture. You know? It’s not like I’m doing something I hate. I have fun with my job and I make good money doing it. I like just working 9-to-5 and having a reliable, steady paycheck that I know will be there every week. You know?”

Being self-employed was one of the things that both impressed and intimidated Rusty in regard to his lover. Amy had been running her own business for years and he was afraid he’d sound all the more cowardly by voicing these fears to a woman who clearly didn’t posses them. He added, “Hard to throw that kind of security away and go into a business for myself where I don’t know where the next client will come from. Heck, with photography, I don’t know when I’ll even have paychecks. That’s scary.”

Of course, Amy didn’t need to worry about making rent.

But he wasn’t about to point that out and sound catty.

“How much would you need to get started?”

“Huh?”

“To start a photography business. I know you. Mr. Research. I know you’ve already priced it.”

Rusty smeared steak into the potatoes. “You know me too well.”

Rusty had done the research. She was right. He even had a name. Dreamwalker Photography. From a nickname he was once given by a girl he loved.

“So, how much?”

“A few grand. Between a good camera and some lighting. I really can’t afford it. I’d need to get a bank loan and have a business plan.”

“Well, you know, I have a bit saved up. I could loan you what you need to get started.”

Rusty smirked at her joke.

Amy was right. This little restaurant was amazing.

Amy was confused. Why didn’t Rusty reply?

Sometimes Rusty was a tough nut to crack, and as Amy stared at him, she felt like someone with a peanut allergy.

Rusty didn’t realize she was expecting an answer.

“Huh?” Rusty asked, “You - You’re serious?”

The blank look on her face hadn’t changed. “Of course.”

Now he was embarrassed. No one had ever said anything like that to him. Offering to help him? To give him money?

“Uh, well, I - That - That would be great. But I can’t accept something like that. I mean, I - ”

“ - Why not? I believe in you. You’re a great photographer. I have the money. Isn’t that what friends do for each other?”

“Well, yeah, I just - No one is ever that nice to me. I’m just not sure how to react. I’m sorry. You just kind of caught me off guard there. I thought you were joking.” Rusty stammered, feeling terribly rude. He was so accustomed to earning his keep and making his way, he never imagined anyone would be so generous. Some people feel like life is a movie when they fall deeply in love or when they land that perfect job or they overcome that illness. Rusty felt like a moviestar just because someone in the world offered to help him.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. You know what kind of thanks I want though.”

“What?”

Amy licked her lip and glanced at his crotch.

“Ohhh. Yes. Of course. I can arrange a proper expression of gratitude later.”

Amy laughed her starlet laugh.

Rusty loved that she always wanted to see him so often. He had no need to beg for attention. Not like Marissa who could go two weeks without seeing him and think it had only been seven days. What a nice change of pace Amy was. Someone who actually valued their time together.

Later that night, after Amy had gone home, he came across a one-panel comic on the Internet of a man attempting to flee a bed from a giant Praying Mantis with the caption, “She was insatiable!”

He couldn’t resist emailing it to Amy.

“It’s us!”

§

Rusty was driving home from work when Isabeau told him, “Do not allow the loss of Amy from your life to hurt you. She never lied to you. She told you it would never last. She told you that she was using you. You both predicted the same thing - that she would leave you when the day came that you had fallen for her. You have. She is. You both knew it would be great fun until it ended. It has. It was.”

Rusty thought about it and said, “I would marry her.”

The worst part was, he knew he would. Awful as Amy was, terrible as that choice would be, he would marry her just to have someone around. Just to hope to bring Isabeau into the world, so he wouldn’t let his daughter down.

Isabeau gripped her temples. “Why would you even say that? You know that’s not true. No. You wouldn’t. Maybe no one will ever marry you. Start to accept it, because the loneliness will be worse if you continue to have hope.”

“What!?” Rusty was stunned by that statement. That seemed a terribly cruel thing to say. “Then why are you here!? Why try to help me find your mother if you say I’ll never get married?”

Isabeau dropped her chin to her chest and glared as only a preteen girl can. “You don’t need to get married to be a dad. This isn’t 1952, dad. I want you to be my daddy again, more than anything in the world, but I just think at this rate, you may not be ready for marriage. Ever.”

Perhaps his daughter knew him way too well.

Was he being too old fashioned?

Had he been looking at this in the wrong way?

He had been presuming he needed to find a girl who was “marriage material” and that girl would be the mother of his child.

But Isabeau had a valid point.

You don’t have to be married to have kids.

Maybe her mother was someone Rusty would never marry.

Could it be Amy?

§

As they drove home from the party Amy said, “You are definitely the best overall sex I’ve ever had.”

Rusty thought the word “overall” was an interesting adjective to throw in there.

Not just the best. Best vaginal? Best oral?

The best overall.

Of course, she had said this before, but he wasn’t about to stop her from repeating the compliment.

“I have to admit, I feel the same way about you.” Rusty told her. He wasn’t sure if it was her beauty, or her compliments, or her talking dirty, or the frequency with which they saw each other. Whatever it was, he never found himself feeling insecure with her. She wanted him. She wanted him all the time. And she told him over and over how great he was. He wondered - if other women in his past had ever stroked his ego so much, would he have been a better lover to them? A more devoted boyfriend?

Maybe the simple fact that Amy worshiped him made him work that much harder to feel worthy of being worshiped.

The Pygmalion Effect, he believed it was called, if he remembered high school psychology correctly.

So many women fail to understand that concept:

When you truly worship a man, he will die for you.

Be it on a sword or the altar of sex, he becomes your servant.

Just stroke his ego.

“God, it’s absolutely fabulous. Everything sex should be.”

“I take it that means you’ll be staying at my place for a few hours after you drop me off.”

“You bet your ass I am. You know I can’t date you though.”

Huh?

What was she talking about? This was turning into one of those weird conversations where a woman was saying only fragments of what she was thinking. That usually means they’re trying to tell you something. That usually means the man will never figure out what the fuck that “something” happens to be.

“Well, I know that. I know we aren’t dating. Besides, you already have a boyfriend in Chicago.” Rusty spoke innocently, but inside he did that with pure evil.

He loved to bring up the boyfriend she never broke up with.

The one she was clearly cheating on.

Rusty wanted to remind her that she was his whore. A lying slut.

Defending herself in the unspoken argument, Amy said, “No. I’m obviously not with him anymore.”

Rusty didn’t know if that was true or not.

He knew for a fact she was still calling him a “boyfriend” after Rusty had already gone through an entire box of condoms with her.

Had she broken up with him? Officially?

Who cares?

Rusty pretended sweetness, “Well, I know we’re not dating. I’m okay with that. I’ve never tried to pressure you into that. I’ve never even brought it up. Have I?”

Rusty didn’t get it.

They hung out together.

They went to parties together.

They had sex all the time.

They went to dinner with each other.

They had lunch in the park.

What did she think he was expecting beyond that? As far as Rusty was concerned, that was dating! If she wanted to forbid the “dating” label, to make the word taboo and thus pretend they weren’t dating, that was fine with him. So what? If she says that isn’t dating, he didn’t mind. Whatever he had to agree with, so long as he kept getting laid, was fine with him.

We aren’t dating? Okay. No problem, baby. Whatever you say.

Just don’t stop going down on me.

Rusty didn’t give a shit what kind of words Amy wanted to use.

So long as they continued having dirty monkey sex three or four days a week, she was free to call their love affair anything she damn-well pleased.

“No. My emotions are just confused sometimes. I’m still afraid I’ve poisoned you. I see myself falling into my same old patterns with you. I just don’t want to do that.”

“Okay.” Rusty replied, completely disinterested.

He didn’t know what more to say.

Rusty had no idea what the hell she was talking about and frankly, he didn’t care. Obviously, she was developing feelings for him and she didn’t want to. Why else was she constantly accusing him of developing feelings when he wasn’t in the slightest? Rusty figured she was saying all this bull to “test” him. To make him confess that he was indeed crazy about her.

But it wasn’t working.

Because he wasn’t.

Lovers often accused Rusty of having a big ego, but clearly this woman did too. She kept using that term - she had “poisoned” him - as though he were somehow a helpless victim of her masterful seduction. That pissed him off. He found it hilarious too.

She was a fuckbuddy.

Nothing more.

The truth was, he only loved her when she was not around. When he missed her. When he remembered her. When those misty, watercolored memories could seem like perfection.

Anytime he was actually standing in front of her, he lusted for her, but he knew damn well it wasn’t love.

Yet, she seemed to want him to love her.

As if she were trying to break his heart and was sad she couldn’t.

He was, by no means, putty in her hands.

With Marissa? Yes. Absolutely. He loved Marissa with a blind passion and was weak to her will and would have done anything in the world for her.

But Amy?

Don’t flatter yourself honey.

You can’t poison the viper when you’re a measly garden snake.

Amy clearly underestimated his venom.

§

Rusty told Isabeau about that conversation later that night. He didn’t understand why Amy kept bringing up the dating issue. Did she want Rusty to get more serious?

Isabeau replied, “But keep one thing in mind.”

“Huh?”

“Remember one important thing. She is keeping your relationship a secret. She does not want anyone to know about the two of you. She wants you to hide it from Jeff, and from Cheryl, and everyone. So, keep that in mind. Don’t be stupid. Maintain your perspective. If she wants no one to know about your romance, then she truly is just using you. Moreso than you may realize. Don’t fall for her. Don’t adore her so deeply. She is just manipulating you. Stroking your ego. Don’t be naïve enough to believe otherwise. Why do you think you keep having dreams about her betraying you, dating other guys, getting pregnant, smoking and whatever? Your heart is cautious. Be careful.”

Naïve. There it was again.

Rusty agreed with his daughter and rolled over to go to sleep.

§

“You’ve never heard of The Singularity?”

“Isn’t that some computer thing?”

“No, no. I mean the movie. It’s a local independent film.”

“Oh. No. Never heard of it.”

“Oh, you gotta check this out. Hold on. Let me find it.”

Rusty filed through some videocassettes. He figured if Amy were going to be starring in a local independent film, she should learn a little more about the local motion picture community. The Singularity was an amazing breakthrough in independent digital movies. Produced with a minimal budget of $10,000 the young director, Justin Tomassini, was shooting with upwards of 3000 extras and getting access to places like NASA and peppering his cast with local celebrities. There was nothing else like it. The science fiction epic was full of grand special effects and fantastic cinematography, light years ahead of anything else being shot by independent filmmakers on videotape.

Amy was duly impressed by the trailer.

In fact, Amy was so impressed, she actually pitched an article to the local entertainment newspaper to interview Justin Tomassini.

The next thing Rusty knew, within a few weeks, Amy dropped off 3 hours of interview to transcribe for The Singularity. How did Rusty let himself get roped into that?

101 Stupid Things a Man Will do Just to Keep Getting Laid.

He wrote the book.

From the moment he showed her the movie trailer, Rusty kept getting such an odd feeling about the whole situation. As if her involvement in that film would somehow lead her away from him. Whether it was on a professional level, or a personal one, where she becomes too busy for him, or she meets some other guy to start dating. Somehow, he knew it spelled doom.

He never should have mentioned that darn movie to her.

Funny, he thought.

He did not believe in the loyalty of anyone at all.

For years and years, he believed in soulmates and he was deeply spiritual.

But now?

Despite the appearance of his daughter, he often felt so detached from what he thought was the essence of his true self.

Definitely not the way he should be feeling.

He was witnessing the manifestation of his unborn child on almost a daily basis! He spoke to her! Laughed with her. Saw her before his very eyes. What was wrong with him? How could he possibly have doubts about his own spirituality when such irrefutable evidence was materializing before him?

Then he realized the simple truth.

Maybe the fact his doubts were growing so strong, is the very reason Isabeau had started showing up in the first place.

Ah.

Could it be?

His inertia on the path of doubt was so overpowering that Isabeau was the only way it could be stopped?

Whatever the cause, Rusty had to face the fact he had plenty of reasons to be irritated, mopey and pessimistic about the loyalty of people.

Often, he’d feel that he would always be alone and it was just a simple truth. Honestly, he was starting to think he said it out of a sense of shock more than actual acceptance.

He wanted to still believed in magic.

He wondered sometimes if magic still believed in him.

§

From the passenger seat, Isabeau said, “Dad, you often say that Amy was the most supportive of anyone you ever dated. That is wonderful. But is she still?”

“Well, no.”

“And other than that, was there anything all that special about her?”

Slowing for the red light, Rusty thought about it. “Well, yes.”

“But if her desire is gone, what does it matter?”

“Yes, I know.”

Isabeau looked at her dad, then out the window, then back at him. Toying with with her dress ruffles, as she so often loved to do, she spoke to her lap. “Other than some good sex, and encouraging words, what are you missing without her? Yesterday, you saw how incredibly bitchy she could be to you. Here you’re doing her a favor and she was often overly sarcastic. She did things that she knew you would not approve of, like smoking that one night. If you ever voiced jealousies, she mocked you and teased you, instead of being nurturing and supportive. Take off the rose-colored glasses.”

Isabeau paused, to see if her dad would reply.

When Rusty remained quiet, Isabeau added, “Yes, at times she was more supportive and sweet and encouraging than anyone. But keep it in perspective. Did she ever want to date you? Did she ever speak of being your girlfriend?”

Rusty noticed Isabeau said “did” and not “has”. Isabeau was quick to put Amy in the past-tense. She always was. He also had to admit, his daughter was right. “No. Not at all. Not once.”

Why was he doing this?

No matter how many good days they shared, Amy was awful.

Why was he trying so hard?

Was he really so lonely?

Isabeau finally looked up, feeling more sure of herself now that her father agreed. “So, take it for what it’s worth. There were never any guarantees or promises. Just because it is over now doesn’t mean she will never want you again. Just roll with it. Being with her is great. Yes. But would you give up the last 28 years you have experienced in exchange for the first 2 months you had with her?”

“You keep talking about her as if it’s over.”

Isabeau’s sidelong glare said it all.

“What? We’re still seeing each other!”

“Dad.”

Rusty grumbled. He knew she was right. Even if things hadn’t ended yet, there was no denying that he was on the downhill side of the mountain. The finish was just up ahead.

“You didn’t answer me. Would you give up the - ”

“ - No. Of course not.”

“Then that means life without her is great too! So, don’t sweat it. Whatever happens, happens.”

“Que sera, sera.”

“Exactly.”

Not three days later, a single phonecall from Amy vastly widened the cracks that had already started to form between her and Rusty.

§

Amy called Rusty at work. About 2 months prior, she told him that she would always have a hard time memorizing phone numbers. So, once she had his memorized, it would be a good sign.

“I still haven’t memorized your new number yet.” Amy explained.

That can be said many different ways. The tone of her voice could be apologetic; that she was sad it was taking her so long. The tone of her voice could have been frustrated; indicating she really wanted to memorize it, but had yet to succeed. The tone could show spite and bitterness; sounding annoyed that she was making the call in the first place.

Her tone was none of those things.

Amy said it sadistically. Cruelty dripped from her tongue. She said it because she knew that Rusty would know what it means to not remember his number. Her tone was purely hurtful and cruel.

Rusty played the game by pretending not to notice.

Nothing drives heartless people more crazy than being blissfully ignored. Act like you don’t notice and it utterly deflates the sails of their nastiness. Really, bitch? You wanna play the player? Rusty was a firm believer in “Kill them with kindness.”

“Looks like the art gallery in the building where I work is doing a show.” Rusty completely changed the subject, bounding away with a happy and exuberant lilt in his voice. “I was talking to this woman who owns the gallery and she’s interested in having me submit some photography.”

Amy asked, “Is she hot?”

“Who?”

“The woman.”

“Running the gallery!?”

“Yeah.”

Rusty spat a chuckle. “Uh. No. Not at all. She’s like this huge, overweight, married, black lady.”

“Racist?”

“What!? No. I am not. She could be any ethnicity. I’m just not into overweight married women and she just so happens to be black. Who cares what she looks like? What difference does that make?”

Amy was acidic. “That’s too bad. Then you’d be endearing yourself to a hot girl.”

Anger flared from his heart, straight up his biceps and through his arm, making Rusty clutch the phone close. “I thought I already had.”

“I don’t know what to say to that, except that I still haven’t memorized your number,” she paused to await a reply that never came. “Well, this has been a productive conversation, so I’m going to go.”

Rusty was livid.

That was not her typical sarcasm. That was just being downright fucking mean. Rude whore.

“Okay. Talk to you later.” Rusty was cheerful as kids cereal.

§

“You look great! Fits you perfectly!” Amy admired Rusty as he turned over his shoulders in the mirror.

“Wow. It does, doesn’t it? Looks tailor-made.”

The tailed tuxedo belonged to Amy. She claimed to have bought it for herself at a thrift store, years ago, and she offered to give it to Rusty for The Singularity movie premiere.

The truth was, she bought it just for him.

But she knew he’d never accept such a gift.

So, she lied.

Rusty may have been jaded and suspicious in many ways, but he was so naïve and innocent when it came to trusting what women told him, that it would be over a decade before he even suspected she wasn’t telling the truth.

Debutante that she was, Amy couldn’t bear to see her lover show up at a black-tie event dressed in his cheap dress pants and a shirt leftover from his days of parochial school. Smirking at his reflection, Rusty foolishly said, “I can’t believe you bought this for yourself.”

“What?” Amy replied with a shrug, “I thought it would fit.”

“Baby, you’re 6’0” with D-cup breasts. I’m a 5’7” male and it fits me perfectly. How could you possibly think this would fit you?”

“Well, it was only $15 at the thrift store.”

“Didn’t you try it on?”

“No. The store was closing and it was only $15.”

Rusty sure made it difficult to lie, she thought. Bastard asks too many damn questions.

“That’s awesome. Thank you so much! I can’t believe you found this for $15 too! Looks like it was never worn!”

“Well, it’s all yours now.”

“Thank you. I really appreciate it. I love the tails. Just adds some class. Looks awesome!” Rusty was sincerely thankful and loved the idea of looking like a 1940’s movie star. That’s totally what he felt like, standing in that tuxedo. The coat and vest were the type of clothing which changes your poise and makes you carry yourself with more elegance and refinement.

He needed that.

He was a jeans-and-tshirt kind of guy.

The night of the premiere was not an evening where he had much poise. Amy decided to attend with her older brother. Rusty came alone. Since their affair was always a big secret, they only spoke about three times all evening, for 30 seconds at a time. Apparently she didn’t want to arouse any suspicions.

Funny how a night that is one of the biggest nights of some people’s lives can be so uneventful for someone else. By the very next evening, Rusty could barely remember what had transpired. The whole experience was a blur of tuxedos, evening gowns, yellowish marble and vaulted ceilings and pillars in an elegant theatre, and a movie that was only vaguely impressive, after you had watched the trailer 500 times. He mingled. He talked to some people. He watched the movie. He went home by himself.

By the time he got back to his apartment, all he could think about was what a huge waste of time that whole evening had proven to be.

§

Summer was coming to an end. Rusty felt his love affair dwindling like the nights that slowly get a little colder. Day by day, the warmth of love dropping, until you discover it has vanished completely and you need a jacket to protect you against the lonesome cold. When a warm breeze passes, it taunts you. The heat of other lovers, in a cozy bed, in a house nearby, savoring of each other the rich passion that is only a fading aftertaste on your tongue.

“How do you feel?” Isabeau asked as she sat on the swingset in the park where Rusty decided to take a walk. He could still see his apartment building, less than a block away.

“Upset. Depressed. Lonely.”

“Why?”

“I miss Amy.”

“Why?”

Rusty signed. “Because she made me feel so happy. She truly enriched my life.”

Squeaky swings swung. “I can understand why you would miss that. You say that all the time; Relationships should enrich our lives. Does she enrich your life now too?”

As always, Isabeau and her talent for getting to the heart of things. Rusty shook his head, “No. She neglects me.”

“So, you miss someone who neglects you?”

“Well... I... - ”

“ - Daddy, you do not miss Amy.” Gravel chortled as Isabeau dragged her feet to a stop. Rusty liked old swingsets that didn’t have rubber beneath them. He thought, when his daughter was born, he’d only take her to playgrounds with gravel and woodchips. The way playgrounds should be. Not that sissified rubber padding. Kids need gouged knees and wood slivers. Childhood pain builds character. “You miss her support and her affection. You miss the tenderness and the enrichment - not her. My point is, you miss the way a person treats you - not the person themselves. And so, if a person ceases to treat you well, they are not worthy of being missed.”

“I’m just so depressed and sad. I’ve been just sleeping and playing The Cure over and over all day.”

“Well, gee, Drama Queen, that just sounds wimpy. Have you noticed you get this way now everytime you see Amy?”

He honestly hadn’t noticed until now. “Wow. You’re right!”

“Why do you suppose that is?”

“Well, because I miss her, I suppose.”

“Is it because you miss the way she used to treat you or because you are hurt by the way she treats you now?”

“Both. Yes. Definitely both.”

“...Think about that.”

“What is your point?” Rusty said as the streetlights blinked on in the falling dusk.

“My point, dad, is that you already know all the answers. You know she is not good enough for you. You know that she doesn’t treat you well. You know that she doesn’t know what you are worth. You know that you deserve better. Yet, despite all of that, you mope and still miss her. You still pine for her. Why?”

“I dunno. I guess I keep hoping that she’ll be good to me again.”

The instant Rusty said the words, he knew how pitiful it sounded.

Isn’t that the same excuse victims of domestic violence use?

Clinging to a pathetic hope that those 5 weeks when their abuser treated them with respect will somehow compensate for the last 5 years of being treated like shit?

Rusty was ashamed of his attitude, but he didn’t want to admit it.

Isabeau asked, “Will being depressed help that? Will hurting over her make it more likely that she will adore you again?”

His sigh was gutted in resignation. “No. Not at all.”

“So. What. Are. You. Doing. This. For? If Amy treated you as well as she claimed to feel about you, then she would not have left. And you are not at fault for trusting her words. She is at fault for lying to you.”

“Lying to me?”

Isabeau’s swing twirled. Chains chortled. “She called you one of her closest friends mere days before she left the country on her last trip. Now she leaves the party last night without even saying goodbye to you? Is that the way people treat their closest friends?”

“Crap. She really will be just another statistic. Won’t she? Yet another who stops caring. Yet another who won’t stick around. What if I fight? What if I fight to keep her?” Rusty sat on the bottom of a slide.

“Do you want to? Is she worth it? I thought you wanted someone who wanted to be with you. Someone who loved you enough that you didn’t have to fight for her. Someone who could see what you are worth. Someone who would appreciate you, without you having to prove yourself to them. Besides, after all these months together, if she doesn’t appreciate you by now...”

Isabeau knew she didn’t need to finish her sentence.

Rusty scratched his nose. “Well...”

“I’m not judging you. I’m not saying you’re right or wrong. I’m simply repeating what you claim to desire. Have you changed your mind?”

“...Maybe I should.” Rusty didn’t mean that. It was the mopey bullshit talking and Isabeau knew it.

“Maybe. Okay... So my question remains - is Amy worth it? Does she treat you well enough to be someone worth fighting for? Is she one you should hold onto?”

“Should I?”

“Do you think you should have to convince her how valuable you are? Or would you rather have someone who can appreciate you from the start? Do you want someone who neglects you and you have to persuade to cherish you? Or do you want someone with the wisdom and the maturity to cherish you right from the beginning?”

When Isabeau put it that way, the answer was obvious. “I’m beginning to have faith in that person once again.”

“That is the first step. You know that’s who my mother will be. Never give up... And if you want to keep on missing Amy, remember this one thing - You want to fall in love with your soulmate and marry her. If you could marry any girl you have ever known, who would it be? Would it be Amy? If not, then she is not the one your heart seeks.”

Looking through the hazy streetlamp glow at his daughter, Rusty pondered in shock, amazed his daughter was so wise. “Wow... I never thought of it that way. Why didn’t you just say that in the first place and we could have avoided talking in circles for 5 minutes?”

“Funny.” Isabeau mused sardonic. “Perspective, daddy. The big picture. Simple logic.”

Getting up from the slide, he patted his thighs. “You’re absolutely right. The truth is, I have been very blessed and privileged to have been intimate with Amy. I do miss having that with her. I would have been happier if it had continued and lasted longer. But it would have been naïve to think it would last a lifetime. It had to end eventually.”

Rusty grinned, noting he finally said “naïve” about himself.

He didn’t point it out to Isabeau.

But he bet she noticed too.

§

They slept together again.

Mechanical. Emotionless.

They knew how to do it so well. Push buttons. Turn on.

Moving like machines now. Using each other as nothing more than a toy to masturbate with.

They were hating each other more than ever.

But they never stopped loving how their bodies felt together.

Christmas was a month away and Amy was in his parking lot, getting in her car after their latest session. That was the ideal word, Rusty thought.

Session.

Like a workout.

Therapy.

Routine.

Whoring each other.

“What are you doing for Christmas?”

“Nothing,” he mumbled.

There once was a time when he would have hoped that question was going to lead to an invitation.

He was no longer that gullible.

Amy was irritated that Rusty was so isolated from his family and barely had any friends. These were the moments that made her wonder why she was bothering with this guy. He had a job and his own apartment, but he had no life. The fact he had no plans for Christmas filled her with both pity and a heartless exasperation. “Do you even exchange gifts with your siblings?”

Shrugging, Rusty never really thought about it. “No. Not really. Not ever. Not since we were like 12 or something.”

“What do you usually do on Christmas?”

“Nothing,” Rusty chuckled at the repetition.

“So that means you could have a Christmas and not get any presents?” The thought terrified Amy. That sounded so lonely. She knew Rusty was a loner. But now? Even at Christmas too? The one time of year when the most bitter arguments of friends and family melt away? The time when people forgive and reconcile? The time when even estranged family and friends join together? And Rusty was alone!? Always? Every year? How could that be?

Why didn’t his friends invite him over for Christmas dinner?

Didn’t his family ever call?

Was there something about him that she didn’t know?

How could a 28 year old man have already spent multiple holidays of his life in isolation? That would be understandable had he been 98, but not at 28.

That loneliness no one ever spoke of, twitched in his cheek and she saw it for the very first time.

Chuckling, Rusty honestly wasn’t phased by any of this. He’d been alone so long, he had become accustomed to it. “Could? Heck, I don’t remember the last time anyone gave me a present for Christmas.”

“You need to get married and have kids, so you’ll have a reason to celebrate Christmas.”

Rusty scoffed and smirked.

Oh, if she only knew.

They all have the answers, don’t they?

All he could think about was, yet again, here’s another girl who presumptuously tells him what he needs, but he never finds a girl who wants to be what he needs.

Fuck you, bitch.

§

As Amy drove away, out of the corner of his eye, Rusty saw Isabeau standing in the doorway of his apartment building. Without turning to face his daughter, his gaze still fixed on Amy’s car, he said, “She has begun to bring my life more sorrow than joy.”

Over folded arms, Isabeau replied, “You sure don’t need that.”

“No. No, I do not.”

“So what will you do? Miss her and blow her off until she starts dating some other dude, then never speak to her again?”

“Yeah, that’s the basic plan.” Rusty started walking back to the apartment. A smile that held no happiness dribbled across his face. Something ached in him, locked in some terrible memory of having no other expression.

“Why?”

“Huh?”

“Why do it that way? Do you hope she’ll want you again instead, so it never comes to that?”

“After you.” Rusty motioned up the stairs.

“Thank you, my king.” Isabeau flourished.

“My princess.” Rusty grinned, this time warmly.

Isabeau lead the way to the top floor.

“Well, do you?”

“Well...” Rusty trailed off.

Isabeau gargled, tossing her hands toward the ceiling. “Daddy, don’t fool yourself. Trust your instincts. You know already. She will not come back to you. Don’t give yourself false hopes. She’s going to date Justin. You asked her to his movie premiere. She said no. He asked her to travel with him. She said yes. She talks about him all the time. She really likes him. Be happy for her and move on.”

“She could’ve - ”

“ - Oh, dad, don’t play that game again! Second guessing and presuming things that won’t happen? Why do you torture yourself with that crap? Any girl ‘could’ve’ been something different. Stop being so concerned with those who ‘could’ be something to you and focus on finding the one who already ‘is’ something.”

“Yeah. You are absolutely right.” Rusty put his key in the door.

Back inside his apartment, Isabeau asked, “Do you want a girl who keeps your intimacy secret? Or do you want a girl who is happy and proud to be your lover? Do you want a girl who judges you for your past mistakes? Or do you want a girl who is admiring of who you are? Do you want a girl who does things that she knows you will disapprove of? Or do you want a girl who respects your opinions so deeply that she will never want to let you down? Do you want a girl who tells you what you need to be happy? Or do you want a girl who strives to be what you need?”

“Yes. You are right.” Rusty pressed his lips until they whitened.

“Amy is great. But you deserve better.”

Amy wasn’t so great, but Rusty appreciated the kindness with which Isabeau tried to lie.

§

Marissa was moving to the West Coast. Washington.

Rusty had one last chance to see her before she left.

They still talked every few weeks, but he hadn’t seen her in months. She’d love to stop by and see him.

The shaking in his heart never made it to the phone in his hand.

But he feared it might.

He couldn’t say no.

He was still in love with her.

He’d always be in love with her. Damnit.

And he knew this might be the last time he ever sees her again.

He couldn’t say no.

He couldn’t say no.

He wanted to.

But he couldn’t say no.

When she arrived, they only had a short window of time.

Three hours or so.

Too little time to catch a movie or go for a hike.

Far too much time to spend on the couch with someone you’re still in love with. The album Bloodflowers by The Cure played on repeat the entire time. Never had a final farewell been given a better soundtrack.

The last day of summer never felt so old.

The last day of summer never felt so cold.

He found out she was seeing someone new. She was a gentle girl. She wasn’t cruel enough to tell him. He was just stupid enough to ask. He spent the next two hours cursing himself.

Why did he ask?

Why did he bring it up?

The day was awkward enough. Now he made it worse.

She was moving with him.

Going across the country with her new loverboy.

And Rusty was stuck here.

In the same city.

His dreams slipping away.

Forever.

While the love of his life, the only girl he loved who was still alive, was leaving for a new life, with a little boy who was 8 years younger than Rusty.

Yes, three hours is far too long on a couch with someone you will love forever. Especially when you know, they will never love you back. Especially when you know their life is moving on and yours is standing still.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her car as she drove away. In that moment, watching her car pull out of the driveway of his apartment complex, Rusty knew he’d never see Marissa again. Sure, he had that feeling before she even arrived. But something about the vision of that car drove the point home. One of those moments when you see the finality of a dead future. He stared at the corner of the building where her car disappeared around the turn. Stared at it for minutes after she had vanished. Stared and wondered how long he’d be alone. Wondered why all these amazing girls kept coming into his life and always go away.

All he kept thinking about was how perfect Marissa had been. Rusty was so demanding. He had such a long list of grandiose expectations for girls and relationships. We all have those lists. The unwritten ones. The ideals we want. The kind of morals and ethics and principals we expect our lifelong dreamlover to possess.

Marissa fit the list Rusty had better than anyone he ever met.

And he couldn’t shake that one awful thought:

Marissa was the only girl who ever met them all, and she left him.

What good was his “list” now?

Rusty always had this boyish notion that if he could find someone who lived up to all his high hopes, that she would have to be the “right” girl. Now, he had finally found that girl... and she left him.

She left him.

Just like all the others.

Losing Marissa shattered more than his heart.

Losing Marissa shattered the very foundation of his hopes.

Clearly, the girl who met all of his highest ideals and expectations was not “The One” after all.

So many women think their former boyfriends are assholes.

So many men think their former girlfriends are bitches.

Rusty never stopped loving every girl who ever touched him. Never fell out of love with any of them. Rusty never abandoned those girls or betrayed them. They all gave up on him. Deep inside, he could sincerely say that every girl he ever gave his heart to, still possessed it.

Was that his problem?

Was he supposed to be like everyone else?

Was he supposed to hate these girls and call them evil sluts?

Was that what the universe demanded, before it would permit someone to stay with him?

Funny thing about Rusty - he honestly thought he was alone in his capacity to have such a precognition about losing people. He would never learn that there are plenty of people in the world who could feel it when someone has just walked out of their life forever.

More than a decade later, Marissa would have a daughter who would share Rusty’s birthday. He would see her pictures on the internet.

But he would never meet that little girl.

He would never dreamfast with her mother again.

He would only have that memory of a chilly Ohio afternoon, when her car vanished around a corner and she disappeared forever.

§

Although she had been pulling away from him, although she had started to turn cold and distant and they hadn’t had sex for awhile, Rusty turned from the window and called Amy.

He hated himself for running to her.

Unfortunately, as much as he abhorred her, Amy was all he had.

As he went back to stare at the same spot, she answered.

He had told Amy he would see Marissa that afternoon.

Amy was shockingly compassionate. “How did it go?”

Rusty muttered, “Eh. It went.”

“Did she leave?”

“Yeah, she’s gone.”

“How are you doing?”

“Oh. You know. Not bad, but much worse than I expected.”

In that moment, Amy invited him to a party.

Rusty was a bit shocked. That was nice of her.

But he didn’t want to go.

“Well, I don’t have to go. I can come over and see you. You want me to come over?”

“You just said you were going to a cookout.”

“I just want to do whatever will make you happy.”

Rusty laughed hysterically. The kind of laughter that was two shades away from tears.

“What’s so funny?”

He was still chuckling, but he almost sounded like he was about to cry as he explained, “I’ve just never heard anyone say anything like that to me before. You just want to make me happy?”

“Yeah.” As much as Amy had grown to dislike him, his words broke her heart a little. She could hear it in his voice, he was being completely honest. He didn’t claim his isolation out of self-pity or grief. Admitting that no one had ever offered to do something just to make him happy, was the honest truth.

Was that why Rusty valued the ideals of altruism so much?

Because no one ever showed such a kindness to him?

For the first time in weeks, Amy felt genuine compassion for Rusty. She even felt a little guilty for pushing him away so much.

Swallowing away the lump in his throat, Rusty said, “Well, that’s very sweet. You know, I don’t want you to miss the cookout on my account, but, I would really love to see you.”

“Okay. Then I’ll be right over. Give me an hour?”

“I really wasn’t expecting to see you, but thanks. Yes. That’d be great.”

He didn’t give a damn if it was a pity-fuck; When Rusty hung up the phone, he knew he’d finally be getting laid once more. He needed to feel alive, because spending an afternoon with someone who doesn’t love you anymore, makes a little piece of you die. Amy always made him feel like he was part of the world again. Maybe she was a bitch. Maybe she was more hot and cold than a hooker in Siberia. But at least when he was inside her, for a few hours, he could pretend like someone in the world gave a damn that he existed.

§

Amy made him forget.

Amy made him feel.

Amy surrendered her body and he drowned in the comfort of her scent. As he played with Amy’s hair, he couldn’t help but think how she made his bedroom smell like marshmallows and honey. His fingers tasted stickily sweet.

He loved that smell of her on him.

On his sheets.

On his pillow.

He was drunk on the perfume of his beautiful lover whore.

Amy couldn’t get over their conversation. She stared at the ceiling and asked him, “You believe in soulmates?”

“Absolutely.”

Scoffing, Amy asked, “Isn’t that kind of a dirty hippie belief? You know, often there are a lot of similarities in flower children and lost sheep.”

“Ha, ha. Very funny.”

“I’m serious. Isn’t that kind of juvenile?”

“Whoa. Whoa. Hold on. Juvenile? Juvenile? Who you calling juvenile? You judgmental prick.” Rusty joked. “Do you believe in God?”

“What? Of course I believe in God. That’s hardly the same thing.”

“No, no, no. That’s totally the same thing. Which God do you believe in? The Christian one? Jesus? Pope? Catholic church? Nuns and priests? All that jazz?”

“Sure, I guess so. I wasn’t raised Buddhist. Yeah, the whole Judea-Christian God is what I believe in.”

Rusty smirked his mouth in a sour wrinkle. “Hrmph. So, let me get this straight. You believe in God. You believe in an invisible old man who lives in the sky. I believe in soulmates. I believe there might be a flesh-and-blood woman in the world whom I feel destined to spend my life with. You believe in a sky faerie. Okay? Now, which of those two beliefs sounds crazier than the other? Huh? And you are calling me juvenile?”

“Well, I suppose when you put it that way...”

“Yeah, you think a magical deity created you for no discernible purpose, and He is overseeing the entire universe, and that’s okay. You think that’s a perfectly rational belief. But to think two human beings might be spiritually connected to each other, oh, that’s insane!? Yeah, I don’t think I’m the crazy one here.”

“I get your point.”

“Yeah, so I do believe in soulmates. At least I can see a soulmate. Soulmates aren’t invisible magical faerie girls floating in sky. Okay? Don’t act like I’m the nutjob.”

“Okay. Okay. Enough. Point taken. You win.”

“You’re just trying to get me to shut up.” Rusty smiled.

“Yeah.”

“I think maybe you need to try a different approach.”

“Like grabbing your dick and shoving it in my mouth?”

“I didn’t say that! But if you want to give it a shot, I’m not going to complain.”

“How about you shove your tongue between my legs, you selfish bastard?”

“I can do that. Bitch.”

“Yeah? Maybe you’ll find your soulmate down there.”

“Fuck you. I’ll show you God.”

“You make me call His name enough.”

§

Sabotaging things on purpose, Rusty revealed too much.

There are certain people in the world who do that.

They see a relationship ending, so they do something foolish to help drive the other person away.

In talking about people they used to date, he sent Amy a copy of the letter he wrote to his former girlfriend, Marie, after she had done something particularly mean to him.

Marie had returned a bunch of gifts to Rusty, including a handcrafted bookcabinet he had given her as a Christmas gift. A gift which he had built in happier years, back when Christmas still meant something and he remembered getting presents. Not only did she return that, but she even returned things like a windchime he had given to her mother.

Terribly cruel.

Marie did it at his old apartment via Rusty’s former roommate.

Arriving home from work one evening, all his former gifts were sitting in the middle of his bedroom floor. No note. No letter. No explanation. Just put the stuff in his room.

She had clearly done it as a big “fuck you”. Spiteful. Vindictive.

The oddest part was that they had been broken up for months.

They hadn’t spoken in ages.

Why would Marie go so far out of her way to be so nasty to someone she hadn’t talked to in almost a year?

Worst of all, Marie was getting married.

Shouldn’t that point in her life be all about how happy she was with her new husband? Not about being vicious to a former boyfriend.

Every single female friend Rusty had told him the same thing.

Mortified, they said, “Oh my God! She’s still in love with you!”

“What!?” Rusty would say. “That’s crazy.”

“No, Rusty. You don’t understand. Women who are ready to move on would just throw all that shit in the garbage. She’s angry. She gave it back to you because she still loves you. She’s so pissed off that she still loves you and she’s marrying some other guy, that she’s trying to hurt you.”

“What? That’s nuts.” Rusty thought his female friends were crazy.

They were just trying to be nice. Taking his side.

After he had heard the same response from half a dozen girls, none of whom knew each other, he was starting to freak out.

Maybe they were right.

Was it true?

Only a woman scorned could be so vindictive.

Only a girl in love could be so heartless.

He had replied to Marie with a scathing email about how awful she was and how he had always cared about her feelings and even in his worst moments of selfishness, he never dreamed of going out of his way to deliberately hurt her, as she was to him.

Rusty shared that email with Amy.

Part of him thought opening up about something that painful and personal in a romance would bring Amy closer to him. Deep inside, he knew it wouldn’t at all.

Amy’s response was that she never wanted Rusty to “share his dark side” ever again.

Deep inside, although he didn’t see it at the time, that was exactly how he hoped Amy would react.

§

“We really need to talk.” Amy told Rusty as they drove to her place.

Those words, she once told him, always lead to the same thing.

Five of the worst words anyone can hear when dating someone.

Or sleeping together.

Or whatever the hell they were doing.

“We really need to talk...” Dot. Dot. Dot.

There isn’t much more to say after someone tells you that.

Those five words are the end.

That evening is usually spent in tears.

Rusty never shed any for Amy.

Why should he?

He knew this was coming. Just a question of when.

When the moment finally arrived, he didn’t even care.

When you live under the fear of death for too long, it becomes a relief when it arrives.

That night, Rusty sat home alone and watched Labyrinth, his favorite comfort movie. He didn’t know why, but every now and then in his life, for no reason at all, he needed the characters in that film. All of them.

With Sara and Hoggle, he didn’t have a care in the world.

It’s only forever. Not long at all. The lost and the lonely.

§

“Daddy, she wants nothing to do with you because you have proven yourself to be a jerk. You think that you can ‘win her back’? Why bother? You never hurt her. Yet she still judges you. She’s done things that she knew would upset you. Have you ever done anything to deliberately upset her?”

“No.” Rusty lied to his own daughter, but he still didn’t know it.

Isabeau sat across from him as he ate breakfast and observed, “So, here you are. You decided to finally start making Dreamwalker Photography happen. This should be the happiest, most rewarding time in your life. Instead, you are so hurt and disappointed that you can’t even think clearly. Daddy, why does Amy’s opinion of you matter to you so much, when clearly your opinion of her is something that she doesn’t give a damn about? Instead of believing in you, based upon the way you treat her, she is judging you based upon things you did 3 years ago. And do you know why you are so upset?”

“Why?” Cereal crunched as he asked the question he didn’t want her to answer.

Isabeau’s finger pointed to his chest. “Because you are giving her your heart. And you knew you should never do that! If you’re going to be my dad, you need to be a better role model.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’re a total hypocrite! You act all high and mighty, thinking you’re so much better than Amy because she’s so wishy-washy, while you claim to know exactly what you want. And you don’t! You have no clue. You’re just as bad as she is. Changing your mind. Your feelings bouncing back and forth. What’s wrong with you!?”

Rusty clanged the spoon. “Look, I’m sorry. What do you want me to say? Okay. You’re right. There, are you happy? Yes, I’m a hypocrite. That’s the way people are Isabeau. Okay? I can’t help it. That’s why I’m a good role-model; because I won’t lie to you and pretend people behave otherwise, nor condemn you when you are growing up and you do the same. This is real life, Isabeau. Understand? This isn’t like a movie where people have fixed cardboard personalities and character arcs that change before the end credits. Okay? Real people are hypocrites. We fight with ourselves. We have inner conflicts. We are walking contradictions. We fall in love one week and forget about a person the next. I’m sorry if that disappoints you.” He wanted to say so much more, but he stopped himself right there. Mid thought. He heard himself getting meaner and angrier with each passing sentence and he didn’t want to fight with his little girl. A few seconds more and it could have disintegrated into an ugly rant that he’d never be able to take back.

Isabeau had a strange look on her face. She was obviously angry with her father and yet at the same time, oddly contented.

“Real people huh? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What?”

“Are you putting me down for not being real?”

“What!? No! That’s not what I meant! You’re taking that all wrong!”

“You just said, ‘real people’ then you kept using ‘we’ as if you were educating me on something that I’m not.”

“Isabeau. No. You know I love you and respect you and I’d never take some childish dig at you like that.”

Isabeau said nothing. Just stared, with that impossible-to-read expression on her face.

“Isabeau?” Rusty ruffled his shirt before a sidelong gaze. “You know I’d never belittle you like that.”

Emotionless eyes beamed into her heartwarming smile. “I know, dad. I’m just screwing with you.”

“Oh, you! You, brat!” Rusty, exasperated, wanted to throw something at her, but there was nothing there to throw. “Snowball!” He yelled and threw an imaginary snowball at her head.

She ducked, “Missed!”

“I did not!”

“Did too!”

“Did not!”

“Did too!” Isabeau stuck out her tongue.

“You’re two feet away! I couldn’t miss!”

“Could too.”

“You obviously get that from your mother.”

§

Denmark.

That was her next destination. Amy was leaving for a month.

Rusty knew everything was over by that point.

He would never touch his sexy amazon warrior woman again.

“You know, I have to admit, it kind of freaked me out that you never freaked out.” Amy confessed on the way to the airport.

“Excuse me?” Rusty snorted.

“When I broke up with you. You took it really well.”

“Oh. Well, thanks.” Rusty smirked, “But we were never dating, remember? So, we never really broke up if we were never a couple in the first place. Right?”

Amy wriggled her lips. “Dick.”

“Here? Now? Should I pull over?”

“Stop it!” Amy smacked his arm. “Seriously, thank you. For being so mature about me breaking things off. I’m trying to tell you I really appreciate it. Even if it was a little freaky.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“You didn’t freak out. All the guys I’ve ever broken up with totally freak out. They start crying and begging me not to leave and all that shit. I hate it. I get so tense and nervous from wanting to avoid that. Watching men that I admired as being strong and masculine alpha males being reduced to these sniveling little puppydogs. It’s disappointing.”

Rusty made a stifled sound vaguely resembling a laugh.

Marissa had told him the exact same thing.

Exactly.

Freaked out that Rusty was so calm and collected.

He never realized the stress women must feel at the idea of dealing with obsessive, blubbering men. No wonder so many women have a hard time breaking up with guys. Who wants to see grown men cry and turn into stalkers?

“Well, would you rather I reacted that way?” He joked.

“No! God, no! But that’s my point; all men react that way. You’re the only guy who didn’t, and that kind of freaked me out.”

“You finally broke up with a guy who wasn’t a little sissy bitch and you’re shocked by that.”

“Pretty much.”

“Cool. Well, I’m honored to be your first real man. Or coldhearted bastard. Take your pick.”

Outside the terminal, he helped her get her bags from the trunk.

“Okay. That’s that.”

“Thank you so much for the ride.”

“Sure.” Rusty nodded, rubbing his hands for warmth. He wanted to make an inappropriate joke about “giving her a ride” but he was too frozen to be making stupid jokes. Winter days in the Midwest were brutal and this one was particularly cold. The kind of cold that makes the gray of overcast skies cut bamboo shoots beneath your fingernails. “No problem. Have a safe trip.”

Amy smiled. “No, I mean thank you.”

Throwing her arms around Rusty, she kissed him. Not a kiss of friendship. Not a peck on the cheek. This was long and deep and passionate.

The kind of kiss anyone would stop expecting after a breakup.

Rusty stood there moving lips that made no sound.

What just happened?

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

Spinning quick on her heel, Amy disappeared into the bustling airport. He never had time to say another word to her.

What the hell was that all about?

§

During her three months in Denmark, the former lovers kept in touch through email. Rusty was baffled by her behavior. The whole time, she was constantly flirting and saying suggestive remarks.

What was she doing?

Did she even know what she was going?

Wasn’t this the polar opposite of what she wanted?

He would never understand women.

Was she changing her mind? Did she actually like him? Was she just acting out of habit? What the hell was going on with her?

Maybe everything would change when she got back home.

Maybe she decided that leaving him was a mistake.

Rusty found himself smiling everyday he opened her new email.

Maybe they had something special after all.

§

There are moments in life when the emotions of another person fill an entire room. When you take one look at a woman and you can tell that she loves you more deeply than you ever imagined you could be loved. When you take one look at a woman and you can tell that she is devastated and she needs you to hold her like she’s never needed to be held before. When you take one look at a woman and you can tell she desires you and you will be going home with her that night and it will become one of the top three best nights of lovemaking you’ve ever experienced.

When Rusty picked Amy up from the airport, he took one look at her and could tell that she would have been happier if the Devil himself were there to pick her up. Had Rusty been a bloated, pustulant demon, scarred with fetid boils oozing sewage, rotten moose cumshots and dead baby intestines, Amy could not have had a more disgusted look on her face. Rusty had heard of the temperature dropping by twenty degrees in a room from the single look of a spiteful woman. He never felt that kind of chill until he saw Amy walk off the plane from Denmark.

What the hell?

She kissed him goodbye.

She spent over a month flirting in emails.

Now she looks like he’s the last person on earth she ever wanted to see.

What? The? Hell?

“Hey!” Rusty managed a forced smile and threw up his arms to hug her.

Amy returned the hug with all the passion of a dead jellyfish and murmured, “Hi” so quiet and muffled, he could barely hear her, even though her mouth was only inches from his ear.

Yeah.

She really wished he was not the one coming to pick her up.

He kinda got the hint.

Why the hell did she still have him pick her up, if she resented his presence so much?

Why didn’t she ask someone else?

Rusty would never understand women, all right. Sometimes he wondered, were all women this crazy or was the rest of the world filled with intelligent and mentally stable women, that he would be forever cursed, to never meet?

§

“Would you like something to drink?” Rusty asked as she entered his apartment.

“No. I’m fine.” Amy sighed.

She gave that irritated sigh people use when they really don’t want to see someone anymore. The one that says, “Every word you speak irritates the shit out of me now.”

He could have been shouting “Fire!” in a burning building and she’d be willing to stay behind and burn to death, just out of spite, because she refused to listen to him.

She had stopped over to pick up her copy of a novel she had written. Amy let him borrow it when they first met. Rusty had been so impressed with this woman. Not only was she an actress and a globetrotting business woman, but she was an aspiring writer too? Lots of people talk about writing novels, but this was only the second time he ever met a girl who actually finished writing one.

He excused himself to the bedroom and retrieved the ring binder containing the typed pages of her manuscript. As he touched the cover, he knew, this was probably the last time he’d ever see her. That knowing feeling poured out of his spine and trickled on the carpet like a mortifying leak in a thunderstorm.

He mumbled to himself. No words. Simply a sound that didn’t mean much of anything but disappointment.

Walking back to the livingroom, he gave Amy her story.

“Here you go.”

“Thanks,” she said to her hands. She couldn’t even look at him.

They took a seat on the couch and she said nothing.

He sat next her, not sure what was happening.

She broke up with him.

She kissed him at the airport.

She spent the last three months flirting in emails.

Now she acts like she can’t stand him.

What was going on?

Maybe if he had been a blubbering wimp who had cried and begged her to stay, her little mindgames would make sense. Then, Rusty would have presumed she was deliberately sending mixed-signals just to drive him away. Make herself the unappealing bitch from hell. But in this case, Rusty was fine with the break up. So, why on earth would she feel the need to go all psychochick on him?

Rusty playfully wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Come onnnn. What’s wrong?”

He gently rocked her side to side and she pulled away from him, “Okay! That’s enough!”

Her face winced as a hand went up to massage her neck.

Oops.

He had forgotten.

She had been in a car accident a few months before they met and her whiplash never quite healed. She had told him, side to side movements with her head still hurt most of all.

It was one of those awkward moments when Rusty realized that he probably just did one of the worst things he could have done in terms of adding to her irritation.

Damnit.

He didn’t want to apologize. He should have. But he just wanted to pretend it hadn’t happened. He was too embarrassed that he had forgotten. Instead, he made a quick excuse to use the bathroom.

Rusty thought if he left her alone for a second, maybe she’d stop staring such venom into his eyes. He could feel her getting ready to walk out the door any second and he knew today was the day. He could feel it. Were she to walk out that door feeling so annoyed with him, she was never coming back. This day marked the end. The true end.

Unless he could turn her around.

§

Alone in Rusty’s livingroom, Amy was delighted that he left the room. She could just leave. She could go. She didn’t even have to look at him again. She’d just shout down the hallway that she was leaving. She wanted to do it so bad. Never see him again. Never confront him. Just run away. Women leave Rusty like that all the time. She knew that. He told her as much. Amy knew if she did it to him too, he would hate her all the more. Be all the more brokenhearted. Would be less likely to ever call her again.

Just as she drew in her breath to speak, she turned to look at the hallway and a little girl was standing there.

The girl was beautiful and blonde and looked to be only about 10 to 13 years old. She wore no shoes and her clothing was flowing and casual, a creamy patterned summerdress. The garment hung upon her tiny frame as one would imagine on preteen girls, frolicking eastern seaboard shores, running through sand dunes and New England beach grass. Softly, the girl smiled at Amy. For a split second, it almost looked like she was glittering as she rounded the corner. But that must have been a trick of the light. The sight of her frightened Amy so much, she let out a startled, “Oh!”

“Hello,” the little girl grinned like cool watermelon slices.

“Uh. Hello.” Amy said, still frightened and puzzled. “Who are you?”

“Oona.”

“Oona?”

“Yep!” Oona said, plopping down on the couch.

Amy looked at her as if Oona were a talking three-headed horse. “Okay. And how do you know Rusty?”

“He’s my daddy.”

Amy was livid. Daddy!? What the hell was this? All these months of dating and he claimed he was never married! Claimed he never had children! Now his daughter just pops out from the fucking hallway!? Where had she been all this time? Staying with her mother? Who was her mother? Was he still married!?

Amy was full of anger and rage like she had not known for years.

She was conflicted so badly, it felt as if her soul had jumped out of her body and run out of the apartment. Now more than ever, she wanted to leave and never look back. At the same time, she wanted some answers and she wanted to rip through Rusty like a railroad spike covered in bottlerockets. That lying bastard!

“Your daddy?” Amy said, tossing her hair in an effort to release the smoke coming off the back of her neck. “I see. And where is your mommy?”

Oona shrugged, “We’re still looking. He needs to look harder and stop touching himself so much.”

Amy was disgusted. “Pardon me!?”

“Daddy touches himself a lot.”

Amy’s head was spinning. Dear God. Dear God. How would Oona know something like that!? Touching himself? Was he abusing this poor little girl!? Amy felt nauseated. Had she been having an affair with a goddamn pedophile? Rusty was raping his own daughter? This was a nightmare! Was that why he kept his daughter a secret? Oh, God, no. Please, no. That was just too disgusting to imagine. This couldn’t be happening.

“My sister told me about you. Are you daddy’s fuckbuddy?”

Amy nearly fainted. “What!? Sister? That’s - uh, you shouldn’t be using that kind of language at your age.”

Oh, God. That goddamn pervert was abusing this poor girl. How else would she know words like “fuckbuddy” unless he was... she couldn’t finish the thought. And she had a sister too!? Was Rusty having sex with these little girls and then going down on Amy the same day? Did Amy put his penis in her mouth after he had put himself inside his daughters? Amy felt her stomach tense. She feared she was going to throw up. Trembling, Amy asked, “Sister!? You have a sister?”

“Twin sister. Isabeau.”

“I see,” Amy could barely speak she was so revolted. Her voice quivered like she was about to burst into tears. Maybe she was, but they were tears of anger and pity for these poor abused girls who didn’t seem to know their daddy was a monster. “And where is Isabeau? Is she with your mom?”

Rusty heard Amy’s muffled voice from down the hall as he walked back to the livingroom. Rusty presumed Amy was talking to him. “What was that!? I couldn’t hear you.”

His heart skipped half a dozen beats when he saw Oona and Amy sitting on the couch. He actually stumbled back into his computer desk. “Isabeau!?”

Oona turned around and smiled, “Daddyyyyy! No, I’m Oona!”

She flipped around and jumped up, bouncing off the couch cushions and throwing up her arms.

Rusty stood there baffled.

What kind of game was she playing?

“Oona?”

Isabeau came out of the bedroom and walked down the hall towards the livingroom. She announced, “I’m Isabeau. She’s Oona.”

“What the hell?” Rusty stared back and forth between his twin daughters, unable to tell them apart.

“What the hell is right!” Amy spat. Her hands were shaking.

“Amy, I - ”

“ - Oh, save it! You disgusting pervert! How does she know you touch yourself? You make your daughters watch that!?”

“What!?” Rusty’s gaze bounced all over the room; from Amy to Oona to Isabeau. He had no idea what was happening or where to look. “Touch myself? What are you talking about!? How can you see them!?”

“Well, I guess you forgot to lock them up this time!”

“What!? No. No. That’s not what I meant!”

“How dare you lie to me all these months!”

“Lie to you?”

Amy motioned to the girls, “You tell me you don’t have kids! Then you’re abusing them!? While having sex with me!?”

“Abusing!? No! Isabeau! Tell her! I’ve never abused - I didn’t know. I had no idea anyone could see her but me!”

Amy began to storm out of the apartment, “What!? Nobody could see her!? You mean you do keep them locked up!? Oh, what, like your own little sex slaves? You fucking sicko! You’re going to jail! I’m calling the police!”

“What!? Wait. No! Amy! Hold on!”

“No one else could see them!? What the hell is that supposed to mean!? Oh, you are sick! To think I actually felt something for you! You fucking monster!” Waves convulsed in her stomach. “I’m going to be sick!”

“No, no! You don’t understand! I thought Isabeau was a ghost! She just materialized one night! And I never met Oona until just now! I never knew she existed!”

Amy stared, her jaw agape. Recomposing herself, she wrinkled her nose, “Oh, you are insane! There is something fucking wrong with you! No! Get away, don’t touch me! Stay away from me, you psycho!”

Rushing out the front door, Rusty chased after her. “Wait! Amy! Listen to me! Let me explain!”

“Explain what? That you’re a lying fucking pedophile! Get away from me, Rusty! Rusty! You pedophile! Pedophile! Rusty in apartment 301 is a fucking pedophile! I’m calling the police!” Amy screamed in the apartment hallway, staring at the neighboring doors as she did it. She made sure to repeat “pedophile” and his name as often as possible, as loud as possible.

Rusty stared daggers at her.

Great. All his neighbors were going to hear that.

This was a nightmare.

Rusty was right in thinking he’d never see Amy again.

He just never imagined it would end like this.

§

Isabeau and Oona were sitting on the couch when Rusty came back into his apartment. He heard Amy’s engine rev down the drive as she sped away from the apartment complex of the perverted lying pedophile she used to have sex with. No doubt headed straight for the nearest police station.

He made extra sure to lock the door, so his neighbors wouldn’t come to confront the creep down the hall.

Staring at his daughters, he wearily sighed and simply said, “What the hell just happened?”

The girls said nothing.

Isabeau smiled uncomfortably.

Oona still looked thrilled to see Rusty.

“Would you care to explain?” Rusty said, very calmly. “Who are you?”

Isabeau sighed and answered, “Daddy, this is my twin sister, Oona.”

“Hi!” Oona chirped.

Despite the dark and shadowy countenance of Isabeau and the bright and airy appearance of Oona, they were clearly identical twins. Yin and yang. Light and dark. Two halves of the coin.

Rusty took a deep breath. “Twin sister.” He crossed his arms. “I see. And can you explain why I’m just finding out about this now?”

“Well, I - ”

Rusty cut her off, “ - Because you know something? At this point, I’m starting to question things again. I’m starting to question if you’re really my daughters or if you’re some kind of horrible demons come to curse my life! Because thanks to you, I now have a psychotic ex-girlfriend who thinks I’m a goddamn pedophile! What the hell did you say to her!? Now I’m going to have the cops at my door! What are you going to do to me then!? Run around the place naked and tell them how great I am in bed!? I don’t think my daughters would ever treat me this way! What are you things!? Are you demons!?”

Oona was looking at the floor.

Isabeau frowned, but was still making eye contact with Rusty. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault. Don’t blame Oona.”

“Your fault?”

“I told her to do that.”

“Why? Dear God, why would you do that?”

“Amy was bad for you! She was bringing you down and - ”

“ - Isabeau! Our relationship is over! I was never going to see Amy after today!”

“I just wanted to freak her out a little. Make sure she stays away.”

“Or make sure you destroy my life because you’re demons!” Rusty stared poker game eyes, trying to read them. “Sometimes, I feel like I’m just meant to do some good in the lives of people for a short time. But I think you might be out to destroy that.”

“No, daddy! I’m sorry. I just wanted you to move on. I guess I was just thinking about myself. I shouldn’t have done that.”

Rusty started to reconsider.

Maybe they weren’t demons.

After all, she could have ruined his life a year ago if she was some evil spirit. Why wait?

No, it was more likely that they were well-meaning girls who had made a big mistake. Rusty barked, “We talked about this! We need to let my relationships unfold naturally. Remember? We can’t be trying to manipulate girls by telling them about you. Now, I meant we can’t try to make girls stay with me, but I guess I should have specified that you can’t scare the shit out of them into leaving either!”

Rusty hated using profanity around his daughters, but if ever a time was appropriate, it was this. Near car accidents and false accusations of pedophilia both qualify as moments when a cuss word is acceptable to drive the point home.

“So, you don’t think we’re demons?”

Rusty’s posture sank. Isabeau deflated him with one sentence.

Of course he didn’t think that.

As he felt when they first met, there was something undeniably pure about her. Now, he felt that towards Oona too.

Isabeau jerked her head at her sister. You hurt her feelings.

Oona still hadn’t looked up.

Guilt trickled off Oona’s body and splashed into Rusty’s toes.

“No,” Rusty replied. “No, of course not. I don’t think you’re demons. You act like demons. But I don’t think you are.”

His joke fell flat.

Softly, he said, “Hey, Oona, I’m sorry.”

“It was her fault!” Oona finally sprang up, pointing at her twin. “Just like she said! I wouldn’t have done that. I thought it would be a bad idea!”

“Yeah! You did. I took the blame already! You don’t have to be like that!” Isabeau whined in that shrill arguing-a-with-a-sister voice.

“Hey, no, it’s okay. I’m sorry I yelled at you both.”

Oona wasn’t crying, but she seemed to have missed it by inches.

“I’m sorry. That was a bad decision on my part.” Isabeau admitted.

“You think?” Rusty scolded.

Both girls sat quiet. Lips pursed in remorse.

Rusty studied them. “Twins, huh?” With an affectionate smile, he added, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Oona.”

Oona grinned. You could see how much she wanted to leap into her daddy’s arms, but the tension still prevented that from happening. Rusty wanted to hug her, but something still startled him about touching the girls. Even after all this time, he felt strange about physical contact with such ghostly things.

“You too, daddy.” Oona said bashfully.

“Lovely name too.”

“I think you picked it.” Oona nodded.

Isabeau added, “I think mom picks my name.”

Rusty smiled, “You know why I pick Oona?”

Oona nodded, “The prettiest faerie in your favorite movie.”

“That’s right.” Rusty was glad she knew.

Isabeau said, “And mom picks mine for a cursed princess.”

“How do you know?” Rusty wondered.

Isabeau shrugged. “Just feel it. Like I can’t see her face, or hear her voice, but I feel her tell me that story.”

Rusty grinned, happy that it made him feel like he knew something about their mother. Even if it was a small thing. “Oh, girls. Girls. Girls. Girls. Why didn’t you tell me you had a sister sooner? This was not a good way to break this news to me!”

“Sorry, dad.”

“Sorry, daddy.”

“It’s okay. I forgive you. I just want to know why you did it.”

Isabeau explained, “Well, we knew you’d be freaked out to meet us. So, we figured one at a time would be easier. We didn’t want to wait so long. Then, we figured we had waited too long, so we should just do it as soon as possible.”

Chuckling and massaging his face, Rusty said, “So your reasoning was that I’d be more freaked out by two ghost daughters instead of one?”

“We’re not ghosts!” Isabeau yelled, playfully tossing a pillow.

“I know!”

“I keep telling you that! You don’t listen!”

“I listen, but what else am I supposed to call you!? There’s no other word for what you are!”

“I guess ghosts is fine.” Oona agreed.

“Oh, great. Now you’re encouraging him?” Isabeau smacked her sister in the arm.

“Hey, don’t hit your sister.”

“Oh, great. Daddy’s girl!” Isabeau whined.

“Don’t worry.” Rusty assured, “Clothing aside, it’s not like I can tell you apart.”

Isabeau leaned back and pulled up her dress almost all the way to her innermost thigh, exposing herself completely to Rusty.

“Whoa! Hey! What are you doing!?” Rusty turned away, blushing.

“Look!” Isabeau said, pointing.

“Put your skirt down!”

“Daddy, you’re going to see us totally naked when you change our diapers.”

“I’m not going to see you naked at this age.”

“Would you just look!”

Rusty peeked around his shoulder and Isabeau pointed at a strawberry birthmark the size of a thumbnail up near her groin. “See? Oona doesn’t have one of these.”

“Oh, a lot of good that does! You expect me to flip up your dresses everytime I talk to you?”

The girls looked at each other and giggled.

Isabeau lowered her skirt.

Oona tossed her hair, “She’s just kidding. Here.” Oona pointed at her temple and there were two little dotted birthmarks just in front of her ear. “That’s how you can tell too. Isabeau doesn’t have these either.”

Rusty walked across the room and stared, comparing the sides of their heads. “Oh, yeah. Look at that. Yes, that’s better than birthmarks on your, um - ”

“ - Pussy lips?” Isabeau laughed.

“Isabeau!”

“What? That’s where it’s by.”

Frazzled, Rusty heaved, “Well, at least say... vagina. That’s more ladylike. And it’s not on it. It’s on your thigh.”

“Close enough.”

“Seriously, Isabeau. Don’t be obnoxious. Show some class. Some decorum. You’re a noble girl. Behave like one.”

Her father had a way of cutting to what mattered to her.

She was just trying to be funny. But her daddy was right. She never wanted to be the kind of girl who just expected everyone to treat her like a princess. She wanted to make sure she was always conducting herself like one.

After all, nobility isn’t in how others treat you.

Nobility is in the poise you carry in yourself.

Isabeau thought someone told her that one time. And she liked it.

People often say things are “customary” as a polite way to say outdated. Isabeau disagreed. Being classy never becomes antiquated and she wanted to preserve some old fashioned values. She believed the world was better that way.

Isabeau gave a strange smile, as if she were happy to be admonished. Perhaps she was. Maybe this was a moment when kids test their parents to make sure the parents keep them in line. “Yes, daddy. I’m sorry.”

“Remember, if you expect to be treated like a queen, you need to act like one. That wasn’t how a noble queen would behave.”

“Yes, daddy. You’re right.” Isabeau was still staring downward.

Leaning back on the couch, Rusty sighed. “You girls. Are you going to be this much trouble when you’re born?”

They looked at each other and crumpled up their faces.

“No.”

“No. Far more trouble.”

“Yeah, I thought so.” Rusty groaned, then sat up again quickly. “Hey, come to think of it.”

“What?”

“Well, now that is it, right? Just the two of you? I don’t want to find out in another month that you’re triplets or something! You’re all my children, right? There are no more. You’re not hiding extra siblings somewhere in the netherworlds? Are you?”

“No. No. We promise. It’s just us!” Isabeau laughed.

“Promise?”

“Promise. Promise. Just us.”

“Christ. Twin girls. I’m gonna need to make more money!”

“Yeah. We want lots of dresses.” Oona joked.

“Heck, no.” Rusty said without missing a beat, “You’re getting jeans. That way if you ever have a little brother someday, I don’t need to buy any new clothes.”

“Cheapskate!” Isabeau chortled. “Mommy will buy us dresses.”

“Yeah. Let’s hope she makes lots of money too!”

As they laughed together, Rusty’s face slowly drew graven.

Finally, he looked truly disturbed and the unsettled look worried the twins. “Daddy?”

“What’s wrong?” Isabeau wondered.

“You’re real.”

“Yeah.” Isabeau raised her eyebrows, “You’re just realizing that?”

“Yes! I mean...” Rusty paused again, the events of the afternoon replying in his head. “My God, you’re real!”

“Of course.”

Rusty sprang off the couch. “No, I mean, other people can see you! I thought maybe you were hallucinations! You know that? I mean, for the longest time, I thought maybe you were just in my own imagination.”

“You didn’t know everyone could see us?” Oona wondered.

“No! I thought it was just me! I mean, at first I wasn’t sure. But I started to think, maybe not.”

“I’m sorry. You should have asked. I could have told you that. Of course everyone sees us.” Isabeau nodded. “You’re not delusional.”

“You knew this all along?”

“Yes. Obviously!”

“Oh, jeezus.” Rusty covered his mouth with a hand as if just realizing the implications. “Amy has seen you too. You can’t be a figment of my imagination. You have to be real!” Rusty grew terrified, looking back at the times Isabeau was with him. What if someone had seen her? What does he say in the future if people start asking questions?

Suddenly it hit him.

Worst of all, this means if the police show up...

“Girls, you need to go.” Rusty demanded.

“Why?”

“Amy thinks I’m a child molester! She’s going to call the police. When they show up, you can not be here.”

Oona apologized again, “I’m sorry, daddy.”

“We’ll fix this. I promise.” Isabeau’s voice dropped into whiskey octaves with genuine remorse.

“You can fix it by never being seen with me before you’re born!”

“Yes, sir.”

“We understand.”

Rusty was taking no chances. He didn’t want to treat his daughters like they were stupid, but he was sure to repeat himself. “You do realize you need to leave completely when the police show up? Right? This is no joke! And you can’t reappear! Okay? Understood? Don’t go rematerializing and running around saying - ”

“ - We won’t. We won’t. Promise. We understand it’s not a joke and you could get into a lot of trouble.” Isabeau reassured.

“Yeah. We know better. We won’t be here at all. We promise.” Oona replied.

“More than just trouble. I could go to prison. You understand that? This isn’t like I’d just get a ticket or something. Okay? They will handcuff me and haul me away in a few minutes if you lie to them like you did to Amy. This is not a game.”

“No, no. We get it. Honest.”

“Don’t worry, daddy. We won’t mess it up.”

“So, what are you going to do?” Rusty asked.

“We’re going to leave.”

“And we won’t appear as long as the police are here.”

Satisfied, Rusty smiled. “Okay. Good job, girls. Thank you.”

§

When the police arrived, they went to the management office first. No, the people on the management team never saw any children or young girls with Rusty. No, he never acted strange. Yes, he was the only person on the lease. No dependents. Always paid his rent on time. Never any problems. No complaints from the neighbors.

Once the authorities came by to see Rusty, he cooperated completely. He didn’t hesitate to let them into his apartment. He explained that he never had children, or foster children, or adopted children. Even friends and coworkers never brought any of their kids over. He wasn’t sure how the police could check that, but surely there must be some way for them to see he had never been married, never was listed as a father in any birth records or taxes. No court orders for alimony or child support. No hospital records of having kids. His apartment had no signs of children in it. No kids toys or clothes or books or pictures or anything. No evidence of a secret room or a sex dungeon. He was a bachelor with a respectable job and no criminal record and his ex-girlfriend was just a crazy sociopath making false accusations. You know how nuts scorned girlfriends can be.

Yeah, the cops knew.

“I’m very sorry to waste your time, officers. We got into a big fight and she threatened me that she was going to do this. I tried to warn her. I told her she could get into a lot of trouble for filing a false police report. I didn’t honestly think she’d go through with it.”

After questioning him for 15 minutes, the police left, thanked him for his time, and apologized for disturbing his day.

§

Rusty and his daughters sat in his bedroom. The night was cozy and soft. The girls had sleeping bags and blankets sprawled across the floor, just like the sleepovers Rusty had with friends back in gradeschool. He felt like he was 13 again himself. “Why can’t you just tell me who she is?”

“What do you mean?” Isabeau asked.

“Well, if you know I’m going to be your father, why don’t you know your mother? I don’t understand. Don’t you know who she is? Didn’t we tell you where we met?”

Oona answered, “No. Daddy, it doesn’t work that way.”

“Why not? Can’t you at least tell me her name? Tell me where I met her? Save me all the trouble of these pointless dates with the wrong girls? You already know who I am. If you know me, why don’t you know her?”

Isabeau shook her head, “Yes, we know who you are right now. But I don’t think you’re understanding how this works. This isn’t time travel. We’re not from the future. We haven’t been born yet! So, we don’t know the whole story of how you and mom met each other, because it hasn’t happened! This isn’t Charles Dickens. I’m not the ghost of Christmas future!”

Oona giggled.

Rusty leaned on his hand. “But you knew where you got your names. How could you know that?”

“We just know.”

Rusty snorted. “Okay. I’m sorry. That sounds like time travel to me. You have knowledge of future events.”

“We sense the emotions of future events, not details.”

“Knowing your name sounds like a detail to me.”

Isabeau sighed, “This isn’t about names. You just want us to tell you who our mother happens to be.”

“I just... Well, I feel stupid now. I just assumed. I mean, if you knew me, I assumed you knew her. You know your dad. You know your mom.”

Isabeau saucered her eyes, the frustrated child having to repeat herself to the parent who doesn’t listen. “I tried explaining that when we met.”

Waving off the past he knew he should have paid closer attention to, Rusty defended, “No, no. I know that. I realize you did. It was just a poor miscommunication. That’s all. I misunderstood.”

“Sorry if I hadn’t made myself clear.” Isabeau frowned.

Rusty was pleasantly surprised at such a mature shift of blame. Sometimes he forgot how young he was.

“No, hey, I’m sorry too. I should have asked you better questions. Been more clear. I guess I was just in such shock and I wasn’t thinking. Or I was assuming things I shouldn’t have. Or whatever. You didn’t do anything wrong. Neither did I. I’m equally at fault here. Sorry I took that all wrong. So, if you’re not a vision from the future, you’re - ”

“ - We’re spirits of the here and now. We can’t predict the future anymore than you can.” Oona explained.

“There are others like you then?”

“What do you mean?” Isabeau wondered.

“Oona said ‘we’? Are there other spirits out there?”

Oona clarified, smoothing out a blanket and flicking her finger at her sister and back. “I meant ‘we’ as in Isabeau and myself. I have no idea if there are other unborn spirits. I imagine there must be. Somewhere.”

This was another point where Rusty became confused. “How can you not know? See, that’s what I mean. You don’t see any other spirits on the other side?”

Isabeau groaned and punched the blankets with both her fists. “Dad! There is no ‘other side’. Listen... have you ever had a dream where you just know certain things? You’re not sure how you know them, you just do. Like in a dream, you might know the names of people you never met or you might know how to get through a house or a building you’ve never been in before.”

Nodding, Rusty could relate to those feelings. “Yes.”

Isabeau nodded along with him. “Okay. And have you ever forgotten things in a dream? Things you’d never forget in real life? Like maybe you forget your address or you do something weird like you remember your mothers name wrong? In the dream, you keep calling her ‘Becky’ and it makes perfect sense in the dream, but when you wake up, you remember her name is June and you wonder why you kept calling her Becky. You know what I mean?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ve had that kind of weird stuff happen in dreams. I mean, that’s what dreams are. They’re all weird. All strange.”

“Right. Everything just gets really weird, but while you’re in the dream, all that weirdness seems totally normal. Well, this is exactly the same for us.” Isabeau again waved a finger between her sister and herself. “Being here with you, the time we spend together, that’s how this feels to us - like a confused dream. That’s how we know where we got our names. There are some things we know for certain. Some things we don’t remember. Some things we have no idea about. So, I’m sorry if we can’t answer all of your questions about the afterlife... or, I guess, in this case, it’s the beforelife. We’re not trying to be mysterious or frustrate you. We’re not trying to be evasive or hide some sort of secrets from you. We honestly just... don’t have the answers.”

“Yeah.” Oona agreed.

“I’m sorry. You’re right. I didn’t understand. I didn’t realize that’s what it was like for you.” Rusty understood something about his daughters that had never crossed his mind until just then. He asked them something he thought he was finally starting to grasp. “Where do you go when you’re not here? You don’t know, do you?”

The girls looked at each other.

They didn’t seem to be silent because they were hiding anything. They looked silent because they hadn’t really thought about it. “No. I haven’t any idea.”

Oona agreed. “I know I’m not here with you all the time. But I can’t really explain where I am when I’m not here.”

Isabeau concurred with her sister. “Yeah. Yeah. Again, it’s like the limbo between awake and dreaming. When I’m not here, I know I still exist, it’s just that, I’m not really aware that I exist. Just like you don’t know you exist while you’re asleep.”

Oona fluttered her eyes closed softly and said, “We were all born of shadows that we must love more than all the starlight that listens to midnight prayers before they reach Heaven.”

Isabeau nodded in agreement.

Rusty was charmed by her poetry, “That was beautiful. What’s that from?”

“I made it up.”

Embarrassed that he didn’t realize it, Rusty grimaced. “Sorry. It was lovely though.”

“Thanks.” Oona winked.

Finding this fascinating, Rusty said, “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.” Isabeau replied.

Looking slightly ashamed Rusty pushed the air down with his palms and if to clam the space between them. “I’m sorry, sweetie. Please don’t be insulted by this.”

“It’s okay, daddy. Just ask me.”

“Well, if all of what you said is true, and again, please don’t take this the wrong way, but... how do you know I’m your dad?”

Isabeau and Oona smiled at each other.

For a few moments, they didn’t say a word.

Rusty just looked at them. At these two glorious creatures. Two perfect beings. He wanted so much for them to be real. He thought of how fathers must feel when they look upon their daughters. In that moment, he realized other fathers have never experienced this and that his feelings were unique in all the world. Here he was falling in love not with his children, but with the dream and the spirits of what they had the potential to become.

More than ever, he feared failure.

Feared he would never find their mother.

Feared he would let them down.

“Daddy?”

“Yes, Isabeau?”

“You tell me,” she motioned to Oona, “is she your daughter?”

Rusty tumbled in those emotions like that sock that always goes missing in the dryer and magically reappears in two weeks. Warm and spinny fluffiness flipped all around him. “...Yes. You are. You both are my girls. I feel it too. I don’t know how I know. But you are.”

“See?”

“But I still don’t get how you know I’m your dad, but you don’t know which girl is your mom.”

Oona spoke very plainly. “It’s always changing, daddy.”

“You mean who she might be?” Rusty found that notion intriguing. The universe in flux? The connection of souls evermoving? The perfect girl one day is screaming that you’re a pedophile the next? Were the synapses of spirit constantly severing and reconnecting? The flow of their spirits always morphing through the rivers of time and happenstance?

Somehow, that almost felt right to him. A deeply seeded wisdom found it’s way to sprouting and once it was on the surface, the life of that insight felt true and good. Offhandedly, he said to his daughters, “The potential girl isn’t always the same person? You’re saying the future is not set. The road can vary.”

Oona grinned, happy that her father understood. “Yes. Our souls connect and rebound and reflect off one another.”

Isabeau nudged her sister with a sway. “Yeah. Some of us are woven tight and joined into one. Others are simply intertwined loosely or brushing past one another. Haven’t you ever felt that way about people you meet? Instant connections with some? Others you know for years and never become close to?”

Rusty smiled, remembering.

He had certainly felt that.

With many people.

Oona crawled up to his bed. Rusty was still apprehensive about touching these girls. Only because, after all this time, he was still freaked out that they weren’t physical beings. But now, Oona came to him with such a purity, such an innocence, he couldn’t help but let down his guard and open up to her. She curled into his lap. Her body was warm and tender and he felt like his chest and arms had grown to twice their size - the papa bear protective of his little cub.

He dared to touch her hair. It flowed between his fingers, feathery as spiderwebs and smooth as coconut oil.

Isabeau smiled at them both, pleased that her sister was finally getting through to their father. Kindling his heart and hers alike.

Fears and hesitations melting away, Rusty caressed Oona on her delicate cheek, those scintillating eyes dreaming up at her father with a strange look of love and sorrow, joy and hope. Oona whispered like honeysuckle, “We’ve known each other before, daddy. You’ve been my father more than once. You’ve always been a part of who I am.” Smiling a wry wisdom older than her years, she added, “I’ll know you forever.”

Then, in quite a sudden flash, she popped up her head and kissed his cheek.

Pixiedust gold glitter, like the fizz of sparklers, trickled between her lips and over his face.

“Ohh!” Isabeau exclaimed, apparently as shocked by the fireworks as Oona and Rusty.

Rusty felt dizzy. Had he not already been sitting on his bed, he would have likely fallen to the floor slumped in that exact position. Oona’s kiss was the first time, the only time, he ever saw his girls dazzle in that golden light, other than those brief seconds when they first appear. The light was much harder to see during the day too. But in the instant, in his nighttime room, it was as bubbly as Saturday morning drapes in a breeze.

“Wow.” Rusty brushed his face.

Oona’s eyes puffed emerald green and blues.

As his dizziness faded, Rusty sizzled with his hair stood on end, toasted with a sense of love and affection that glowed a deep ember somewhere far inside his chest. Somewhere that felt deeper than his heart. As if his body held the whole of the universe within it, and the passion which shone for his daughter was the glow of a star, born far beyond one of those distant galaxies. Being with Isabeau and Oona made him feel there was more inside the inaccessible reaches of his soul than he ever knew. He started to feel missing parts of himself become whole; parts he never realized were incomplete, until the three of them were joined again.

Even more than that.

More than a sense of being complete, for the first time ever, he felt capable of being bigger than himself. At long last, that one kiss gave him a sense of unity with the cosmos, and an unbreakable bond to vital things, important things, beyond all he had previously been.

For the bliss of that love, for the splendor of that heartache, all he could imagine was finding that one true love who would blossom these children into the world.

He had to find her.

Chapter Four

Eleven months had passed since Rusty had spoken to Amy.

In all that time, he never dated anyone else.

All his life, Rusty was a firm believer in trusting his instincts.

We hear the advice to trust our instincts all the time. Magazine articles tell you to do that. Movies send that message. Children’s programs on television tell kids to follow their heart. Politicians will say it during speeches. Teachers tell students. Parents tell children.

Trust your instincts.

Follow your heart.

Listen to your gut.

The one thing no one ever tells you is that sometimes, it’s hard to distinguish a guiding instinct from a persistently useless idea.

Rusty couldn’t stop thinking about posting a casting call for a photography project he had in mind.

He wasn’t sure if it was instinct or a useless idea, but the voice became so insistent, he imagined a future-version of himself might walk around the corner any moment, holding hands with his daughters, telling him he must do this immediately.

Rusty didn’t even have a clear vision of the project.

Just some sketches.

He thought, now that he was doing Dreamwalker Photography, a cool way to promote himself would be to make a photography book. But not just any book. The images would all be amazing and magical depictions of fantasy creatures and mythological creations. He’d composite all the work in the computer and make it as realistic and phantasmagorical as possible.

This was something he knew would take months to complete.

He kept putting it off and putting it off.

Finally, his instincts screamed at him to stop dragging his feet!

Thankfully, he was still working at the architecture firm and could have a steady income while he tried to get his photography off the ground. His continued full-time employment also helped him secure the bank loan. Thank goodness. Amy had long since relinquished her offer to loan him the money. Obviously. Hell, she relinquished that offer before she even stopped sleeping with him. What a nightmare that would have been to be in debt to her for several grand.

Yes, there were no more excuses.

He had to get moving.

His visions for The Brocéliande Passage photography book had to become a reality.

Now.

§

Not ten minutes after he posted his casting call online, he received an email from a girl who was interested.

Mikayla Krauskopf.

He looked at her modeling profile and that feeling hit him.

The same feeling he had when a girl leaves his life forever.

The feeling the instant he saw the girl he lost his virginity to.

The feeling of the cosmos shifting, oh, so slightly.

Mikayla looked like an Italian Renaissance painting come to life. Thick black hair twirled over her shoulders in endless coils. The locations she photographed in, the dresses she wore, her posture, the tilt of a hand, you could tell in an instant, this girl was a passionate romantic. Her poses were the covers of romance novels without the sweaty and muscular stable boys. She hardly seemed real; not in this day and age. Mikayla looked out of place in modern times. Her curves, her breasts, her hips, every inch of her physique, up to those deep brown eyes, felt like they belonged on a woman from the 18th century. Mikayla was a vision of times past. An apparition of things that were. Simpler times. When love was easier to find. A time of petticoats and gallantry. When passion took hold of the hearts of men and women with a stronger grasp. When the world was not so weary.

Mikayla was the kind of model who was so beautiful, you never wanted to meet her. Because her voice would never be as sweet as what you imagine. Her personality would never be as innocent as you dreamed. Her kindness would never be as giving as you would hope. So long as she remained nothing more than an image, she could remain perfection.

Rusty wrote back to her immediately.

At all times, it pays to trust your instincts.

Sometimes, it pays to be cautious.

Other times, it pays to throw caution to the wind.

§

Oona popped up behind her dad. “Whatcha doin’!?”

As Rusty peeled himself off the ceiling, he was glad he hadn’t eaten bean burritos that night.

“JEEZUS! Do you have to do that?”

Oona laughed mischievously.

“See, your sister does that by mistake! You do it on purpose!”

“Maybe.”

“What do you want, Oona?”

“I wanna talk to my daddy. What are you doing!?”

“Sending emails. Working on that photography shoot.”

“Oh! For the book you told Isabeau and I about?”

Rusty was proud of Oona for saying “Isabeau and I” instead of “me and Isabeau” and smiled, “Yeah. For that.”

“Cool.” Oona went over to the corner of the spare bedroom and sat on Rusty’s mountain bike. “Um, you remember when you asked me and Isabeau,” (Darnit, Rusty thought.) “about why we’ve shown up at this point in your life? And we said there was no reason? Well, there might be one.”

Rusty was intrigued. Was she remembering more? Did the girls start to develop a better sense of why or where they happen to be? “What do you mean, there might be one?”

Oona stopped fooling around with the bicycle and looked intently at Rusty. Shoulders slumped forward and she obviously was about to say something of utmost importance. Something that might change the dynamics of their entire existence and relationship. “I think, we are here, to help you find our mother, or else we can’t be born.”

Rusty waited for something more.

That was it?

Oona leaned back, awaiting her dad to reply.

Rusty was almost relieved that her profound insight wasn’t as dramatic as she had made it out to be. Afraid she might interpret his amusement as mockery, he swallowed his laughter and gave only a miniscule smile. “Well, yes. I - I know that, sweetheart. Your sister already told me that way back on the first night we met. Wait. You think? What do you mean, you think? You’re not sure!?"

“Well, just knowing that you were nothing more than a fuckbuddy for Amy made me panic a bit.”

“Hey! Watch the language, young lady. She was a ‘friend with benefits’.”

“Whatever. Dad, I’d appreciate it if you were less worried about my use of cuss words and more worried about my lack of existing!”

Family know how to say things that sting the most.

Even when they haven’t been born yet.

How could he argue with her? She was right. He’d been single for a year. He hadn’t gone out with anyone since Amy. Not one date. Not one girl. Nothing. Could he blame his daughters for being a little angry with him?

No.

They had every right to be frustrated.

“Right. Sorry. No, you’re totally justified. I was wrong. I’m sorry. Sometimes I forget that you’re not real.”

“Not real?”

Rusty always thought it was kind of stupid in movies and books when people would meet ghosts and eventually just carry on normal conversations with them.

He always figured that in real life, you’d be screaming in shock every single time you encountered an otherworldy spirit. You’d be so stunned by the existence of this creature, you’d be freaking out every single time they showed up.

Now that he was living such an impossible experience in reality, he came to understand how quickly the human psyche adapts, even to the most outlandish of experiences in life. Continually screaming and being immobilized by fear and wonderment might seem like the natural reaction people would have towards ghosts. But now that he was talking to them on almost a daily basis, he realized the movies got it right. Once you have half a dozen conversations with unliving souls, you really do stop freaking out. You truly do come to accept them as perfectly normal.

Rusty timidly eased his words through cottonballs. “You know what I mean. That you’re not born. I’m sorry. ‘Not real’ was a poor choice of words. Of course you’re real. You look like a flesh-and-blood girl, you sound like one, so sometimes I forget that you aren’t yet.”

Oona had her arms folded like an angry faerie from a faerietale. Rusty was taken aback when she didn’t stomp her feet at him, because her body language suggested that’s exactly what she was about to do.

Unfurling her arms, she bemoaned, “Well, that’s what I’m trying to tell you. During this brief window of time, you are the only soul who can be my father. If I’m born to anyone else, I will lose part of who I am. Maybe even all of who I am. I don’t want that to happen. I want to stay who I am. Don’t you see? I can only be me with you. That’s why we need you to find her! Unfortunately, we can’t tell you who our mother will be, because our mother has the potential to be several different ladies.”

“Girls.”

“What?”

“Girls. I date girls, not ladies. You make women sound so old calling them ladies.”

Oona grew even more frustrated at her father being so juvenile. “Well, girls don’t want to become mommies. Okay? Ladies want to have kids. Maybe if you stopped thinking of yourself like a little boy dating girls and started to be a man dating ladies, I’d stand a better chance to exist!”

“Amy was 4 year older than me!”

“You’re over 30!”

“In a few months!”

“So, you’ve never dated a woman your own age until now!”

Here we go again, Rusty thought.

People were always telling him he dated girls who were too young for him. He never understood that concept. What difference did age matter? He would be fine dating women who were 18 or 45. He didn’t care. Girls in their early 20’s just happened to be the ones he met the most often. He didn’t see anything wrong with going out with them. Now, even his own daughter was getting on his case.

He wasn’t even 30 yet! What’s wrong with him dating 21 year olds? Even if he were 52 and dating an 18 year old, who cares? Charlie Chaplin did that and had many children and a very happy marriage for over 30 years.

There were plenty of women in the world who are 18 to 23 years old and become wives and have kids and are perfectly fulfilled in their lives. Why did everyone presume he’d never find a girl “that age” who wants to “settle down” with him?

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Oh, dad.”

“What?”

“The young girls you date will never want to settle down.”

Rusty worried she was doing the mind reading thing again. He still wasn’t quite sure if Isabeau or Oona could do that or not. Despite what Isabeau said, he wasn’t sure he believed her. After all, if you could read minds, would you really want people to know you could do it?

“What makes you say that?”

“Daddy, young girls who do settle down are always, like, prissy girls. Like that Marie chick who just wanted to be a housewife and have a man support her. You could never be with that kind of girl. A girl like that would drive you crazy. You date girls who are full of adventure and excitement and passion. The girls you are the most attracted to, are too full of life! Why else do you think they are so easy to meet and so hard to hold onto?”

Before he could say anything, his computer tinkled melodically and Mikayla popped up on Rusty’s chat messaging program.

When he looked back up, Oona was gone.

“Oona? Oona!? Where’d you go?”

Her voice came from nowhere, “You need to get to sleep.”

“I will. In a minute. Goodnight!”

“Goodnight, daddy. We like Mikayla.” He felt the disembodied Oona kiss his cheek and she was gone.

How do they like Mikayla? He’s never even talked to her yet!

§

AnnachieG(Rusty): hey, i just sent you email.

Ismene0x0(Mikayla): thanks. who is this?

AnnachieG(Rusty): rusty. dreamwalker photography. you wrote to me about being involved in the photo project.

Ismene0x0(Mikayla): Ah, yes! Thanks

Ismene0x0(Mikayla): I’ll read it now.

Ismene0x0(Mikayla): By the way, Hello Eric!

AnnachieG(Rusty): (grin)

hello.

sorry for barging in on you like that. despite my deep-rooted desire to be courteous, i am often socially inept.

Ismene0x0(Mikayla): as I can be

Ismene0x0(Mikayla): it’s okay. I seemed rude when I replied to you

AnnachieG(Rusty): darned messenger crashed.

Ismene0x0(Mikayla): No problem. I thought I lost you! :-)

Ismene0x0(Mikayla): I was writing you back

Ismene0x0(Mikayla): I’m actually in NYC

AnnachieG(Rusty): hmmmmm.

darn. that is still rather far.

Ismene0x0(Mikayla): yes, it is...but depending upon how long your shoot is, I might be able to come out there

Ismene0x0(Mikayla): when are you shooting?

Ismene0x0(Mikayla): and for how long?

AnnachieG(Rusty): i hope to start as soon as possible. next weekend if i can. i don’t expect to be done until at least next spring. i need a lot of outdoor shots and, sadly, i fear with winter just around the corner, i may get a lot LESS done that i hope to over the next few weeks. so, that will put a lot of my work into next spring and summer.

Ismene0x0(Mikayla): ah, I see. I thought there was one specific shooting date

AnnachieG(Rusty): one date?

Ismene0x0(Mikayla): If you’re interested, i can definitely fly out to participate.

Ismene0x0(Mikayla): I thought there was one date that you were looking for people... like a specific time frame

AnnachieG(Rusty): ah. i see.

well, i may do a casting call very soon.

when i have a date for a casting call, i will be sure to let you know. if you can make it, great. if not, then maybe things will work out some other time. fair enough?

Ismene0x0(Mikayla): indeed!

Ismene0x0(Mikayla): Were you able to view my pictures?

AnnachieG(Rusty): yes. i did. very lovely. i liked them. thank you.

Ismene0x0(Mikayla): my pleasure

Ismene0x0(Mikayla): thank you!

Ismene0x0(Mikayla): If you’d like my resume, I can send that as well

AnnachieG(Rusty): you are welcome.

sure, send the resume if you’d like. chances are that we won’t be able to work together on this project. you being 12 hours away just makes it logistically too hard on a low-budget film. but i’m happy to look it over.

well, i MUST get to bed. another night of about 6 hours of sleep. uuuuugh.....

talk to you soon.

goodnight....

§

Mikayla had plane tickets to meet Rusty less than a month later.

They spoke on the phone the next night and almost every night after that. Once again, he found himself befuddled that someone so beautiful found him attractive.

Being single and rejected for a solid year does bizarre things to one’s self-esteem. Amy was so far out of his league, that for a long time, Rusty was walking tall. He felt like a genuine ladies man. If he could have Amy Ambrosini, he could get any woman he wanted into his bed.

Slowly, he began to realize that Amy was poison.

She had been right about herself.

Just not in the way she always thought.

Amy Ambrosini was poison in the sense that she gave a man like Rusty a confidence that wasn’t remotely justified. A confidence he didn’t deserve. Like a cool leather jacket owned by an older brother, that confidence was just being borrowed for the night. It didn’t belong to him. And as soon as Amy split, said confidence withered not too long thereafter.

After Amy, there followed a long line of girls who wouldn’t piss in Rusty’s ear if his brain was on fire. How strange that his luck would change with someone as radiant as Mikayla.

She picked up the phone on the second ring.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Mikayla. It’s Rusty. I’m so glad you’re home. I’ve wanted to talk to you all day.”

“Sorry. I was on my roomate’s computer. I can tell you wanted to talk. I could feel it. I just got home.”

“Oh? You can tell?” Rusty loved that she could sense him, even from hundreds of miles away. Something about that kind of connection always left him dreaming more passionately about a girl. Everyone feels those amazing connections at the start of a romance and everyone always thinks no other couple ever experiences such magic.

“Yeah. You know, I was calling Cleveland today at work and all the areas around it.”

“Calling Cleveland? Why?”

“It’s for an optical magazine.”

“Oh. I remember you telling me that. For your job at the optician publisher?”

“Yeah. Exactly what city in Cleveland do you live?”

“Where do I live in Cleveland? In the city itself. Not a suburb. Near the zoo.”

“Oh, that’s cool. Were you born there? Ever lived anywhere else?”

“Yes, ma’am. Born and raised. Never lived anywhere else.”

“Cool. Say, um, I wanted to ask you if you can email me at my other email address?”

“Oh? Why?”

“It’s easier for me. I check it all of the time. I just like it better. I’ve wound up having a lot of junk mail sent to that one and my other address is where my friends and family email me.”

Mikayla sounded strange. Her voice got a little higher and she was hesitating too much. She was lying. Rusty joked, “No problem. I thought it was because your roommates use your screenname and one has a crush on you and read my email and now things are all weird.”

At least, he pretended it was a joke.

“No one reads my email. I do have to be honest. I used to go out with one of them... and I’m kinda seeing him... but having ‘met’ you is making me question and realize what I need and want... it’s a lovely feeling. I’ve felt so free and actually happy these past few days.”

Damnit.

He knew it.

Rusty’s heart landed in the bottom of his socks. Here he goes again. How does this always happen to him? Why does he always know things ahead of time? Living his life with a Cassandra Complex was irritating as hell. She asks him to use a different email address and he figures out, from that one comment, that she’s dating her roommate!? Sometimes, he hated being so intuitive. “Um... Wait... What? You are dating your roommate!?... Oh... Well, that... okay. That is unexpected news.”

So it was, Rusty saw waving the first of the red flags.

More accurately, he slammed headfirst into red flag.

But when you’re wearing rose-colored glasses, the red flags are a lot more difficult to recognize.

Mikayla made a face at her bedroom wall. Silently, she mouthed, shit, shit, shit. Aloud, she told him, “Uh, I was thinking in the bath tub last night, whether I thought I should tell you... and I want to be honest. You deserve it and if anything is going to come of our talking and getting to know each other, I don’t want games. It’s nothing serious anymore... a lot of quarreling, disinterest. I could go on... but only if you want me too... it’s nothing big.”

This was the moment when Rusty knew he should hang up the phone and never speak to her again.

Unfortunately, Rusty has never behaved so wisely with women.

He kept talking to her instead.

One phrase she said was haunting him. One thing he couldn’t shake. “I’m kinda seeing him.” Translation: We still sleep together.

Rusty told her as much.

He wasn’t playing games either.

“No. More of a friendship because we live together. I mean of course I care for him... but things are not leading where I want... we think and feel differently... and my needs are not met... this hurts him, but he can’t really change. He’s more of a thinker... closed up... colder than me.”

“Well, I appreciate you telling me this. I mean, um...” Rusty’s sentence trailed off and thankfully Mikayla filled the silence.

“You know the sleep together thing was funny. I’m actually fairly innocent. Very idealistic about sex and love.”

Rusty wasn’t sure if that was a joke or not. Was she saying these things just to sound like the perfect girl, or did she really mean them? How could she claim to be so innocent if she was still living with an ex-boyfriend who still held a torch for her, while flirting with another guy on the phone for weeks?

Didn’t sound so pristine to him.

Rusty was laying down, but squared his shoulders as best he could, “Look, let me be honest with you; there are things that I would love to talk to you about in person. But, I think that even if we meet in a week, we should discuss them sooner. You know? What do you think? I’m not talking about anything deep. I just mean things like you dating your roommate. Stuff like that. Our thoughts. Our feelings. About all the stuff we aren’t saying. I think that... how do I put this?... I think that there is a 99% chance that you and I think and feel the same. But, I do not think we should ever make any presumptions about things. Therefore, as romantic as it would be to meet face-to-face and confirm that we are 100% on the same page, maybe we should talk and dismiss that 1% chance that we aren’t.”

Rusty caught himself rambling again. He quickly added, “Cripe... I’m sorry. I sound like a fucking psycho. Am I making any sense to you?”

Rusty hated himself at times like that.

He always blathered on so damn much.

He imagined he would be married already if he was a mute.

Why couldn’t he ever say, “Cool. Whatever. I still like you.”

But he never said that.

Instead, he rambled on and on for days and felt like an idiot when his mouth finally stopped moving.

It was her fault though!

She had told him in other conversations that she didn’t want to talk too much about their “potential” and she wanted things to unfold organically, once they met in person.

That sounded more and more stupid to Rusty as time went on.

Mercifully, Mikayla said an enthusiastic, “Yes! I too agree that there are unsettled feelings within us both, for as little as we know each other and have never met, we are both feeling something... something very similar. It’s odd and wonderful simultaneously. Yet, we should talk, just in case we are thinking something even slightly different. And you don’t sound psycho. It’s nice to meet somebody who feels things similar to me. Don’t ever think I feel you are weird or, well, anything you might have been scared other girls think you are or have been.”

And with that last sentence, Rusty fell in love a little more.

Mikayla could hear him smiling when he said, “Exactly. Like I said, no presumptions.”

Rusty should have stopped there. Instead he rambled again, “I firmly believe that all relationships - romantic or friendship or even business relationships - end badly only when people are on different wavelengths. If two people are in love, great. If two people are not in love, then they break up and no one gets hurt. But if one person feels one way and another feels differently, then things get messy. So, it is important to communicate those things. Especially things like boinking your roommate.”

“Boinking!? Very cute. Could we perhaps talk a bit later? I just put on a late dinner for myself and I want to shower.”

Rusty was a bit surprised at her abrupt ending, but it actually made things easier for him. “Oh? I was actually going to go back to work tonight. But, I could wait until tomorrow. Give me a time.”

“Well, what time will you be at work until? I stay up late and could always talk to you later tonight. Give me a chance to read.”

Rusty shrugged the phone, “I dunno. Could be until quite late. What time did you want me to call?”

“See, both my roommates, Andy and Jimmy, use the computer and we only have one line.”

Great. Two male roommates. Was she dating both of them?

How many secrets did this girl have?

“I don’t want to wake anyone up. Especially your boyfriend.” Rusty teased.

Mikayla ignored his comment. “The phone is in my room. So, the line might not be ready until after midnight. I promise to wait up. Will you be at work after 12?”

“I sure as hell hope not.”

“Are you there now?”

“No, sweetheart.” Rusty didn’t want to reiterate that he already told her he was intending on going back and not that he was already there. No point in sounding like a jerk. “But I am about 10 minutes away. Not far. I have a presentation scheduled for tomorrow and I didn’t render it. I need to compose an intro for it really quick. But ‘really quick’ can often be an hour and a half.”

“I see. Well, 1:30, 2 is perfect. But I don’t want to keep you up.”

“I’ll call you shortly after 1:30. Okay?”

“Sounds great.”

“Make sure the line is free. Talk to you later.”

§

Rusty took one last look in the bathroom mirror.

He heaved a sigh, both nervous and elated.

Time to pick Mikayla up from the airport.

Isabeau poked her head in the bathroom, asking, “You want us to meet her?”

Rusty nearly jumped out of his skin. “What!? No! I don’t want you to meet anyone! After what happened with Amy? Are you kidding me!?”

“Why not?” Oona pouted.

Rusty began to walk back to the livingroom. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean that in a mean way. It’s just, well, come on, that’s a lot of pressure to put on a girl. I mean, that’s the surest way to make a girl run away screaming. ‘Hey, Mikayla, I know we just met, but I’d like you to meet the spirits of our unborn daughters.’ That would terrify her!”

Isabeau laughed, “We’re just kidding. I guess that’s a good point.”

Rusty figured they were joking, but he had answered seriously, because he didn’t want to take any chances. He kissed Isabeau on the top of the head. Sparks fizzled again, but they were less startling by this point. “Baby, I love you. I love you both. So much. I want you to be born into this world more than anything. But that won’t happen if we scare the wits out of every girl I bring home. Right?”

“Obviously!” Oona agreed.

“That’s true. Okay. Nevermind. We understand.”

Rusty smoothed the sheets on the couch. He wasn’t going to presume that Mikayla would sleep with him on the first night, or any night for that matter, so he was sure to have a pillow and comforter ready for her. He wasn’t always a gentleman, but he always wished to be one, even when he fell short.

“You two were just kidding. Right?” Rusty asked, for extra peace of mind.

“Totally kidding.” Isabeau nodded.

“Promise.” Oona confirmed.

“Okay. Lay low and we’ll talk after she leaves.”

“Good luck, dad.”

“Have fun!”

§

Walking along the gigantic sandstone quarry boulders of the breakwall, Rusty held Mikayla’s hand.

This was perfect.

This was just as it should be.

Rusty commented, “Holy cow, I am tired. I wonder why? Oh, yeah, I stayed up all night with this hot girl in bed. She gave great phone.”

Mikayla grinned. “Very cute. Yeah, we should have hit the sack earlier since I was showing up the next morning. I’m kinda tired too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Stayed up with this amazing guy. We got it on, on my couch. He was thrilling, but I think I put him to sleep.”

“Well, he sounds like a lucky fella.”

“‘Hot?’ I enjoy the adjective. It’s different for me.” Mikalya’s voice was gentler in person. Soft as the pastels of a Renoir.

“‘Hot’ is different? How so?”

“Some people I know think they can’t say that to me, because of the connotation. Like I’m too sweet. Others do though. I kinda like it. In a way it’s more of a sexual turn on.”

Rusty couldn’t help but wonder who these “others” were that she spoke about. He didn’t like the idea of competing with multiple unknown suitors. The keyword was “unknown”. If there were other boys vying for her affections, he had no problem with that. He just didn’t want to be made to think he was alone in his pursuit when he wasn’t. Was he? What did she mean by that?

There was no use in asking her.

Any woman would deny it in that situation, even if it was a lie.

Rusty smirked, “There is no such thing as ‘too sweet’. I believe all people are all things at all times. Sometimes sweet. Sometimes adorable and cute. Sometimes hot and sensual. Sometimes innocent and tender. It all depends on the mood... and the color of the lace or vinyl.”

There he goes.

Pontificating and preaching again. He hated hearing himself do that. He only seemed to catch himself doing it after he shut up.

Mikayla grinned. “I’m kinda torn between lace and vinvl. But I agree.”

“What? Tear your lace? Mikayla! Really! I’m not that kind of boy, you naughty thing.”

“Well, I want you to be.”

Rusty stared at this magical new girl with years of hopefulness in his eyes. Maybe this would really work. The snack stand caught the corner of his eye. “Mm. Ice cream sandwich.”

“Is that a sexual reference? I can only imagine.”

“What!? Sexual!? No!” Rusty laughed behind his pointing finger, “There’s a stand over there! Silly.”

“Oh!”

Rusty bounded off the rocks and helped Mikayla down.

Mikayla quickly turned red. “Where is my head tonight? Anyway. So... uh... nice weather we’re having, huh?”

Rusty snickered as they traipsed across the grass.

“I’m so embarrassed. Actually, I’m not that embarrassed.”

Rusty teased, “Embarrassed? By what?”

“Nothing.”

The awkward joking fizzled as they approached the stand and Rusty bought ice cream for each of them.

Making their way back to the breakwall, Rusty observed, “I’m really glad you’re here. I just didn’t want to wait any longer. I needed to know. I needed to know if that chemistry is real.”

Stripping her wrapper, Mikayla agreed, “I know. I’ve been curious too. However, I can see being deceived online with chemistry, but since we got along so naturally over the phone, I didn’t think we’d have a problem, unless the physical attraction wasn’t there.”

“Well, my pictures were a lie. As you can see, I’m actually a 350 pound midget.”

“And like you guessed, I’m a transvestite.”

“Well, you might still be. I may end up with a journal entry starting with, ‘Mikayla turned my life into The Crying Game.’”

“No! No, hopefully I shall not disappoint.”

“Well, let me ask you this - if you value friendship, could it ever be a disappointment? What I’m saying is, our friendship is assured already. And that is wonderful and beautiful and we are lucky for that. If it were to ever be more, that is just a bonus to me.”

“D’accordo. That’s ‘I agree’ in Italian.”

Rusty nodded over his ice cream. “Yeah, thanks. I translated with context clues.”

“Meeting anybody is never a disappointment. All people offer special gifts. It’s just nice for that person who is so wonderful to be wonderful in a more amorous way.”

Rusty agreed. “I just love being with a girl who uses words like ‘amorous’ in conversation. So, has the moon hit your eye like a big pizza pie?”

“Cute. Perhaps. What’s your favorite food? Do you cook?”

Every woman loves a man who can cook. Rusty knew this. So, he once again launched into a long-winded and overly-explained answer, since he suddenly found himself feeling self-conscious about lacking culinary skills. “Oh, gee. Tough call. I like seafood. Do I cook? Well... not exactly. Sorta. Like I’ll make stir-fried turkey with vegetables in a skillet or something. But I don’t like cook cook. Or I’ll pop something in the stove. So, I’m not the totally stereotypical bachelor guy who lives on microwave food. In fact, I really hate microwave food. But, I also don’t feel that putting breaded fish in a stove for 20 minutes denotes ‘cooking’.”

Well, that was disastrous, as usual.

Mental note for next time: “Yeah, I cook a little.”

End of answer.

“Gotcha. Do you not eat red meat?”

“Not really. I avoid it. Not for health reasons and not for moral ones. I just don’t like it very much. I have red meat on occasion, but not often.”

He should just become a monk and take a vow of silence.

“I thought so.” Mikayla smiled, at yet another little trait they shared.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t enjoy it too much either. I mean I like hamburgers, but other than that, I don’t make steak or anything often. And you mentioned turkey and fish.”

“Well, who doesn’t like a good hamburger? That would be unAmerican. I think you can be thrown out of the country for disliking hamburgers. I’m pretty sure that’s in The Bill of Rights.”

Finishing their ice cream at the same time, Rusty offered to take her wrapper and ran off to the nearest trashcan. “Be right back.”

Rewarded with a hug upon his return to their walk along the breakwall, Mikayla sighed, “Just know, I really like you from the relationship we currently have. No matter what it becomes. I’m glad to have brought you into my life.”

“Same here. You are a true light. No matter what happens between us, you have brought my life a great deal of joy up until this point. And that beauty and charm will always be with me, no matter what fate the future hold for us.”

Shaking her head at him, she said, “I really just cannot believe you are indeed real. Do you practice saying that kind of stuff? Nobody talks that way.”

“I guess I do. I mean, I guess I talk that way, not that I practice.” Rusty beamed.

“It’s so comforting to know that such a beautiful soul exists.”

Frowning, Rusty explained, “I don’t. You are insane and I am simply a figment of your vivid imagination.”

Rolling her eyes, they walked on a bit farther, “Ah, now that would be a disappointment.”

“Hey, ‘reality’ is a fickle thing. Remember? Reality is an illusion. Take what you can get.”

Quoting a line by Rusty’s favorite author, she said, “Hey, to bring anything into your life, imagine it’s already there.”

“Exactly.” Rusty chuckled, catching her Richard Bach reference immediately.

“So, fall asleep with me tonight, mi’lord.”

“You need not ask twice, mi’lady.”

Motioning to the sky, they settled in to grab a seat. Scattered around the park were other couples and families ready to admire the ending of the day.

As the sun fell into the great lake, water lapped the boulders. Gurgling between the massive stones like the hiccups of whales and drunkards, the waves sloshed and slurred.

Mikayla was far more petite and beautiful in person than any of her photographs had shown. She glowed in that sunset glimmer with all the refinement of an Italian princess, regal and dignified and innocent, despite eyes that whispered of deep seductions.

His hand to her neck, Rusty pulled her close. Ice cream sandwich kisses and vanilla tongues danced. Warm and cold with desire. This was a kiss they had both dreamed of for near a month. Finally their romantic rendezvous consummated with the tenderness of a childlike cuddle on a mumbling breakwall.

Mikayla settled in close as they lay propped up against the erratic rocks. Everything was perfect. Then, for a split second, the perfection wavered. Rusty felt that hollow sensation that something was in fact missing. Things weren’t so idealistic after all.

Seagull songs and a reassuring breeze told him to forget it.

Mikayla hushed with a bedroom voice, “By the way, I do now see why you were pushing for me to read Richard Bach before I came. Of course I was going to, but I see the immediacy.”

Excited, yet also whispering because somehow the sunset glow made whispering right, he asked, “Oh. Did you finish or something?”

“No. Not yet. I started it over from the beginning yesterday.”

“Ah. I see. So now how far are you, since you started over?”

“Page 100. I stopped there on purpose. Wanted to read 100 pages each day.”

“Gotcha. 100 isn’t very far. He just barely met Leslie. And she’s sorta the whole story!”

“I know. It’s like I said that night we were on the phone, I don’t want it to be over, but I want to know it all. I’m always sad at the end of an amazing book. Kind of like I’m feeling with you. I’ll be sad to go.”

“Well, you just got here. Don’t bum yourself out thinking about that, silly. We have the whole entire weekend.”

“I know. I am just feeling so much. Thinking so much and want to burst!”

“Well, don’t burst. Spontaneous combustion is so unpleasant. And it isn’t very sexy either.”

“I know, silly. I’m just all smiles. Maybe that’s a cuter image.”

“Okay. That’s cool.” Rusty played.

“It’s funny how much Richard Bach hates smoking. Reminded me of you.”

“Richard Bach reminded you of me? Yes. He and I have a lot in common. If only our maximum bank accounts could be equal. I wouldn’t mind sharing that similarity.”

Mikayla bust out laughing and Rusty loved the feeling of her wriggling on his chest.

As her laughter eased, she announced, “I actually have a lot in common with him also. Maybe I’ll find bits of myself in Leslie also, once I’ve started to read that. More than I’ve ever felt, the more I read, the more I knew we had to meet.”

“Really? You felt we have to meet more than ever? Why now? I mean, why has that feeling increased?”

Mikayla gave a shrug. “Just because of my reading and evaluating my life and needs/desires. And I just see how amazing it is that we were brought into existence for one another. And now I need to know if what I feel is real or is it a hoping.”

He understood exactly what she meant. Again, he was feeling moments where his heart raced, ecstatic with feeling a girl like her was on his wavelength. “Yeah. I think we both need answers. The opportunity to test suspicions. Exactly.”

Mikayla moaned a noise of agreement.

Rusty continued, “I will say this - I always thought that if I met the ‘right’ girl, she and I would know it almost immediately. I couldn’t picture years of dating and building a long, slow courtship. I always thought, ‘No. She will be familiar. We will know each other from other lifetimes. It will just be like a socket, reconnecting. And we will be mad for each other within weeks and everyone will say we are crazy but, we will both just know, and we’ll be correct.’”

Equally charged with the electrifying awe of really connecting with another human being, Mikayla understood his sentiments exactly. “Yes, we shall see. But I’ve always known that if I meet ‘him’, I’ll know almost immediately. Through laughter and sighs, secret glances, sweet kisses, talks that last for hours, making art together, all of those soul binding activities. I wanted to come see you like a month ago. A week after we met. I couldn’t wait. It’s ridiculous.” Looking up at him, she added, “Sorry, if I’m scaring you.”

Was she kidding? This was everything he ever wanted to hear a girl say to him and not one girl ever had. “Nope. Not scaring me at all.”

“Good. Good. I didn’t think so. I’m glad that what to some may be odd and scary is perfectly normal. Actually, what we desire.”

“You aren’t scary. Look, you are a blessing in my life. The worst thing that could happen is that we find out we aren’t compatible. However, I am convinced that we will still be great friends who have a good time together. So, we can’t lose. The least we get is a great friendship. And that is no irrelevant thing.”

Mikayla confessed, “I kept thinking today, what would my first thought or feeling be upon seeing you? It’s funny, I have this adolescent giddiness with you. Like I want to keep talking, keep asking and answering questions, get to you know, see you. See who you are.”

“Same here. I know. I like getting to know you too. I think the best part is having so much in common. Like, ‘Yeah, I knew she’d think that. I knew she’d say that.’”

“Yes, it’s one of the exciting parts. Being so similar to someone, yet still having that person being their own entity, learning from them, admiring them and sharing.”

Mikayla shuddered so violently, Rusty rubbed her arms.

“Getting cold?” Rusty asked.

“Yeah. Now that the sun went down, it’s really getting chilly.”

He kissed her forehead. “Come on. Let’s go. There’s a nice warm apartment waiting for us.”

§

As they headed out of the parking lot at Edgewater Park, Mikayla was still smiling over the fact that Rusty had opened her car door for her. But there was more to it. She already knew there are still men in this world with a sense of chivalry who will open doors for ladies. That wasn’t what was making her smile. Mikayla knew Rusty was far more special than those men when he explained that he opened the door for his male friends too, because it was a simple gesture of respect and courtesy. She knew other guys who opened doors for girls. She never met a guy who did it for everyone.

Rusty turned up the stereo as The Replacements came over the radio. “Ahhhhh. Bastards of Young! Love this song. Gosh it feels so easily like 1989 tonight.” The song had come out in 1985, but that wasn’t what he meant.

“I wish I had been a little older then.”

“I miss music so much. Something happened to me these past few years. As soon as I stopped living at home, two things just vanished from my life. No more television. No more music. The only television I miss is Next Generation and Voyager. But I hate the fact that I rarely listen to music anymore. It used to be a constant in my life. Every moment. Now, I might play stuff once every other day. If that. It’s awful. I’d like to change that.”

“Why don’t you?”

“Strange as this may sound, I think it’s just because I spend less time in my room.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, living at home, your bedroom is like your sanctuary. You know? I think it’s like that for all teenagers. The bedroom is your oasis. And what is there to do in your room but listen to music? So, that’s what I did. All the time. Once I had my own place, there are a lot more distractions. Or maybe I’m just making up bullshit explanations that make no sense.”

Mikayla snorted something that became a giggle.

Referring to their age-difference, Rusty mourned, “The one thing we won’t have in common - 80’s nostalgia.” With a melodramatic sigh, he added, “Ah. A tragic thing to not share.”

“I don’t listen to music as much either as when I lived alone, well had my own dorm room. My place in New York, it’s so small, that I need to respect them. I used to sing so loud to my music. Can’t do that anymore. Very tragic that I missed the cusp of the 80’s heyday. I remember it. I remember wanting to be older. It’s my favorite decade of music. If only I could have been a few years ahead of myself.”

“Really? 1980’s pop music is your favorite? Well, you just scored more points with me. That’s for sure.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“You know, I always loved the thing David Lee Roth said about why the 80’s were so great. He said, ‘Because the clothes smiled! And the music smiled!’ And that statement was so simple. So pure. And so true. Someone once called the 80’s ‘the last gasp of the 1950’s’ and I think that’s very accurate. There was a certain degree of innocence in our culture that started to fade by the 1990’s.”

Black curls nodded, “Very true. I couldn’t agree more. I have a friend who’s 27, a music agent, he’s booking Love & Rockets right now. And he’s a total Brit pop kid. Still dresses like it, still wears the clothes, books old 80’s bands, goes to 80’s clubs, and I love hanging with him. For as ‘punky’ as everyone thought the 80’s was, it really was so benevolent and happy. I just feel good when I hear certain 80’s voices. Songs by Duran Duran, Flesh for Lulu, The Cure, Depeche Mode, Siouxsie & The Banshees, Cocteau Twins, Culture Club, Joy Division, Stone Roses - those songs just make me feel, sometimes melancholic, but most often happy to be alive!”

Rusty felt invigorated to be discussing music again. He hadn’t for so long. “Yeah. All of those are great bands. Lots of cool acts out now too. VNV Nation. FunkerVogt. A few scatterings.”

Mikayla clapped her favorite band, “Oh! Cruxshadows. I love them. I like VNV, but not all of their stuff. Wolfsheim is great. Do you know of them? I think you might like them.”

“Wolfheim?”

“Wolfs. Plural.”

“Nope. Not familiar.”

“You should give Wolfsheim a chance.”

“Totally. I’d love to. There are good bands now. But not many at all. I mean, none of the new bands compare to what came out from like 1978 to 1992. And then, there were so many of them. Now there are like a dozen if you’re lucky.”

Rusty paused and noted, “I miss the 80’s. I hear When In Rome and I’m in high school in 1988 again.”

“That’s one of my favorites. The Promise?”

“Yup. One-hit wonder.”

“At my old club, I used to dance to that all of the time. And I love Postcards from Paradise.”

“Flesh For Lulu.” Rusty nodded, knowing and remembering.

“Have you ever seen Some Kind of Wonderful?”

Rusty rubbed his chin and wondered if Mikayla preferred stubble or smooth. “Some Kind of Wonderful? Are you kidding? I had a friend in high school I nicknamed Watts because she looked like Mary Stuart Masterson.”

“It’s one of my favorites.”

Rusty grinned as he stopped at a light. “Yeah? Totally. All of John Hughes stuff is great. You ever notice that 80’s music is the only decade that never went away? Every decade comes back and turns trendy again. The 60’s. The 70’s. Even the 40’s and 50’s with swing music. But the 80’s never left. There were 80’s stations all through the 90’s and even now.”

“True.”

“So, you say your friend is booking Love & Rockets? That’s pretty cool. What you said about how he dresses, I still dress like I did when I was 14. Rather sad. Jeans and a Cure shirt and I’m happy. The whole ‘goth’ thing is just for clubs and concerts. Otherwise, I have on plain pants and a Siouxsie shirt.”

Mikayla looked sidelong at Rusty. Assessing him. She loved this idea of this handsome man in his 30’s still being such a little boy. She made a comment about an old conversation they had, where she complained that she always seemed to attract creepy photographers from her modeling and weird pagans from her gothic aesthetic. “You know, it’s funny, I worry about these photographers and pagans and really you’re in the same position as them. I mean, to outsiders, you would be. Yet, I don’t feel strange. I suppose it’s because this is meant to be for a positive reason. But still, my main point is, I feel wonderful about it all.”

Although it was a rather backhanded compliment, Rusty didn’t take it as such. He knew her heart was in the right place. “Good. Me too.”

“You’ll have to see New York City sooner or later. It’s really so lovely there.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I think I’m more of a West Coast person.”

“Have you ever been there?”

“No. Not to New York or the West Coast.”

“So, I guess it’ll always be me coming to Cleveland? If anything was to come.”

Rusty gasped. What did she claim earlier about innocence? He didn’t remark on her innuendo. “I know. I’m sure I’ll see The City eventually.”

“Yeah? You might even actually enjoy it. Especially if you have a charming guide. But those are hard to come by. What is it with me and the coming?”

Rusty couldn’t ignore it again. All this flirtation was getting him more and more excited. He knew she was going to sleep with him if she was saying things like that. “I guess you just come a lot when you talk to me.”

“Like multiple times.”

“Naughty! Hey! You want to see something?” Rusty asked as he changed lanes.

“Sure. What?”

Looking for the next exit, he explained, “I want to show you my studio space.”

“Yeah. That would be cool!”

Rusty was proud of everything about his job. His office overlooked the city skyline downtown and he had turned the far end of the warehouse lofts into a studio space for doing his photography on the weekends. Not only did he love what he did, but he earned more money than he ever had before. Most important of all, he was respected and admired for the work he was doing. Although it may have been the smallest company he ever worked for, for the first time in his life, he worked a job where he felt truly appreciated.

Of course, that was all before.

Before the new salesman was hired.

Before the extra designer came on board.

Before Rusty screwed up a big presentation a few weeks earlier.

Rusty had taken the day off that Friday, to be with Mikayla and pick her up from the airport. When he brought her to his office that evening, he noticed his name was missing on a whiteboard with “job responsibilities” laid out for the other few employees.

In fact, Rusty was the only employee missing from the list.

He immediately started to panic, but he didn’t want to express his fears to Mikayla.

“Wow. This is really impressive. I can see why you wanted to show me this.”

Rusty made himself grin. “Uh, what? Huh? Oh, yeah! Yeah. It’s really, uh, pretty cool, isn’t it?”

He was a horrible liar.

The romantic view.

The city lights.

Holding the girl of his dreams, at the job of his dreams.

Everything was perfect.

Or it would have been.

If he hadn’t been so obviously excluded from that damn board.

No wonder something felt “wrong” when they were watching the sunset. No wonder his perfect future was feeling tainted.

By the time they were driving back to his place, he confessed his fears to Mikayla. Rusty was so worried that he would be getting fired, he knew his apprehension was showing on his face. He couldn’t hide that. Realizing Mikayla might interpret his tense emotions as discomfort with her, Rusty decided it was best to tell her the truth.

“Sorry,” he apologized. “I don’t want to dwell on something unpleasant. But at the same time, I didn’t want you to misinterpret why I’m acting so distracted. It has nothing to do with you.”

Mikayla furrowed her brow with compassion. “No, I totally understand. I’m sorry you had to see that tonight. I can see why that would make you nervous. But, you know, there might be nothing to worry about. Maybe you’re just jumping to the wrong conclusion.”

That was sweet of her to say.

Bullshit. But sweet of her to say.

Rusty tried to agree with her.

He wanted her to be right.

Even while every molecule of his body knew she wasn’t.

§

Dinner was simple but delectable.

Neither one of them wanted to waste time with a movie when they could be talking instead.

The deep and long talking lead to flirting before midnight.

The flirting abandoned the couch and lead to his bedroom.

Night air rippled with candles that glowed across a whirlpool of bedsheets and skin. Kisses long and impassioned. Her neck sweet and the taste of flesh and taunt moans under his tongue. Breasts firm in his mouth.

Her cellphone began to ring in the livingroom.

What the hell?

It was past midnight.

Who the hell was calling her at this hour?

“Oh. I should get that.”

What!?

Rusty thought, prayed, she was joking, “I think it can wait.”

He kissed her neck again and she pushed herself off the bed, “No, I really need to answer that.”

“Wait. I thought you said you didn’t even have a cellphone.”

“I don’t. It’s Jimmy’s. He let me borrow it for the trip.”

Within seconds, she had climbed over him and was out of the bedroom. Down the hall, he heard her voice softly answer, “Hello.”

What the hell!? he mimed to the invisible audience.

There he was, all alone in his dark room, her smell and warmth still lingering in the sheets.

She was murmuring into the phone as she walked down the hallway, gave an embarrassed turn of her head away as she passed his bedroom door, and shut herself in the bathroom.

In another minute or two, she was walking back into the livingroom, she phone at her side. She didn’t say a word to Rusty.

What. The. Hell?

Rusty got up and followed her. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” She grinned on the couch. “Everything’s fine. That was Jimmy.”

“Yeah, I kind of figured.”

Jealous boyfriend keeping her on a short leash?

How could Rusty trust Jimmy was an “ex” and not a “current”?

Mikayla started smoothing out the sheets on the couch. She obviously had no intention of returning to his bedroom.

That routine repeated two more times.

They talked on the couch.

They wandered into his bedroom.

They began to undress.

They were interrupted by a 2 a.m. phonecall from her boyfriend.

She took the call in the bathroom.

She came out looking upset and went to the couch.

Talk.

Bedroom.

Fondling.

Kissing.

Naked.

3 a.m. phonecall.

Bathroom phone booth.

After the third time, Rusty stopped going back to the couch.

He was hurt. He was livid.

Rusty thought this girl liked him. She flew out to see him from three states away. She had been flirting with him for weeks. They were making out by the lake. He thought she cared about him. Instead, she spent all night talking to her “roommate” on the phone. Each conversation was longer than the last, and finally, she started calling him.

What kind of a house guest calls her “roommate” at all hours of the night? Rusty was getting too old for this college girl drama.

Mikayla fell asleep on the couch.

Rusty went to bed alone.

All that was going through his mind was what a fool he had been.

§

The next day and a half of her visit felt like she wasn’t even there.

They did all the things they were supposed to do. All the things you share with a guest. A little shopping. Some museums. Out for dinner. Another walk in a park.

Every moment was so hollow, Rusty felt like he could hardly remember their time together from one minute to the next. By the afternoon, things they had done that morning already felt like distant memories from years ago.

They never did make love.

As the days went on, she let him steal kisses less and less. By the time she was getting ready to return to New York, they weren’t even holding hands anymore.

Rusty had once heard an ancient proverb that declared, “The universe was created by a sound.”

Something about that instinctively felt so true.

Long ago it was said by many that the universe was created by a sound. That echo reverberates in the very fibers of your soul like a drumskin stretched across time and space. But in all the aeons his spirit had witnessed, Rusty knew not if the sound that created the cosmos is a maelstrom, or the sigh of a lover, or a gentle singing.

Rusty knew his universe with Mikayla was destroyed by a sound. Everything he hoped this trip would manifest, every hope, every dream, had faded into shadow. Diminishing more and more with every sickly electronic dangle of the ringtones from her so-called ex-boyfriend.

His incessant phonecalls ruined everything.

And she let them.

§

The airport was stifling. The air itself seemed to be strangling Rusty as they walked to the terminal. Every tear that had ever been wept for a soldier seen off to a war he’d never return from; every cry of mourning for parents picking up the casket of a child; every love affair that died at the end of a concourse; the breath of all those lives seemed to be churning inside the air ducts, waiting to choke Rusty in that moment. His tongue parched dry and his nose burned with the pungent sting of bad breath and recycled air conditioning turned down far too cold.

He thought he was going to gag.

Everytime he inhaled, his neck constricted.

Mikayla would never come back.

That thought just played over and over in his head.

Mikayla would never come back.

Mikayla would never come back.

All those sweet things she said. All those romantic things she vowed. All those hopes she filled him with. All those lies.

And he believed her.

Like a fool, he believed it all.

He didn’t want to wait with her for her damn plane.

He wanted to run away.

Away from that horrible rank breath, frozen solid in the air conditioners. Away from all the things he prayed for, that she would never give him. Away from the stupid little boy he was, who believed he might be loved by this deceptive girl.

Rusty never cried in front of girls anymore.

Long ago, he learned to never do that again.

Women say they like men who can cry, but that’s a lie. That’s a lie women tell, so they can spot which men are sissies. No woman ever wants to see a man cry. Men are permitted to cry in only three circumstances:

1. The death of a loved one.

2. The birth of his children.

3. Enduring excruciating physical pain.

(That last one is permissible only with the severity of losing or dislocating a limb.)

Those are the only times a woman will ever permit a man to cry without secretly loathing him for being a pathetic wimp. Weeping under any other circumstances is a sign of cowardice and weakness. All women know that.

Rusty didn’t care if he cried in front of Mikayla. What difference did it make? Who cares if she thought he was a sissy? Her decision was already made. He already knew he’d never see her again.

Mikayla would never come back.

“Are you okay?” Mikayla asked.

Mikayla would never come back.

Tears brimmed, but he refused to let them fall. “Fine.”

“Don’t cry. I’ll feel awful if you cry.”

“Why would I do that? I’m not crying.”

Felt good to lie to her face, just like she lied to him.

She would feel awful? What a hilarious retort.

What about what he feels?

Did that matter to her?

What about what she professed?

The last boarding call came over the loudspeakers. Tension drained from his shoulders and churned nausea in the pit of his stomach. He was saved. At long last. Anything to get her the hell out of there. The last thing he wanted was for her to guilt him into hanging out with her for a half hour while she waited to board the damn plane. He would have done it too. Because he was exactly that kind of sissy. And he hated himself for it.

“I gotta go.”

“Yeah.” Rusty choked. His tears beaded but held on like tree sap.

“Are you going to be okay?”

“I always am. Always am.” Rusty let her know with his tone that she wasn’t the first girl to break his heart and she wouldn’t be the last. He was used to this. Rejection. Betrayal. Same old story.

Everything quivering in his eyes said, I hate you.

Everything in her shameful glances away said, I’m sorry.

Yeah. They always are.

She reached for him, softly touching his cheek and pulling him close for one last kiss.

Rusty turned his head away. “You don’t have to do that.”

Mikayla felt her heart spiked to the floor.

They would never kiss again.

Could she blame him?

Rusty was determined to do at least one thing that didn’t make him a complete pushover. John Wayne sure as hell wouldn’t kiss a woman who stomped on his heart. He’d ride away into the sunset proud.

“Goodbye, Rusty.”

“Goodbye, Mikayla.”

Not an ounce of “see you soon” in their inflection.

This was the end.

Grabbing her bags, she rolled down the concourse.

He didn’t wait to see if she looked back over her shoulder.

He didn’t shed a tear until he was sitting back in his car.

Surely, John Wayne wouldn’t judge him too harshly for that.

§

“Rusty, we really need to talk.” His boss said the words, before Rusty had even turned on his computer.

Damnit.

There were those words again. He hadn’t heard them since Amy. She was right. Those five words are never a good thing.

They went for a drive to the beach.

The day was brisk and chilly, but the skies were blue and the sun blazed and the winds smelled of Lake Erie in the Fall.

Sitting on a worn old picnic table, his boss gave him the news.

Rusty didn’t hear many of the words.

...have to let you go.

...underperforming.

...classic underachiever.

...too many mistakes.

...hardest thing I’ve had to do.

...wish I had your talent.

...never give your 100% because you know you’re better than everyone else.

Rusty had come to that beach for Art Club sandsculptures in high school.

He had ridden his bicycle there as a child.

He had seen fireworks shower above the lake on the Fourth of July as he sat upon hillside picnic blankets overlooking the beach.

A mere three days ago, out on the breakwall, he had kissed Mikayla for the very first time. Staring at those rocks, it felt so strange to think about how happy he was three days ago and how awful he felt now.

So many memories at that park.

Now he was losing a job there.

The best job he ever had.

He’d never been fired from a job before.

Last night, he lost the girl of his dreams.

This morning, he lost his job. As he sat there, listening to all the reasons and the prepared speech that meant nothing, all Rusty could think about was how much he missed those sandsculptures. How he missed those bicycle rides. How he wished there were fireworks. How he missed Mikayla.

For the sunshine blue skies felt far darker than they were and in that moment, he feared there would never be another light.

There would be no more dragons shaped in the sand.

There would be no more fireworks.

There would be no more first kisses.

§

Isabeau and Oona were waiting in the kitchen when Rusty got home. He was hardly thinking about his job. All he was thinking about was Mikayla and what a fool he had been.

How did he get suckered in so easy?

Was he truly so lonely that he’d become this gullible?

“Don’t even say it.”

Oona said it: “Daddy, you severely lost your perspective with Mikayla. I mean, the girl out and out lied to you! Think about that!”

“I told you not to say it!” Rusty flopped on the couch, “When? When did she lie? She did not!”

Isabeau contradicted him, “She told you she was straightedge! On the phone. From New York City. Then, in your bed, she admitted otherwise.”

“Well, yeah, but...”

But what?

How could he talk his way out of that one?

He never drank. He never smoked. He never did drugs.

Mikayla told him she was the same.

Then she revealed she wasn’t.

She out and out lied. No two ways about it.

His daughters were right.

He couldn’t defend Mikayla on that one.

Oona didn’t let him try. She told him, “Dad, Mikayla is another symbol. An ideal. A dream. You are so lonely, so desperate, so needy, that you cling only to the good things and ignore the rest. You know how bad it is to smother someone, so you are even clinging to the idea of being aloof!”

Rusty was not following this at all. “Wha?”

Isabeau tried to clarify. “You think about Mikayla all the time. You yearn for her and pine for her constantly. And the only reason you are avoiding her is because you have learned that openly expressing such obsessive feelings will only serve to drive her further away. Don’t you see? Smothering someone strangles you too!”

“Yeah. I understand. So what must I do?”

Isabeau spoke like a therapist. “Gain perspective. Sort out your emotions. You may be trying to hide your feelings from her, but you are obsessed with her. You are smothering.”

Rusty already knew the answer. “And it’s too late, isn’t it?”

Isabeau groaned. “Dad! Listen to me! It doesn’t matter!”

“Just answer me. I scared her away this past weekend when she visited, didn’t I?”

Isabeau and Oona were in stereo. “Yes. Yes, dad.”

Oona continued, “You did. You scared her. She felt very smothered. She thought you were clingy and obsessive.”

“Great. Screwed up again.”

Isabeau shook his arm. “Dad! It doesn’t matter! The girl is completely wrong for you anyway! Stop wearing the rose-colored glasses, darnit! Think about what you know. She lied to her ex-boyfriend about you. She lied to her mother about you. She didn’t even mention her feelings for that Cory boy until she was in the car going back to the airport. She lied to you about being straightedge. She even told you that she’d do drugs again. And what about this little fact: She is 22. She said she dated her ex-boyfriend for 3 years but she lost her virginity at 20? Do the math. She’s lying again. What does all of that add up to with her? Are you willing to give your heart to a girl like that? Will she cherish it? Will she protect it? Will she regard it as sacred?”

“No.”

Oona then chimed in. “But she would claim to value your heart. Any fool knows that ‘yes’ is the proper answer to those questions.”

“What a fool I am for - ”

Oona brushed off his doubts. “ - No. No, daddy. You are not a fool. Mikayla’s true spirit, her heart and soul, are good and well-meaning. Your hope and trust and faith with her are warranted. It’s not that you are naïve and don’t see the bad in people. It’s that you see far more of the good, and you see it too clearly. You sense no malice from her, because she honestly hasn’t tried to be cruel. She doesn’t want to be heartless. But she also fails to share your values, hopes and dreams.”

“Is there any hope for us?” Rusty slopped onto a kitchen chair.

Isabeau was doubtful. “For you and a model in New York City who lies, drinks, does drugs, and is obsessed with romantic poet-boys? Is that the sort of girl you hope to be with? Dad, what if Karlene Conway, that bellydancer girl you met last summer, wanted you? What if Karlene called you everyday and gave you candlelit massages and told you she loved you as she came? What if your lipstick lesbian coworker Ellen left Carrie and made love to you every night? Would you forget Mikayla Krauskopf? Could you just be friends with her?”

Rusty thought about the girls Isabeau just named. Friends. Acquaintances. None of them were all that special. None were worth mentioning. Until, she put them into that context.

Rusty thought about it, and Isabeau was right.

He would go for those other girls. Absolutely. He was that lonely.

Rusty was humiliated to admit such a thing to himself.

Isabeau was right.

Damn.

Rusty never loved anyone, did he?

Like so many pathetic wimps before him, the boy was just in love with the idea of love. Deep down inside, he didn’t much care who loved him. As long as someone did.

What an awful way to end up an emotional doormat.

Pathetic little jerkwad.

Although Rusty didn’t want to admit she was right, he didn’t have much choice. All he managed to mutter was, “Well...”

Isabeau peered under her brow, “Don’t feel guilty. My point is that Mikayla is not what or who you love. She is simply representative of an idea. Of a desire. Of a concept and a principal.”

“So, you’re saying I’ll take anyone at this point? So long as they’ll love me? Karlene is divorced. Ellen is a recovering addict. Why would I want them?”

“You tell me. You would take them, wouldn’t you?”

“Well...”

“Well?”

“Yes. Yes, I would. I would date Karlene or Ellen in a heartbeat.”

Oona spoke up again. “Even though they are not the sort of girls you truly want to be with? Why? Why alter your standards? Desperation?”

“But is it? Is it desperate to become less judgmental? Is it desperation to acknowledge that what I truly want is to have a loyal, beautiful girl that will stay with me for the rest of my life, regardless of whether she did drugs in the past or had a drink or two along the way? I mean, doesn’t holding to my morals and standards greatly reduce my likelihood to find someone? So what good does it do for me to hold onto that stuff? Maybe my virtues are a crock of, uh, you know, just crap.”

Isabeau wasn’t going to allow him to dismiss his own morality so easily. “Isn’t it a part of your instincts? Have you forgotten so easily? Isn’t that your true reason for ‘standards’ and your expectations? Because all your life, you have instinctively just felt that the ‘right girl’ will be that way. Dad, you don’t hold to your convictions for yourself alone. You do it for her. You do it for us. Your bride. Your children. You cling to a semblance of purity in order to assure your family is one that brings some decency and dignity into the world. Right? It’s not all about you. Not at all.”

Rusty smiled, pleased that his daughter understood so clearly that which no one else ever comprehends. “Yes,” Rusty spoke, his voice dropping an octave or two. “Exactly that, my dearest.”

Oona added, “You know our mom will mirror all those demands you put upon yourself. You hold to these ideals yourself, so it’s not unreasonable to demand them from her. It’s not about what you expect a girl to be like. It’s all about what the girl already is like. You understand? See the difference? You aren’t being judgmental. You already know this girl. You know who she is. You know what she’s like. You know how she thinks.”

“True.”

“Do your instincts tell you that Mikayla Krauskopf is that girl? That she is the one you’ve looked for all your life? You are both dreamers. You both love Richard Bach books. You found the first girl you’ve ever known to have an old person’s hands, like you. And the similarities pretty much end there. Right?”

Rusty inhaled deep through his nostrils. “True enough.”

Isabeau looked out the kitchen window and told her father, “Your instincts were telling you that she might be the one. And now that you’ve met her, daddy, what do they tell you?”

Rusty merely sighed. Forlorn.

Isabeau looked back at him and his head was down. “I’m sorry, daddy. I truly am. I’m on your side, remember? I want you to be happy. I want you to lead a life of joy and fulfillment. I want your heart and soul to be enriched and content. But you won’t find such peace by pursuing futures which will lead to heartache.”

How could he argue with that? “Yes. Yes. True enough. So, now what? What do I do in regard to Mikayla?”

“You want the truth?”

“Of course!”

“No, daddy. Really. The truth. The one you are not ready to face?”

Once she phrased it like that, he wasn’t so sure. He glanced at Oona for guidance and said, “Yes. Tell me. What do I do?”

Oona replied, “Nothing. You had 3 weeks of hope followed by a weekend of fun kissing and cuddling. That’s it. You will talk some more. Phonecalls. Emails. Instant messages. But you won’t see her again. You’ll lose touch. And eventually, she will just be another fond memory. A bittersweet regret that things didn’t work out. And a part of you will always wonder, ‘what if?’”

“Damn. I was feeling so much better about things until you said all of that!”

“Sorry. But, I’m not telling you anything new. You already knew all of this, the moment you walked into your bathroom the night she was naked in your bed. Remember?”

“Yes. Yes, of course, I remember.”

Again, he wasn’t sure how she knew about something that intimate and he wasn’t in the mood to ask. That was exactly when the feeling washed over him, that he was being taken for a ride by Mikayla.

Isabeau interrupted the memory. “Daddy, I’m sorry. I know it’s hard. It’s painful. It’s disappointing. You feel so lost. So confused. Empty. Alone. Incomplete. All I can tell you is, take comfort in the great privilege of knowing girls like Mikayla. You may feel cursed for not being able to keep her. But you are truly blessed to have known her.”

Rusty wanted to believe that, and for a moment or two, he almost did. “Yes. Yes, I know.” Thinking about everything his daughters just told him, he lamented, “I am an awful person. I may not put expectations on girls that I don’t live up to myself, but I put expectations on people they didn’t ask for. Every time I feel sorry for myself over someone walking away, I act as if they betrayed some sort of unspoken promise to stick around forever. That’s not fair. I have no right to treat people like that. All the disappointment I feel is a load of romantic baggage I put on her shoulders without even asking her to carry it. No one owes me anything. And like some spoiled child, I act like they owed me the world. Why? Just because I’m nice to them? Being nice to people is something we owe to ourselves. It’s not something that incurs a debt from others.”

§

Being out of work, the only thing on Rusty’s mind was paying the rent. No other financial obligation was more important. He had a couple grand saved up, but not nearly enough to survive more than a few months. Rent money became his obsession.

Terrified and preoccupied with the potential to become homeless, Rusty never considered how being out of work would have a far greater impact on dating than he realized.

Obviously, not working meant it was harder to afford to go out.

But it’s more than that.

The financial hardship is obvious. The thing that wasn’t so obvious was the blow to his self-esteem. He didn’t expect that. He felt pretty useless as an unemployed member of society. Everything surrounding the loss of his job made him feel less confident as a person. In turn, that drop in confidence made him feel a lot less attractive.

Isabeau and Oona were more than just his daughters. They were fast becoming his confidants.

But he could not confide this.

There was an idiocy prevalent in parents who were of his generation. Those moronic adults in society encourage fellow parents to be “friends” with their children. That was bullshit. Rusty would never be “best friends” or “pals” of any sort with his kids. He was going to be the father of Isabeau and Oona, not their “buddy”.

Fathers are only human.

They have moments of weakness. Frailty. Uncertainty.

But he would never be so foolish to reveal that weakness to his kids. He could admit a little sorrow or disappointment. Yes. Nothing wrong with that.

But vulnerability?

Doubt?

Anguish?

These are troubles any father must keep to himself.

They were his princesses.

Princesses must never see the king doubt his resolve.

The king must always inspire courage. At all times. Especially in the face of insurmountable hardship.

That is what daughters need. To paraphrase William Makepeace Thackeray, “Father is the name for God on the lips and hearts of all daughters.”

Rusty thought often of their mother. More accurately, he always thought of their mother. He felt burdened with the weight of disappointing her. Of disappointing them. Of failing his family.

So he wrote to her.

He wrote a letter to his future bride.

A letter he prayed to let her read someday.

A letter he began to fear might never be seen by anyone.

§

Hello, my beloved.

I am so sorry that I have not found you yet. For years I have dreamed of you. And one day, I took a slight comfort in knowing that you are looking for me with the same conviction and tenacity with which I seek you.

Life has been hard lately.

That is why this is the first time I’ve written to you.

I feel a certain shame in even saying such a thing. After all, there are souls upon this world who are living through much worse times than me. My only suffering is loneliness. Considering others are facing genocide, rape, torture, homelessness, starvation, terminal illnesses, disfigurement, dismemberment, and worse, who I am to complain about feeling a little isolated or lonesome?

Truly, I have nothing to complain about. My life is glorious.

Nevertheless, it is hard to feel so disconnected from humanity.

I do wonder if you’ll ever read these words... Wait... No. You will not...

For although my faith in your existence is strong and infallible, my faith in finding you is wavering.

The longer I live upon this earth, the more odd I start to see I am, being slowly corroded by doubt. How could I hope to find you again? I’m nothing like any soul in this world.

But, I don’t want to dwell on my loneliness or my misery. After all, you feel the exact same pain and sorrow as I do. Why reiterate the feelings you already know too well?

I just wanted to tell you how much I do desperately love you. Even though you’ll never read this. Even though we may never meet in this life, I never want you to forget that I love you.

There have been so many times that my love for you is all that has kept me alive.

To this day...

Often I still feel the same...

I will always love you...

Even if I’m only lying to myself...

Even if you aren’t real at all...

My heart shall evermore be yours.

Love Always,

Rusty

§

Rusty was slipping into a greater depression and self-loathing than ever before. He couldn’t talk to anyone about it. He didn’t have anyone.

The fact he sure couldn’t tell Isabeau or Oona made him the most angry of all.

How could he be this depressed with them in his life?

How could he be suicidal when he had the most wonderful and amazing motivation to live?

The universe had given him a divine gift.

To doubt his future in the face of that gift felt like he was disrespecting the greatest miracle any man had ever been granted.

But that was the whole problem. Meeting Isabeau and Oona actually made his sense of failure even stronger. After all, when he was by himself, if he remained isolated and alone, it was just himself he was letting down. With Isabeau and Oona in his life, that isolation was now failing them too. Meeting them should have inspired him to hope. Instead, he found himself feeling like more of a screw up than ever before.

He was finally starting to understand suicide.

He could honestly say, with a calm resolve, that he could think of no good reason to go on.

It was no longer sorrow or depression.

It was not self-pity.

It was honest, simple confusion - what is the point? To what purpose was he bothering to live?

He was not interested in anything.

He didn’t care about anyone.

No one cared about him.

He had nothing special to contribute to the world.

So, what the hell was the point?

But...

He couldn’t shake his old fear that suicide was impossible.

Rusty imagined, what if, after you kill yourself, you were forced to be reborn into the exact same life, and relive all the exact same experiences, up until the instant you chose to die. Then, you would again be presented with The Choice.

Yes or no?

Live or die?

Was that why people feel deja vu?

Was that why things feel so familiar sometimes?

Have we played out our lives over and over, because of a suicide we commit years from now?

That single thought scared him the most.

What if suicide simply wasn’t possible?

What if suicide simply resulted in hitting a reset button?

What if there was no escape from the life we have been dealt?

Besides, how and when would he do it?

Was there anything he wanted to try first? Anything he wanted to see or experience?

What was that old saying? The one against suicide?

The last act of a desperate man is to change.

Yes.

He would love to see the Pacific Ocean someday.

Yes. That would be lovely.

He couldn’t think of anything else.

So, when and where would he do it?

Perhaps when the money runs out and he ends up homeless?

He still wasn’t sure how to do it. Quick. Painless. Foolproof. That is what he needed.

He just couldn’t think of a single reason to not do it.

He used to remain alive out of sheer curiosity. He always wondered what would happen next.

No more.

At that point, he already saw his entire future as an endless stagnation of pain, misery and depression. Worthlessness. That was all his life had ever been - interspersed with brief moments of joy.

Was that really worth living for?

He didn’t suppose such heartache will cease if he dies, but he was supposing his consciousness would cease altogether.

What difference does it make?

Did it really matter?

Yes.

Of course it did.

That old fear circled back into his mind again.

What if he wakes up from this life, as though it were a dream, into some life filled with even more problems and woes?

So what should he do?

What was the solution?

Ride out the storm?

TO WHAT ENDS!?

What is the fucking POINT!? The whole entire purpose and reason behind living felt totally IRRELEVANT!

Was there anything that could change in his life that would make him want to keep on living? Any alteration the course of his life might take that would give him a sense of purpose or meaning?

No.

And why cling to that false hope, born of a foolish and ignorant desire?

His daughters were better off finding a new father.

§

As they walked up the beach towards Malibu, just north of the Santa Monica Pier, Isabeau and Oona held hands with their dad.

“I love it here!”

“I know! California is so beautiful!”

Rusty grinned, glad to see his daughters so happy.

He had been fired from his job less than a week ago.

Spending money on airfare to California may have been foolish when he had just been fired. But, he had never been to California before and it was someplace he wanted to see ever since he was a little boy. If his life was over, if he was going to be a useless, unemployed bum, at least he could fulfill one of his final wishes and walk along the golden sands of Los Angeles.

The trip was helping.

He stayed with his internet friend Sherisa Ricco and her fiance Jacob something-or-other. Knew her for about 4 years and never met her in person before.

At least he didn’t need a hotel.

He felt guilty about staying with Sherisa. Between losing both Mikayla and his job, he wasn’t very cheerful company. Rusty tried his best to be an extra-polite guest, since he knew damn well he wasn’t a jovial one. He tried to feign congeniality. He really tried. Despite his efforts, he remained morose as a hangman’s noose. Renting a car, he spent most of his time away from Sherisa’s apartment. Partially to take in the sights. Partially to assure his glum spirits didn’t wear out his welcome.

Partially to get some fresh air too. Unfortunately, Sherisa literally had eight cats living in her apartment and the smell in the place was enough to kill an adult elephant. Between a revolting sheen of cat hair covering every inch of furniture and the dizzying odor of ammonia next to the litterboxes in the bathroom, there were a few times when Rusty came genuinely close to vomiting.

What was he doing there?

More than three years had passed since the night he had first seen Isabeau. Three years and he was no closer to finding her mother.

Isabeau dragged him down into the sand as Oona ran off into the water. Rusty almost called out a fatherly “Be careful!” until he remembered that nothing could harm her. What was going to happen? She couldn’t drown when she hadn’t even been born.

As he sat with his giggling daughter, she looked at him with unsure eyes. “Hey, sour puss. What’s wrong?”

Rusty tried his best to fake it. “Sour puss? I’m not sour! Not at all! I’m thrilled that we’re out here. I’m really glad we came.”

Isabeau laid her head in his lap. “We belong here, you know. You belong here. You always have.”

“Yeah.” Rusty was quiet, saying the words down a long and hollow hallway.

“Come on, dad. Seriously. What’s wrong?”

What could he tell her?

The truth?

He couldn’t lie to his own daughter.

So, he would do what he always does, what every person does when they have lost all hope of life - only tell a partial truth.

“I’m sorry, Isabeau. I don’t mean to be a downer. I just, I can’t help but feel like I’m failing you and your sister.”

True.

But certainly not the whole truth.

Isabeau touched his cheek, rubbing her thumb gently over his skin. He could still feel all the universe in her fingertips. Everytime she touched him, he never wanted her to let go. The fears of his life, the spinning of the world, everything seemed to vanish and he was always at peace. He still didn’t understand why. Maybe it was simply because her very lifeforce was the promise of a better future.

“Daddy,” she said, with doe-like compassion, “please stop doing that to yourself.”

“I know. I know.”

“No, you don’t know. I can see straight into your heart, remember? I know far more about what is in you than you ever show.” Isabeau stopped herself, the tears and the lump welling in her throat, she refused to let herself look down that path. “I am in your heart of hearts, my dear, dear, father. How many times do I need to tell you? Oona and I do not blame you for this fate. The path you are on, the girls you meet, the relationships you have, this is how things are meant to unfold. We do not hate you. We do not resent you. We are not disappointed in you. We never have been.”

“I feel like sometimes you have been. Like I’m not trying hard enough. I’m not looking hard enough.”

“No. Dad. No. Stop it. We have never been disappointed. Yes, we get frustrated at times, but we are not frustrated with you. We are frustrated with the situation.” Isabeau sat up and held her dad by the leg.

“What’s the difference?”

“You know the difference. And stop beating yourself up for trying harder. What more can you try? You know yourself. Are you going to meet her at a nightclub or a, a, a what? I don’t know. Where else can you meet people? Some dating website? Random places like an art show or a friend’s party or something?”

“Well, I don’t know. Maybe some of those places. Like, I, crap, I don’t know.”

“Dad, listen. The point is, you’re different. You’re over 30 years old and you’ve never been drunk or gotten stoned in your life. Okay? And you want a girl who acts the same way. A girl with your same values. You realize that alone reduces your chances by about 90%?”

“Well, that may be a bit much.”

“No, dad. 90%. Did you know 90% of the adult population drink alcohol? So, yeah, simply because of that one thing alone, you want a girl who never drinks, just like you, that puts you in the 10% of weirdos.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m not making fun of you. I think it’s admirable. We don’t want an alcoholic for a dad. We know we never have to worry about that with you. You’ll never beat up mom in a drunken rage. You’ll never show up at one of our school plays smelling like beer. I’m proud of you for not drinking. You’ll never be some stoned loser, smoking pot all afternoon, that we’re embarrassed to introduce to our friends in gradeschool. You will be amazing and wonderful and a great role model for us. But, I’m saying, your choice to live that way does put you in a huge minority. And looking for a woman with similar values really puts you in a totally bigtime disadvantage. Unless you want to become Amish.”

Rusty laughed.

“See?” Isabeau grinned, “I knew I could make my daddy smile.”

Isabeau waved Oona back in from the ocean. “Oona! Come here!”

“You come here!” Oona yelled back.

“Come on!”

Oona rolled her eyes and did as her sister told her.

Rusty looked between them. “Isabeau? What are you doing? Let Oona play. She doesn’t have to - Oona! Honey! You can stay in the water!”

But by that time, Oona was already out of the surf and halfway across the beach to her sister and dad. “Oh, now you tell me!”

Soggily, Oona sat by their feet.

Flicking her hair like a dog, Rusty and Isabeau screamed.

“Hey!”

“Stop it!”

“Cut it out!”

“Brat!”

Oona laughed at her handiwork, droplets of salty ocean rolling off their smeared faces.

“Oona! I’m being serious!”

Oona imitated her sister, “Oooo. I’m being serious!”

“Oona, tell your dad that we’re not disappointed in him.”

“Isabeau! You didn’t have to call her out of the ocean for that.”

“Of course we’re not disappointed in you. Why would you think that, dad? That’s crazy.” Oona asked.

“No, I never said - ”

“ - Yes, you did. You said just now.” Isabeau corrected.

“Okay! Fine. Yes, sometimes I, well, I worry that I’m letting you girls down. Because it’s been such a long time and I’m no closer to finding your mom. And I go running around with girls like Amy and Mikayla and, heck, I don’t know what I’m thinking. And the guilt of that just, well, it really gets to me. And, and, I guess I just want you both to know that I love you very much and I’m so sorry that I just can’t seem to, I dunno, I just can’t seem to get my, lovelife together.”

Rusty came very close to saying “life” instead of “lovelife” and was relieved that he caught himself.

“Oh, dad.” Oona hugged him. “We know you’re trying.”

“Yeah. We’ve always been a strange family. This is never easy.”

“How do you know that?” Rusty asked.

“You honestly think this has never happened before?”

That was the moment when Rusty realized people who live with the most loving of friends and abundance of family, even these people who know a bliss of affection and warmth and camaraderie they can all sense, in the furthest depths of their souls, that we are all unspeakably lonesome. For any human being to truly touch another, to sincerely fill that depthless well of nothingness we all contain, entire galaxies must align in the most perfect of ways. Ways in which no stars have ever congealed before in all of time.

Chuckling as he let sand sift between his fingers, Rusty admitted, “The thought has indeed crossed my mind. Many times.”

Isabeau took his face into her delicate hands. “Dad, listen to me, you do not owe us an apology. Not ever.”

“Yeah. If anything, we owe you one.”

“No, you don’t. Why do you think you owe me one?”

Oona explained, “For pressuring you. For making you feel inadequate. For rushing you. Like that night you wrote to Mikayla and I got all mad. That was wrong of me. I’m sorry for that.”

“Sweetie, I know. You know I was never upset with you. You have nothing to be sorry for and I have nothing to forgive. You never did anything wrong.”

Oona smiled, happy her apology was accepted. “Dad, pressuring you, that’s not what this is about. We don’t want you to go rushing into dating every single girl you set your eyes on. We don’t expect you to be like, desperately trying to marry every girl you go out with.”

Isabeau grinned in agreement with her sister. “Yeah. We want our mother to be someone special. Just like you. We don’t want her to be just anyone. We don’t want you feeling pressured to just run out and knock up some girl to make her our mother.”

“Well, I wasn’t planning on that.”

“No, you may not be planning it, but that’s the kind of pressure you’ve been feeling from us, just by us being here.”

Rusty hated to admit it, and honestly, he wasn’t fully aware of it until she put it in those terms, but she was right. That kind of pressure is exactly what he’d been feeling. He didn’t want to lie to them, but she did already say it herself. “I guess, well, yeah, I have almost been feeling that way.”

“Dad, we are here to help keep you on track, not make you run faster.” Oona said, wringing her hair into the sand.

“How do you mean?”

Isabeau told him, “Meaning you’re a lonely guy. Lonely people settle. You can’t afford to do that. You can’t settle for someone who isn’t right for you. You can’t rush. By the same token, you can’t totally close yourself off from the world. You don’t want to turn into one of those depressed guys who shoots up a women’s gym on your lunchbreak.”

“Isabeau! I would never!”

Oona frowned and mocked her father, “I don’t know dad. You’ve got one of those, ‘He was quiet. He kept to himself.’ demeanors you always hear the neighbors say on the news.”

“Jeezus, Oona, I’m single, not homicidal!” He gently shoved her and she toppled over into the sand, giggling.

“I’m just saying, we’re here to keep you sane.” Oona defended.

Isabeau was grinning and she looked like sunshine incarnate.

“Two disembodied spirits have been haunting me for years and their motive is to keep me sane? Brilliant! For two people looking to keep me sane, you sure do a good job of driving me crazy!”

“Seriously, dad. Would you stop worrying?” Isabeau smacked his arm.

“Okay!”

Isabeau dropped her grin and sternly commanded, “No. Dad. I’m serious. Stop it. I mean, from this point forward, I don’t want to have this conversation with you again. I don’t ever - we don’t ever - want you to think of yourself as failing us. Never again. You understand? You will find our mother when the time is right and that’s that. And you can’t find her unless you date a variety of women. And we don’t expect you to try to marry every woman you date. And you don’t need to restrict yourself to only date those women you think could potentially be ‘The One’. Just live your life. Be happy. Finding our mother should be a joyful adventure, not a guilt-ridden chore. Understand?”

Her final words really stuck with him.

Finding our mother should be a joyful adventure, not a guilt-ridden chore.

Wow. She was right. The quest was just that simple!

And Rusty had been doing it all wrong.

“Are you my daughter or my mom?”

Oona backed up her sister, saying, “We’re serious, dad. Never again. No more guilt.”

“Okay. Okay. Yes. I promise.”

“Promise?” Isabeau asked.

“Promise?” Oona repeated.

They knew their dad would never break a promise. That was just his way. He was old fashioned like that. A man always kept his word. Maybe he was the last man on earth who felt that way, but he had stuck to that ideal for life.

“I promise.” Rusty confirmed, “Thank you. Both of you. Thank you for being, well, just for being who you are.”

“Of course we’re wonderful. Comes from upbringing.” Isabeau gave a Hollywood smile over a coy shoulder.

“Can I go back in the water now?” Oona requested.

“Yes, yes. Go back in the water now.” Rusty waved her off. “Don’t get eaten by the spirit of an unborn shark.”

“Ha, ha. Very funny.”

§

The talk in Los Angeles with his daughters lifted his spirits immensely.

But only temporarily.

While he wasn’t feeling guilty over being single anymore, it didn’t change the fact that he was lost in a vast sea of nothing. Months had gone by and he wasn’t even getting job interviews. Being unemployed for so long was taking a toll on him. How do you try to convince women you have something to offer when you feel like a complete loser?

How many others had felt that way?

Why do people do that to themselves?

We know we are useful. We know we are meaningful.

Yet for some reason, we pin so much of our value on our jobs.

The whole mentality is like a lucid nightmare - we know it’s not true. We know we are worth more than our career. Yet, for some reason, anytime you remain unemployed for an extended period of time, you start to doubt your own worth.

Life had become such a void.

Rusty was constantly sickened by how empty his heart had become. He was reading some online journal entries of random people and he was amused by those college kids who got online and started to write about all these “changes” in their lives and how “different” things are from one year to the next.

He laughed, knowing they remained the same selfish jerks as highschool freshman as they are when they become college seniors. Nothing changes. They got laid a few more times and went to some extra parties and concerts. Other than that, they are still the same self-absorbed numbskulls they’ve always been.

Nothing changed for Rusty from year to year either.

The difference was, Rusty recognized the stagnation.

When he tried to pinpoint what was wrong, or when he began to feel this way, he had no idea when any change occurred.

Ultimately, he just never once felt like he belonged anywhere. And he wasn’t talking about some bullshit teen angst of thinking nobody understands him or feeling unloved.

No. This went much deeper than that.

It was the sense of the world around him not even being of the same physical matter he was built from. Of feeling totally alien. Feeling he had never and would never belong. This universe was not his home at all. And does he ever return?

One in twos. Others in one...

Those hypnogogic words then came to him.

Again that feeling.

It permeated his every waking moment. He was consumed by it. Disturbed by it. He felt like he was a dream.

Maybe Isabeau and Oona weren’t the ghosts after all.

He was beginning to think he might just be imagining himself.

He felt like he was the ghost.

As if he no longer existed, but didn’t know it.

Was this how the Cotard delusion begins?

He felt completely detached from the world. He had no emotion for anything. And it seemed he had been as thus for years.

Perhaps he was wrong about being unchanging.

For the first time, he was starting to see his near complete detachment from the essence of who he used to be.

Isabeau sat next to her father on the couch. “Daddy? You seem upset.”

Rusty was literally doing nothing. Sitting in his livingroom. He wasn’t eating. He wasn’t listening to music. He wasn’t watching television. He was just listening to the sound of a far off lawnmower. “How observant. Yes. That is true. That I am. Very much so. What is your point?”

Oona, on the armrest, chimed in. “You know there’s an old French proverb that says all the great problems of the world stem from the inability of a man to sit alone in a room and do nothing.”

Rusty smirked, “So, at least I’m not adding to the problems of the world?”

“Something to smile about.” Oona grinned.

Despite himself, Rusty smiled back. He was so happy for her presence yet so distraught over her incorporeal nature, he feared touching her, for she might dissolve into nothing and he’d discover that all these years of believing in her was a delusion.

Isabeau asked, “Do you want to reel?”

“Reel from what?”

“Heal. I said heal. Not reel.”

“Oh! Sorry. I had no idea I was injured.”

Isabeau noted, “Then you are far more forgone than you realized.”

“Yes. I am hurting. I do want to heal. I feel like a ghost in my own future.”

Oona asked mysteriously, “The future? What is that?”

Rusty replied, “That which has not yet been.”

Isabeau explained, “All has been. Even that which has not.”

“So there is only a past? No future or present?” Rusty wondered.

Isabeau asked, “Where are you from?”

Rusty didn’t hesitate to respond, “The Dreaming. The fae.”

“Really? Or are you a shadowlord? Lucifer was the brightest light and fell from grace. As did all of his minions. Lancelot did so also. The greatest glory often becomes a shadow.” Isabeau observed.

The conversation felt like a dream. The lawnmower buzzed. Rusty wished he was back at his grandparents house, where the clock ticked in the quiet livingroom. Perhaps a chime would tell him if he were asleep. He told his daughters, “I thought I was pure light.”

Isabeau answered him by shifting her legs under her and leaning against the couch back. “Where are you from? Are you a shaman? Or a dreamwalker? Or something more? And how old are you, really?”

Her voice seemed to be muffled, even though she was sitting inches away.

“I don’t know. I keep forgetting.”

Oona questioned him from the other side, “Why do you keep coming back here? What are you afraid to remember?”

Rusty sighed heavily and the sound seemed to pull him back to a more tangible sense of the world. “I have no idea. I once dreamed I was a great revolutionary leader, fighting a horrible tyrannical regime, in a primitive tribal culture, and I was being ritualistically tortured in front of a huge crowd of people and my whole life was nothing but a hallucination to escape that suffering.”

Thinking about the horror of whether or not that might still be true, Rusty added, “After all this time, I have no idea who I am.”

Isabeau and Oona said nothing for a time, then Isabeau asked so quietly it was almost a whisper, “How do you know you’re not dead already? Can the living do what you can?”

Rusty was confused and his head was swirling. “I’m losing my mind, aren’t I? I’ve fallen into shadow. I never think about my life anymore. I never question things. I’ve become so hectic, so busy trying to have a life, that I have lost my life. I never have time to write in journals, to think, to reflect... to dream. To plan my future. To have a perspective on my course. How can a person as busy as me, who attains as much as I do, be going through life with no direction and no sense of accomplishment?”

“My dear, dear father. Cower not from your sorrows and pain for you know not what marvelous roads they are diverting your life to journey. You asked for this. You wanted this. Transformation from your old life to the new is what you wished for. The universe makes all creatures endure the suffering of metamorphosis before the new life can be lived. This is the road you wanted. The cocoon tortures the caterpillar as the butterfly is reborn.”

Maybe moving to California was the answer.

Maybe the universe was forcing him to leave.

Maybe his life felt like it was over because it was.

Maybe this was truly his death.

His hometown was no longer his home.

Maybe that’s why he was so unhappy there.

Rusty realized, that ever since Marie, for the past 5 years, he had begun to feel apathetic about everything.

He rarely laughed anymore. He rarely cried. He never felt much of anything unless he was watching a movie. False realities and vicarious living through the dreams of imaginary characters. The only time he felt alive.

He never went out.

He never had fun.

He never did anything sociable.

He just felt like he didn’t really exist.

And the worst thing was, it wasn’t some “phase” that had lasted 5 months. This was 5 years of living this way.

He knew the next 5 would be the same.

And the 5 after that.

“You know the worst part? The part that hurts the most is that I’m never hurt anymore. How’s that for irony? Hurt by a lack of pain. I never feel anything anymore. Not joy. Not sorrow. Just indifference.” Rusty couldn’t look at the girls as he said those words. He shut his eyes, hoping they wouldn’t be there when he opened them. “Why? Why did this happen to me? There was a time when I was filled with so much passion and love and hope. Endless wells of hope.

“And I just don’t feel anymore.

“Not hope.

“Not disappointment.

“Not even pain.

“I’ve been abandoned more times than I can even remember.”

As he dared to look at the girls, they seemed far away. Much farther than they were. Silently, they listened.

Rusty continued, “Can you believe that? There was once a time when I could count every heartache I ever felt on one hand. Every girl who broke my heart fit right here. Every pain was so clear and every cut was so deep. But now? I’d have to think about it. Can you believe that? I’d have to make an effort to remember.”

With one last sigh, he said, “I’ve forgotten how feel anything.”

He was so unhappy with his life, yet his apathy was a stronger emotion than his dissatisfaction, so why bother to change anything?

§

Beloved Soulmate,

Hello, my love.

All my life, I have vowed that I would find you again. For as long as I can recall, I have believed in you. I have sworn time and again that I shall hold steadfast in my faith in us and our destiny to be reunited once more.

I am writing this letter to humbly beg of your forgiveness. Because I have done something even worse than breaking my vow - I have ceased to imagine you even exist.

Yes. That’s right.

Not only do I think the notion of finding you is a delusion, but I no longer think you are real at all. I have no hope of finding you, because you have always been nothing beyond a figment of my imagination.

So, I hope you can forgive me.

Forgive me for creating you.

Forgive me for dreaming you up and filling you with the hope of finding me. I never should have made you so real. You’ve never existed. But I’ve made you real and hurt you for that conjuration.

Please understand that my intentions were pure and I never meant you any harm. I wanted you to be real just as much as you wanted me to be real.

The older I get, the more my life feels burdened with regrets, isolation and despairs. I grow more and more detached from the world everyday.

My comfort always came in thoughts of you.

That I would find you one day.

That life would mean something when I could devote myself to you.

That when you returned to my life, I could be part of the living world again.

You would bring out the best in me.

Your love would breathe life into days I thought would only remain hollow.

Most people would say I need to do that myself. I can’t rely on you.

But I know you’re looking for a soul to save you, just the same as I am.

And I know I would have had the power to rescue you. Just as you would me.

But all of that was before...

Before too many hours passed...

Before year, after year, after year of being a failure...

And now, at long last, I know that soulmates are a dream.

Love is an illusion.

And belief in magic only breaks one’s heart.

Forgive me. Forgive me. Forgive me, my love.

If you have ever been real in any way, then I have now failed you to a degree I never imagined possible. For all my reasons to berate myself and belittle myself for my downfalls, none can be worse that this one I commit right now.

Long have I held that magic begins when you believe. So, if all my belief is gone, then how can I have any hope for any wonderment at all?

Herein I betray my only hope of redemption.

For this sin, I can never be forgiven.

I now know that I am alone in all this world and evermore shall remain so.

There is no one else who sees anything the same way I do... And the worst part of all, is that if there are others like me out there... I will never find a single one of them...

In my mind, we have met ten thousand times.

I have dreamed you, perhaps quite unfairly, into countless faces and into the touch of almost every lover I have ever known... But none of them ever work out... None are ever whom I pray they will be. None of them have been you. My hope of you has never manifested in a single soul I have ever met.

And I must finally accept that it never will.

You are too good for this world.

And my heart will never belong to anyone but you.

Forevermore.

Solitude is my path.

Isolation incarnate shall be my only companion until the end of my days.

You were never real. What an idealistic fool I have been.

Still Yours, Still in Love With You Always,

Rusty

§

Isabeau cried, folding up his letter.

As Rusty murmured in a deep slumber, Oona approached her weeping sister.

“Hey.” Oona whispered.

“Hey.” Isabeau replied, wiping away a tear.

“You shouldn’t be reading that.”

Isabeau grimaced, “I know.”

“He still doesn’t remember, does he?”

Isabeau shook her head, “No. Not yet. It’s just so hard to see him this way.”

“We knew it would be like this. So did he.” Oona motioned to the paper in Isabeau’s hand, “You know he doesn’t mean any of that. He’s just in the shadowslip. By the dark mountain. He can’t help anything he says. You know that. It’s not his true heart.”

“I know. I know.”

“He spent his whole life always trying to do the right thing. No one who lives that way ever gets any gratitude. They all get crucified. Crucifixion is the fate of all angels in a world of monsters.”

Isabeau nodded. “Yes.”

“Daddy will be fine. This is the way it must be. This is his path.” Oona said, resting a gentle hand upon the shoulder of her sister.

Isabeau grabbed her fingertips, “I know, sweetie.”

Rusty stirred under his covers.

Isabeau whispered to her sister, “Let’s go.”

§

Her name was Megan Koloshiniski and Rusty sat at his computer, editing her acting headshots. Rusty could barely pronounce her name, but she paid him $50 for an afternoon of shooting.

Fifty dollars.

What a joke.

If he booked photoshoots like that every single day, he’d still be destitute. That’s barely $18,000 a year. And there’s no way he could find one client per day. No way.

Did he really think he could make a living as a photographer?

In Ohio?

How?

How many headshots is he going to book in Cleveland?

There about 30 actors in this town. What a joke. Waste of time.

This was crazy.

Megan was adorable. She wasn’t remotely interested in dating Rusty though. He flirted with her a bit and received a stoic response. So, there he was, ripping himself off, doing cheap photo shoots for pennies. Wondering why he was such a fool? Why he was so gullible? And worst of all, ashamed that he was so desperate for money, he couldn’t say no to an offer that was swindling him.

Sitting on the couch, Isabeau and Oona watched him work.

He enjoyed their company. Made the tedious hours of retouching feel more productive.

Isabeau asked, “Daddy?”

“Yes?”

“You’ve been a dreamer all your life, haven’t you?”

“Yeah. Pretty much.”

Oona spoke up, “And lately you have begun to lose all faith in dreams and hope and magic, right?”

“Yeah. Pretty much.”

Rusty clicked away and felt like he was having a conversation with a girl who could teleport. Was weird to hear a voice that sounded the same, coming at him from two different parts of the room.

Isabeau wondered, “Do you think your life will benefit from that? Or would abandoning dreams and aspirations make things worse?”

“I think that ceasing to cling to illusions might help me to feel happier and more content, yes. Yes, I do.”

Oona teleported, “Okay. Fair enough. Now exactly what are the ‘illusions’ and the magic you seek to give up on? Soulmates? Joy itself?”

“You know, I really want to move out of this city. See the world. I feel like I’m just marking time. Marking time.”

Isabeau grinned, “You really think it would work?”

“What?”

“You know what. Going there. The place you have begun to dream of.”

“California?”

“California. Maybe you belong there.”

“Maybe.”

Oona asked her father, “Daddy, what is your highest truth? When you have your last day on this Earth, what do you want to know you have attained?”

“Bringing you and your sister into the world.”

Isabeau clarified, “Other than that. You see, if any memory of you survives, you will be fiction longer than you had been fact. Dream and illusion last longer than tangible and real. In the grand pageant of humanity, we all play only a brief role. We spend more time dead than we do alive in the movie of human history. So, what do you want to know you’ve achieved? More than anything else? What?”

Rusty finally stopped looking at the monitor and turned to his girls on the couch. “That... That I...”

“Go on.” Oona nodded encouragement and smiles.

Rusty shook his head, “This is scaring me.”

“Why?” Isabeau wondered.

“Because I’ve never thought of it before... And because I’ve barely done it.”

“Done what?”

Rusty stared into the carpet, ashamed to look up. “Take risks. Wild chances. That is my highest truth. To know that I tried living passionately. No. Not tried. To know I did.”

He looked up, fear smeared across his face. The fear of a man resigned to a fate he didn’t want. Yet, a fate he knew he could change any second, if not for his own cowardice.

Isabeau, young as she was, smiled with the tenderness of a grandmother, “Wasting your life is your biggest fear of all? In the furthest depths of your heart? Your highest truth - ”

“ - To not waste my life. Yes.”

Oona clarified, “To not squander it.”

Rusty nodded at her, “Aye. Indeed. But how do I do that?”

Isabeau replied, “Finding that answer will take time, I imagine.”

§

“Dude, let me get this straight,” Mike Boatwick said, taking a gulp of Coke in the diner booth, “You meet this Mikayla chick on the Internet. She comes out to see you from New York. You think you’re gonna be getting it on with this girl. You’ve got her tits in your mouth at 2 o’clock in the morning. Then her roommate, supposedly ex-boyfriend calls her half a dozen times. Everytime he calls, she runs off to your goddamn bathroom to talk to him in private. And you’re left alone in your bed with your dick in your hands.”

Rusty nodded over his French toast. “Yep. Pretty much it.”

“Dude, that blows.”

“Tell me about it.”

Mike and Rusty had been friends for years. Met back in college, but they barely spoke to each other anymore. Boatswain called Rusty out of the blue and they decided to have lunch at Denny’s a few miles down the road.

“Why didn’t you kick her ass out?” Mike asked.

“Kick her out?”

“Hell, yeah! Come on, man. Don’t you hear yourself? This chick is totally dicking you around. She’s flying across the country to sleep with you, then she starts taking phonecalls from her boyfriend in the middle of the night? What kind of man calls a girl in the middle of the night, when he knows she’s a guest in some other man’s house? Only a jealous boyfriend does that. Friends and roommates do not do that shit! You think he’s just a friend? Or a roommate? Dude, come on! Wake up! He’s her boyfriend and her boyfriend is a rude little sissy! Who else does that!?”

“He’s not her boyfriend. Not anymore.”

“Of course he is! You don’t call six times to check up on your friend. Not her boyfriend? How can you possibly believe her? That’s what she tells you. Seriously, why is she still living with the guy? Why is she taking his calls in the middle of the night!? Listen man, if a chick is into a dude and they’re about to start fucking, she sure as hell wouldn’t be stopping to answer phonecalls from her ex-boyfriend! And why would she be all uptight about you messaging her?”

“She said he’s really sensitive?”

“And you believe that!? Who cares!? He’s sensitive!? Why is she so worried about the feelings of some little sissy boy? No. Screw that. They’re still dating. Dude, she’s totally using you. Don’t you see that? You’re just a patsy. She’s just trying to make him jealous. And it’s working. You played right into her lying bitch hands. She’s using you, man.”

“No. No. She is not.”

“Oh, no? Then why the hell is she talking to a friend in the middle of the night when she is spending the night with you? Why did she stop you from having sex?”

“She’s just showing some decorum! That’s all.”

Mike paused a moment, then threw down his fork. “Oh, man.”

“What?”

“You! Listen to you. Decorum? You are so... ugh! You are so whipped! So whipped. She has you right where she wants you, doesn’t she? You’ll just stick up for her no matter what. She could lop your dick off with a butcher knife and you’d still be defending her. You can’t accept the fact that this girl was playing you and just trying to make her man jealous. Why else would she be taking his calls all night long?”

Mike leaned over the table, “Look, Rusty, you gotta face it, if the bitch really liked you, she would have turned off her fucking cellphone. Simple as that.”

Rusty rested his forehead in his palm and turned away. He said nothing. What do you say when you’re the scolded dog? You can’t play it off and act suave or aloof and try to deny your own excrement is dripping off your nose. Rubbing his face, he didn’t like the way Mike’s words were sitting with him. Mainly, he didn’t like that fact that everything Mike was saying was true. Rusty felt his guts bubble. His intestines churned like a wringing towel. The kind of kidney tension that always lead to unpleasant nights in the bathroom.

Mike was right. About all of it.

Or was he?

Rusty couldn’t be sure.

Was Rusty just defending her?

Was he playing the fool? Again?

“I’m sorry, man,” Mike said, reading Rusty better than Rusty could. “I don’t mean to sound like a jerk. I know it’s not easy to admit you let someone screw you over. That’s humiliating. But it’s more humiliating to not admit it. Show some respect for yourself. Put a stop to her bullshit before it gets worse.”

“True.”

“I know you really dug this chick. Nobody wants to admit that some cute girl suckered them or took them for a ride, you know? Trust me, I’ve been there. I know it sucks. Especially when the girl is someone you really thought you might have something special with.”

Crinkling up his nose, Rusty tried batting away the tension in his stomach. “No, no. Hey, it’s not your fault. Don’t apologize. I think, yeah, you’re right, it’s just, well, it’s kind of hard to... admit. Like you said. You’re right though. Everything you said is right.” Rusty swirled some bacon in some syrup. At least the food was sweet, even if the conversation wasn’t. “She may have said nice things and acted really polite, but the truth is, just because someone is talking sweetly when they stab you in the heart doesn’t make it okay to eviscerate you.”

“You got it, dude. But you know what? Your value doesn’t decrease based on someone’s inability to appreciate what you’re worth.”

That was exactly what Rusty needed to hear.

“Holy shit. That was good! Say that again.”

“Your value doesn’t decrease based on someone’s inability to appreciate what you’re worth.”

“That’s really good. You make that up?”

“Nah. Some girl I know posted it online.”

“Well, I’ll take what I can get. Whatever helps, even if it’s just a phrase plagiarized from an affirmation poster.”

“Nice.” Mike smirked.

Rusty hadn’t said anything about feeling worthless, yet Mike was smart enough to know it’s easy to feel that way when someone uses you. Sure, Rusty used Amy, but that was different. That was mutual. With Mikayla, he thought it meant something to both of them. “Yeah. I was stupid. You know, that’s - that’s not what I think bothers me so much though.”

“What bothers you?”

Rusty took a bite of the bacon, and finally looked up at his friend again. “What bothers me... What bothers me is knowing that if I could make such a fool out of myself with Mikayla, then I will do it again. You know? That if a girl could dupe me so easily, I’m going to fall for that kind of bullshit with another girl. Someday.”

“That’s not true. I mean, we all make mistakes and learn from them. Next time you’ll be able to spot a girl like that before she gets you.”

“How? How, Mike? How can I spot her? She didn’t do anything wrong until she was here in my bedroom for christsake!” Rusty sat back in the booth, frustrated by the foreboding of his ineptitude.

“That’s not true. She gave you plenty of red flags. You just ignored all of them. You should have stopped talking to her the minute she said she was living with an ex-boyfriend. That alone is way too much baggage and drama that you just don’t have time to deal with.”

Surprisingly, that was slightly comforting and Rusty gave a reluctant smile. “Hrm. Yeah. I guess you have a point.”

“You’re damn right I have a point. You know who you are, Rusty. Of every friend I know, you have a clearer vision of yourself than most people I’ve ever met. Don’t compromise it. Stay true to yourself. Don’t let yourself get so lonely that you’ll just embrace every girl who takes the time to smile at you.”

Again, Mike made a good point.

Rusty asked, “So, want to tell me your latest crazy chick story?”

“Crazy chick story?”

“You always have a good one.”

Mike laughed into his cup and the sound hushed around the porcelain. “Well, there was one that really pissed me off. Remember Julia?”

“Julia? No.” Rusty frowned.

“Well, it’s not important. She and I were pretty good friend like 2 or 3 years back. We hung out a lot. We never dated or anything. But we were pretty tight.”

“Okay.”

“So, I’m at the beach cruising the bike path and I see her there, by the concession stand and we start talking.”

“Cool.”

“Yeah. It was cool. I hadn’t seen her for awhile and we’re catching up and it’s great. Then she says she going to go lay out on the beach in her bikini and I ask if she would like some company because I’m enjoying our conversation.”

Rusty nodded, but said nothing.

Mike gargled a laugh that was half spit and spite. “You know what that bitch said to me? She said she didn’t want to because she didn’t want me to see her in a bikini.”

Rusty threw back his head in confusion. “What? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Mike looked furious. “Dude, I have no idea. In all the time I knew her, I was never rude or inappropriate. I never hit on her or made a pass at her in any way. So, why is it that if I see her in a bikini, she’s uncomfortable? But, if she goes on a public beach and three thousand strangers see her in a bikini, that’s okay?”

Rusty frowned and scratched the back of his scalp. “Yeah. That’s really insulting. I can see why you’d be pissed.”

“I mean, what the fuck? Does she think I’m going to rape her on the beach in the middle of the day? Huh? Is she afraid I’m going to whip it out and start jerking off on her? What the hell is the rationale behind her thinking? I was damn insulted.”

Rusty gave a lame attempt to defend her, not because he was on her side, but because he wanted to make Mike feel a little better, “Well, it’s weird chick shit. Don’t take it too personally.”

Mike cocked a skeptical eye. “Dude. Come on. Look, if she had some big insecurity about her body or something and she wanted to use a tanning bed where no one was around, I’d understand that. I wouldn’t take that personally. That wouldn’t bother me. But to lay out on the beach, around thousands of total strangers, in public, and to say she doesn’t want me to see her? That’s pretty fucking insulting. You can’t tell me not to take that personally. That’s totally personal! Her discomfort was with me. Me. Personally. No one else. Not the life guards. Not the other sunbathers. Not the 9 billion tourists. Not the people walking along the shore. Not the windsurfers. Just me. I’m the one she has a problem with. She’s perfectly okay with being in a bikini around those other groups of people. But around me she’s uneasy? What the hell? Like I said, in all the years I’ve known her, I’ve always treated her with respect. I’ve never hit on her or made any sexual comments about her or behaved in any way that is inappropriate. So, why the fuck is she acting like I’m some kind of creep?”

“I hear you, man. That’s shitty of her. So, what did you do?”

“I split, of course. Let her go lay out in her bikini where I couldn’t see her. Dumb bitch.”

“I’m sorry, man. That’s pretty harsh. Especially from someone you know really well.”

“Yeah. It really hurt my feelings, actually.”

The notion of hurt feelings and selfishly rude girls got Rusty thinking about the ideals of a woman. What kind of respect a person should have for anothers feelings and opinions and the kind of esteem with which one would hope to be regarded. Rusty would never dare to tell Mike about Isabeau and Oona, but he wondered what Mike would think of his ideals about a girl. “Do you believe in soulmates?”

“No way, dude. That’s a bunch of romantic bullshit. Why would you ask me that?” Mike chuckled, shocked that Rusty would bring up something so juvenile.

“I was just curious. I know you’re very religious and you know I’m not. I was just curious, from a spiritual and religious standpoint, if you think that’s possible.”

“No. Of course not. From a religious standpoint? There’s nothing in the bible about soulmates.”

“Well, you know, the Mayans and the Japanese existed before the bible was written, but there’s no mention of them either.”

“There’s no such thing as soulmates, dude. If you go though life looking for that, then you’ll always be lonely.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because relationships are fucking hard dude. For two individuals to get along, and live with each other for decades, and not want to kill each other, that’s hard. Soulmates is bullshit because it makes you think relationships are all magic and faerie dust.”

“They do not.”

“Yes, they do! Why do you think the people who believe in soulmates are always the ones who are alone? Because you run around with these lofty ideals and expectations that no one can meet up to. And as soon as someone fails you - BAM! - you kick them to the curb.”

“Wait. Wait. You just told me I know myself so well and not to compromise and all that shit.”

“You shouldn’t let yourself get fucked over. But you can’t go around expecting every girl you meet to be a faerietale princess either.”

Rusty didn’t think he was guilty of that, but he was too afraid to argue the point, lest he discover he was putting girls on such unrealistic pedestals.

“I never put any expectations on girls I don’t put on myself. Come on. You have to give me some credit. You know that’s true.”

“Yeah, but you’re an asshole.”

“Excuse me!?” Rusty chuckled.

Mike laughed, “You know it’s true. You’re a bigoted holier-than-thou prick. Only the biggest problem with you is that you’re worthy of your arrogance.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m trying to give you a compliment, jackass. I mean you’re a genuinely good person. Which makes it worse. It’s like, you go around acting like your shit don’t stink, and when people get into the bathroom, they discover it really doesn’t stink. So, now they hate you twice as much! First they hated you for bragging. Then they hate you even more when they find out you’re like some Little Lord Fauntleroy incarnate.”

Both of the young men were laughing by that point. A middle aged couple, who had been eavesdropping two booths over, were snickering too.

“Well, thanks? I think? That may be one of the weirdest compliments I’ve ever gotten.”

“I’m not sure it’s an insult or a compliment. It’s just an observation. But, see? That’s what I mean - you elect to take it as a compliment. You think so highly of yourself, you see that as a good thing. You may not put expectations on women that you don’t put on yourself, but you are still damn hard to live up to. The world isn’t exactly teeming with women who qualify as Rusty-compatible soulmates. Most young girls today are just alcoholic sluts with too little education, too many tattoos, and so many piercings they look like aborigines.”

“I really though Mikayla might be my soulmate.”

Mike was snide as a serpent when he asked, “Yeah? And how did that work out for you?”

“Shut up.” Rusty chuckled.

“What? You brought this up. You asked. I’m just telling you what I think.”

“Come on. You don’t think it’s possible to live multiple lives with the same person?”

“No. I don’t. The bible says we’ll go to heaven and be with God. That’s what I believe.”

“What if we don’t want to be with God? What if we want to come back to earth?”

“Because once you are in the presence of God and you feel His grace and His love, you won’t desire anything else.”

“Now which one of us sounds crazy? Isn’t that kind of selfish? What about missionaries?”

“What about missionaries?”

“Well, my point is, most missionaries give up a pretty good life in order to travel to third-world hellholes. And they do it because they want to make the world a better place. So, can’t reincarnation work the same way? Just because the presence of God is so wonderful and amazing, don’t you think some people might want to give up that blissful presence, in order to return to earth, to help make our world a better place?”

“No. The bible tells us we’ll be in heaven for eternity.”

“Oh, come on. That’s ridiculous. Even a religious person has to agree that a soul might stand before God and say, ‘Hey, I’d really like to return to earth for a lifetime and try to improve the world.’ And I refuse to believe that a truly loving God would say, ‘No.’”

“No. It doesn’t happen. No one would ever ask that because the glory of God is too overwhelming.”

“Oh my God, you’re like talking to a brick wall.”

“What? The bible is very clear on that.”

“I don’t think so. The bible isn’t even clear on where Cain’s wife came from. I very much doubt it says anywhere in the bible that reincarnation is impossible, and God keeps you imprisoned in heaven, even if you wish to return to the world and make it a better place. I doubt the bible says any of that.”

“He doesn’t imprison us. No one wants to leave his presence.”

“And again, I say who the hell is that selfish? Don’t you think anyone has enough love for humanity to want to do something good for others, instead of just selfishly remaining in euphoria for eternity? Are you saying no one would ever sacrifice heaven for the chance to comfort those who are suffering?”

Mike shrugged and felt Rusty was getting off the true subject at hand. “Okay, for the sake of argument, suppose you’re right. None of this hypothetical speculation about soulmates and the afterlife makes Mikayla the right girl for you. No matter how you slice it, she’s still the wrong girl who fucked you over.”

What more was there to say?

That was it.

She was the wrong girl who fucked him over.

Damnit.

That was true.

In the end, none of the details mattered. Was she using him to make her boyfriend jealous? Did she never like him? Was it all a sham? Was it all lies?

Who cares?

What difference did it make?

The only thing that mattered was that Mikalya didn’t want him.

She wasn’t coming back.

Not ever.

She. Was. Gone.

There was nothing more to discuss.

Rusty had been pining over her long enough.

Time to move on.

Chapter Five

“Woohoo!” A woman’s voice hollered from behind Rusty as he walked to the plane. He was on a layover at San Francisco airport, flying into Burbank. Everyone on his flight was quietly shuffling to board the aircraft, and here was one woman, howling like a cowgirl at a rodeo. He turned around and looked at her.

Who the hell was she yelling at?

She appeared to be maybe a decade older than him, but she had the aura of a 16 year old girl. The woman was wearing black leather pants, a black top and a black cowboy hat. Her hair was long and flowing and as bright a shade of pink as cotton candy.

Total rocker chick.

She smiled right at him. This wasn’t a smile in his general direction. This was right into his eyes. A smile that nearly knocked him through the gantry wall. The woman exuded charm, childlike joy, and an electric sensuality all in a single grin. Seduction incarnate. After 32 years of being alive, Rusty finally witnessed true “charisma” for the very first time in his life.

Who was this woman?

What an odd lady, he thought.

Instantly, Rusty really wanted to meet her.

Immediately, he began trying to come up with excuses to engage in a conversation after the flight landed. What might he say? If he managed to see her at the baggage claim or something, what kind of an excuse could he come up with?

As Rusty squeezed down the airplane aisle, he started to give up. Who was he kidding? This was real life, not a letter to Penthouse Magazine. No one meets their future lover on an airplane. That only happens in kinky pornographic fantasies.

He settled into his window seat, resigning that he’d never meet the woman. Within another minute or two, the pink haired rocker chick scooted in next to him.

No way.

Her seat was right next to his!?

What the hell were the odds of that? How many seats were on this plane? This was a 1 in 200 chance.

He wanted an excuse to meet this woman from the second he laid eyes on her. Now, here she was. Sitting next to him for the next full hour.

There was a Goddess after all.

I guess the universe doesn’t screw us over all the time, he thought.

“Hey!” She plopped down next to Rusty, beaming that same radiant smile, and gave him a wink as if they were old lovers.

“Hi.” Rusty couldn’t help but smile back.

Who was this woman?

He immediately checked her hand. No ring.

She caught him looking and it tickled her, but she didn’t say anything. As though reading his mind, she held our her hand, “Alexi. Alexi Knauer.”

They shook. “Hi. Rusty Stratford.”

“Nice to meet you, Rusty.”

“You too, Alexi.”

“Headed home?”

He smirked mysteriously, “For the first time.”

“You’ve never been to Los Angeles?”

“Oh, yes. Plenty of times. I visited about 3 times in the past 2 years. Now I’m finally moving there.”

“Good for you! Moving there for a job?”

“No, ma’am. I have no job. No apartment. I’m just going.”

“Well, that’s very brave.”

“Or very crazy.”

“Look at me. Does it look like I mind crazy?”

“Not at all. You look like you’d be the type to enjoy a little crazy now and then.”

Alexi laughed flirtatiously.

“How about you? What brings you to the City of Angels?”

“Born and raised. Just headed home.”

“Nice. What were you doing in San Francisco?”

“Just visiting my brother.”

“Cool.”

“And what about you? Do you have friends to stay with?”

The pornographic fantasy stirred. Was she inviting him to stay at her place? “Oh, I know a few people. I’m just staying at a hotel until I can find an apartment. All my things are getting shipped out on a truck.”

“So where are you moving from?”

“Cleveland. Rock and Roll Capitol of the World.”

Alexi chuckled harder than Rusty expected. He came to learn that Alexi had been the lead singer in a rock band called The Vows and 20 years earlier she had a hit single called, “Honey It’s Me”. Turns out she wasn’t just dressed like a rocker chick, Alexi really was one. She made her living as a musician. Not like the bands he knew in Cleveland who were all struggling musicians playing dive bars for beer money on the weekends and working at auto factories during the day. Alexi was a bonafide rockstar. She carried herself with an aggressive attitude that was a cross between Pat Benetar and Joan Jett, yet she somehow had all the friendly sparkle of Cyndi Lauper.

They chatted for the entire flight.

She was 13 years older than Rusty, had her own house, was single but had been briefly married, and was mother to a 22 year old daughter named Leslie (which, oddly, put Rusty closer in age to her child than to Alexi herself).

Alexi and Rusty hit it off wonderfully and minute by minute, he felt himself growing more and more attracted to this 45 year old rockstar goddess. By the time the flight landed in Burbank, they had exchanged numbers and were hugging goodbye in the airport.

Indeed, he thought, the universe wasn’t always out to screw him over. In fact, for the first time in a long time, the universe had been quite generous that afternoon.

§

Over the next 2 years, Rusty’s relationship to Isabeau and Oona began to change. All those vows he had made, all those promises to himself about never revealing his dark times, about never admitting to his uncertainties, all those oaths began to fade.

He realized two very important things. Two critical epiphanies that allowed him to permit himself the indulgence of sharing more with them.

First of all, the fact was, they had very much become his closest friends. Despite all his vehement disdain for the idea of parents and children behaving like buddies and pals, he realized that he was closer to no one else.

Second, and far more important, was the simple fact that they hadn’t been born. Rusty realized when they finally did become his flesh-and-blood daughters, they would never remember any of this. When he was hit with that realization, suddenly he questioned, “What difference does it make?”

Who cares if he reveals something too dark?

Who cares if he makes them worry?

Who cares if he shows weakness?

For the time being, they were in essence, ghosts.

Isabeau and Oona could never be harmed physically or emotionally. They’d never be traumatized if their dad revealed some uncertainty or frailty, because they would have no memory of any of these events or conversations.

Were they alive, he would never mention these topics to them.

As things stood, he saw no harm in telling them his deepest fears.

Naturally, when he mentioned all of this to his girls, they were sweet and gentle in their reaction. They agreed with him. After all, they may have looked like children, but their spirits were clearly timeless. They were neither young nor old. They viewed life with the innocence of youth and the wisdom of antiquity. Who better to confide ones trepidations to than souls of such sublime agelessness? Isabeau and Oona promised to be there for him and to listen to whatever troubled him.

Standing on the breakwall of Catalina, staring at the vast expanse of sea between him and the City of Angels, Rusty noted, “For too long, something has been missing. I don’t simply mean loneliness. It’s much more than that. As though - ”

Isabeau understood, brushing the wind-swept locks from her brow. “ - You fear you are on the wrong path.”

“I am far more suicidal than I have ever felt in years. I actually began a letter. I’ve researched poisons on the Internet...” Rusty swallowed, horrified by what he had just said. “Terrible thing to do, but I didn’t realize how terrible until I just said it out loud.”

He dropped his head, ashamed to allow himself to gaze upon the beauty of the sea. “No. You are right. I am not on the proper path at all.”

Oona sat cross-legged next to her dad. “What do you truly want from life? What do you really seek to accomplish? Remember, magic has to be believed and truest test is when we can not see. Like that Jane Siberry song says.”

Isabeau added. “Did you believe once?”

“Yes. Yes, I used to believe very much.”

“Were you happier then?”

“Yes... Yes, I was... But wasn’t it you who suggested not believing and trying a different path?”

Isabeau crumpled her shoulders. “I never suggested staying on a path that was devoid of all joy. Your other sorrows have washed over you and vanished. No doubt these pains were far from trivial and to endure them was a challenge and a hardship. Nevertheless, these paths riddled with thorns have brought you to a change you required for the next chapter of the journey. Forget not that the path to greatest joy may not be the path with the least sorrow. Do you think you can have joy without belief?”

“But... But false hopes are miserable! I can’t bear to endure false hope any longer.”

“Oh? Are you not the one who just mentioned being more suicidal than you’ve been in years? So, you think false hopes are worse than your current state?”

She had a good point.

“Daddy, think about this... Why live an unhappy life? If you choose to be miserable all the time, why live?”

“I’m not miserable. I’m apathetic.”

“Bull. That is a lie. Total bullshit lie.”

“Language.”

“No. Don’t berate me for cussing. I need to use this language so you finally listen!”

Rusty, inarguably reprimanded, said, “Oh? I’m not apathetic?”

“No! You are lonely! You are filled with rage from loneliness! If that chick you met at the masquerade ball had become your girlfriend and you were making love to her this very moment... tell me how you’d view life then?”

“Stop. Just stop it! There is no such thing as a girl who will save me!”

“No?”

Rusty couldn’t help but feel sorry for himself and think about all the great girls he had lost. “After Christine? And Renee? And Marissa LaStone? Are you kidding? After losing no less than three ideal girls? There is no way. No. Way. Most people don’t meet one amazing person in a lifetime. I’ve met three and lost them all. What does that tell you about my nature? About my fate?”

With a tug on his jeans, Oona wondered, “Did you ever stop to consider that maybe the reason you were blessed with meeting so many magical girls in the first place was because you believed?”

Like so many times before, Rusty was always shocked when his daughters would hit him with that kind of wisdom. Always stopped him in his tracks as he was headed towards the cliff. “Why?... Why is the notion of believing so hard for me to accept? And by the way, in answer to your earlier question, what I really want to accomplish is finding your mother.”

Oona smiled, pleased that even in his moments of heartache, he could admit to such an ambition. There was a lot more hope for him than he realized.

Isabeau told him, “Periods of doubt are all part of the journey, daddy. You’re supposed to lose faith. You’re supposed to falter. Doesn’t that happen to every person you know? In real life, and in books, and movies, and everywhere, the hero will always lose faith. That’s part of every quest. You will regain your footing only by being your true self! Daddy, you are a knight! Royalty! You are a prince of regal majesty. Noblesse oblige! Be what you are, not what you pretend to be! Deep inside, you’re stubborn. And you never give up. Just remember, giving up the path is not shameful if the obstacles are too difficult to surmount. So long as you never give up the goal, there is nothing wrong with seeking alternate routes. What matters, is that in the end, you get to where you belong. No matter how convoluted the road may be.”

“True.”

“You are stronger than sorrow. You are mightier than grief. You are greater than pain. You are a knight. You are peace and justice. You are tranquility. You are harmony and light.”

§

His first year in Los Angeles, Rusty found a few freelance architectural jobs and an apartment in the Valley. At least he found a job within months instead of searching for years. He landed at a small firm in Hollywood. Underpaid, but at least he could cover the rent and not end up in a cardboard box under the 101. All the while, he was still doing photography. Trying to get somewhere. Make a name. Establish himself.

There were plenty of women in his life, yet the dynamic of romance had shifted. When he was in his twenties, girls always wanted to have sex. All his life, he had heard that “older men were sexier” and “women hit their sexual peak in their thirties” so, he was thrilled to be moving to Hollywood when he was 32 years old. His sexual prime. Young enough to date women who were 20. Old enough to appeal to women who were 40. This would be the greatest era of his life! Getting laid constantly. The one moment when he’d be able to date a wider range of women than ever. The one moment when he’d have the best chance to live up to his vow to Isabeau and Oona. To find their mother.

Things didn’t turn out nearly so wonderfully.

For some reason, he found nothing but rejection.

He lost track of how many first dates ended with handshakes.

Meeting women was easy.

Keeping them seemed impossible.

Over those first years in California, his perspective began to change. For ages, he thought his task was to find his soulmate. He honestly believed the notion of a soulmate was a girl who already existed somewhere in the world, and their spirits were one, and they needed to be reunited.

He began to suspect that was wrong.

For years, he had remarked that he always attained all of his aspirations... except getting wealthy and finding a dreamgirl. He attributed his lack of a lifemate to the fact that he was not able to bend the will of a girl he liked; his soulmate needed to be someone who already existed.

He was mistaken.

He realized we turn our lives around in the moment we make the decision to change. Magic exists the moment we choose to conjure it.

It’s not about faith or hope or belief.

It’s about the sheer will of creation.

Oona jogged towards a bench where she took a break with her dad and asked, “How so?”

Wiping his brow, Rusty explained, “Don’t you see? I’ve attained all my hopes and dreams in life. I get to them through sheer tenacity. But for love and soulmates, aggressive fortitude has never worked. And what’s more, I never believed it would work. Because since that union and that bond relies upon the free-will and choices of someone else too, I felt hopeless. Being unable to control how other people feel, I couldn’t just will a soulmate into being. So, I figured it was all up to fate and destiny.”

“Now you don’t?” Oona wondered.

“No! Because it’s not about a person! This is my revelation! This is the profound truth and enlightenment! The cliché of ‘you’ll find someone when you aren’t looking’ means this!

“Soulmates are real!

“Soulmates do exist!

“But soulmates are not two people.

“Soulmates are moments of time!

“Soulmates are what you become together!”

Oona nodded, sunlight shining off of her skin that hadn’t broken a sweat. “You’ll find them when you aren’t looking. Because it’s not a ‘someone’ that you look for. It’s not someone who already exists. It’s the potential of whom anyone might become when they are with you. It’s what you create together. And that creation, you can control.”

Rusty beamed, happy that Oona completely grasped what he was saying. “Exactly! It’s not about her. It’s not about me. It’s not even about us. It’s about what we are transformed into. The ‘mate’ of soulmates isn’t two people being united. It is the mating of our shared time. Not a person. But the creation of a lifelong moment.”

Oona understood completely. “The person through whom you can see the universe.”

“Yes,” Rusty clarified. “By each moment.”

“It’s not a question of believing a dream exists. It’s a question of possessing the will to make it come true.”

“Right! Soulmates are not about finding a person. Soulmates are about creating moments. You will find the right person when you stop looking... and start creating...”

Oona nodded, “You wanted to know why you were alone? This is your answer... After all this time... After all these years... It’s because you never knew how to find what you sought. And what you sought was all wrong.”

“This is why some of my magical girls were so important.”

“Yes. They were moments... But one question...”

“What?”

“What happens if you find no one to participate in the creation of these moments?” Oona wondered, an incredulous wrinkle rippling over her lips.

Rusty nodded with a confidence that glared into the distance, “That is the power of magic and creation. I shall make people like that. I shall conjure them. Through sheer will, I can gravitate those people into my life.”

“Sheer will?” Oona dipped her head, “I don’t know, daddy. That sounds suspiciously like being back to Fate all over again. Sometimes an epiphany is just more bullshit.”

§

“Hey, Alexi!” Rusty grinned as he answered his cellphone, driving up Ventura.

“Hello. Who is this?”

Rusty laughed. “‘Who is this?’ You’re the one who called me!”

“Who is this?”

“What do you mean, ‘Who is this?’ It’s Rusty! How can you not know who you just called?”

“Oh, hey, Rusty! I just see my cellphone missed a call, so I dial it back.”

“Wait. What? You just arbitrarily redial missed calls on your cellphone without bothering to check who it was? What if it was someone you don’t want to talk to?”

“I don’t know. I guess I’d just hang up.” Alexi chuckled as if she really hadn’t thought of this before.

Sighing heavily, Rusty rubbed his cheek. “You are so weird. That’s part of why I like you. At least you didn’t hang up on me.”

Alexi laughed. “I always want to talk to you. What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Working.”

“What about in the evening?”

“Nothing.”

“You should come to my show in Hollywood. On Sunset.”

“Where on Sunset?”

“It’s a little club between Hudson and Wilcox.”

“What? You’re kidding.”

“No. I’m serious.”

“How weird. Are you serious? What time is your show?”

“Seven. Why is that weird?”

“Hudson and Wilcox? I literally work on Sunset in the building right across the street.”

“No way.”

“Yeah!”

“That is weird.”

“Then I guess I’ll be there. I have no excuse not to be!”

“Alright. See you then.”

Rusty had called to ask her to hang out. No reason to ask now that she’d invited him out to the gig tomorrow.

§

Rusty set aside his journal as Isabeau and Oona braided each others hair. “All of these entries have been about Alexi.”

The concert had been fun.

He had seen her play a few other times as well. Over at The Cat Club next to the Whiskey. Even at a carnival just down the street from his apartment.

Everytime he’d see her, Alexi looked thrilled that Rusty showed up. Her bandmate, the woman on bass, never seemed to like Rusty and she would glare at him like he were some lowlife groupie.

He supposed he was in a way.

Not many people were in the club that night.

Rusty always felt bad for Alexi when he went to her gigs, because she went from being this big rockstar appearing on television shows to playing carnivals on Saturday afternoons and little clubs in Hollywood to rooms of 15 people.

The strange thing was, that never seemed to bother Alexi.

Alexi was a true “artist” of a musician. She always appeared so wonderfully happy and positive. Plenty of people, especially in Hollywood, fake their joy. That was what Rusty loved about Alexi the most; the sincerity of her bliss. You could tell she was genuinely grateful for the chance to play her music, and she proved it everytime her 10,000 watt smile would light up the whole room... or the Tilt-A-Whirl.

Alexi may have been over 40, but she wasn’t a day over 18.

Still vibrant.

Still the spark.

Still so very alive.

Nothing is more endearing or attractive than those people.

Isabeau nodded at her fathers notebook, “Try not to notice that. Such things only serve to reinforce your delusions that you and she may be meant to be.”

Rusty had to think about that comment.

Finally, he said, “We’re not meant to be?”

Oona added, “No. No one is. It’s what you make it to be. Remember? Mr. Epiphany?”

“Yeah.” Rusty frowned with a glare. Clearly she was referencing his earlier epiphany, but he couldn’t tell if she was being genuinely supportive or ridiculing him.

“Daddy, you were over Alexi. But last week, you talked to her far more often than you have been. You saw her for two days. And suddenly, you were 100% smitten again. That’s not cool.” Isabeau observed.

“I know.”

Oona noted, “Heck, you’re closer in age to her daughter. Leslie. Remember? You should be trying to date her. And doesn’t Leslie write a sex column in the paper? I bet she’s awesome in bed!”

“Oona!”

“What? I’m just saying.”

Isabeau tried to stay on topic and ignored her sister’s comment, “The real issue is the same old thing. You’re not thinking about Alexi at all. You’re focused on you more than her. You love her because of how she makes you feel. And honestly, she does not cherish your heart enough to deserve having it.”

“True.” Rusty shrugged. Like so many people in his life, Alexi never even called him unless he called her first.

Oona added, “You still just give your heart to every woman who smiles at you. Then you’re hurt when they don’t want it. You know that’s a dumb mistake, yet you never change. You just keep repeating that. Dad, do not give your heart to anyone unless they are worthy of it and asking for it. No. I take that back. Not just asking. But sincerely asking. Wanting to take care of it.”

“I know. You’re right.”

Rusty felt that holding back his heart often felt fake. Phony. Like he was some kind of womanizing jerk. As if he had to be tender and giving from the very start, otherwise he was some kind of sleaze.

As if reading his mind again, and maybe she was for all he knew, Isabeau told him, “Holding it back is not cruel or selfish. Not at all. It is showing a sense of self-respect. Showing that you truly value your own heart.”

Oona smiled, “Totally. If you expect a woman to treasure your heart, then you need to treat it like a rare and precious thing. An object of great value that only the most privileged and special of people can have. Stop giving it so easily.”

“Never offer your heart. Only give it to a woman who is seeking it... and whom you deem worthy.” Isabeau explained.

That statement hit Rusty hard.

She was right.

Why did he do that?

So often, he offered his heart to women, but he could not recall a single girl who had ever asked for it. Heck, why would they? He handed it over so damn fast, they never had a reason to ask!

Maybe the first girlfriends he had. Maybe they asked. Indirectly. Once or twice. Or maybe he was remembering things wrong, because he felt so stupid for always making that same mistake. When you are in your thirties and recognizing lifelong mistakes, you want to convince yourself they are recent developments. Far too humiliating to admit you’ve repeated your idiotic behavior for the past 15 years.

His daughters were right.

No girl ever wanted his heart. Why was he always so quick to entrust lovers with his most prized possession?

Isabeau continued, “And most of all, do not pass any judgments on their worthiness until after they ask for it. Because, rest assured, no one is worthy until they ask. They must desire having it, before it has any value to them. Right?”

“Wow. Yeah.”

Oona tapped her toe. “Remember what your friend Estella said to you one day? ‘It is your responsibility to make yourself loveable.’”

“Yeah.” Estella. Right! He had forgotten all about having that conversation. Rusty was getting hit on all sides by the realizations of how foolish he was being.

Isabeau reassured him. “Daddy, you are different. Most people have no idea what they want. You know exactly what you want. You just have no idea how to attain it.”

“Indeed.” Rusty snorted.

“Keep tuning. Focus. Tune into your future selves that prevail and guide you. You’ll make it.”

“Yeah. You’re right.” Rusty sighed, deep in thought of what his daughters were telling him.

Oona reiterated, “Remember, it is not about wanting to give your heart to someone. Rather, it is about her desire to have your heart. It is about her willingness to give you her heart. Subtle differences.”

“Nobody with any self-worth gives their heart too freely. It’s too precious a thing to be frivolous with.” Isabeau explained.

Rusty agreed. “You’re both right. That’s part of why I’ve been single for so long. I spent all this time looking for a girl I wanted to give my heart to, instead of seeking a girl who wanted to have it.”

Isabeau smiled that her dad was understanding, “Exactly! Find a girl who is looking for you. And remember what Estella said - it is your responsibility to make yourself loveable. You need to make your heart desirable. That’s your job. Give people a reason to want it. Show them why it has value.”

“I know. Don’t expect mindreaders.”

“You want a single 20-something geeky girl in the body of a model (because you are unfortunately unable to stop being that shallow) who doesn’t drink, smoke or do drugs and has no kids.” Oona observed.

Rusty chuckled, “Not Alexi.”

“Not at all.”

§

Rusty attended a dinner party over Sherisa’s house, but didn’t eat much. He had other plans. At least they didn’t have as many fucking cats anymore. The house finally contained oxygen.

Leaving early, so he could have dinner with Alexi, she had invited him to a quaint little diner, right near his house, that he never visited before.

“You’ve never been to Sitter’s Diner!?”

“No. Why?”

“Oh, we have to go there. You’d love it. The place is a famous landmark in the Valley. Hundreds of celebrities have eaten there and have headshots on the walls and things.”

“Really? Okay. That sounds cool.”

Their time at the diner was wonderful.

Rusty couldn’t believe he never went there before.

In more than two years of friendship, Rusty realized this was the first time they had ever really spent some time alone together outside of her house. He saw Alexi at her gigs. She would throw parties at her house and invite him to attend. Sometimes he’d stop over and they’d talk while she was working on a craft project or something. But they never went out together until that night.

“How did you get the name Rusty anyway? Is that short for Russel or something?”

“Oh, no. Rusty is my middle. My given name is Gordon.”

“Gordon? Like Commissioner Gordon? On Batman?”

Giggling, Rusty confirmed, “Yeah. Exactly.”

“So, how did you start going by ‘Rusty’ instead of ‘Gordon’?”

“Well, you know ‘Gordy’ is short for Gordon? Right? Well, I always hated that name. Gordy. ‘Gordy’ sounds like ‘gourd’. I just thought it was awful.”

“Kind of gruesome too.”

“Huh? Oh, no! Not ‘gored’ like by the Running of the Bulls. I meant ‘gourd’ with a ‘u’, like the vegetable. Plant. Whatever.”

“Oh! Right. Gourd! I’m sorry. Go on.”

“Well, when I was about 7 or 8 years old, since I didn’t like Gordy, I just wondered why not change it? That’s how I became a Rusty. But at least I was named after a cool song.”

“What song?”

“The folksong. Annachie Gordon. Ever heard it?”

“No.” Alex, being a musician was intrigued.

“Irish folksong. Look it up. Very beautiful tune. Kind of tragic. But what Irish folksong isn’t tragic?” Rusty chuckled. “That’s where the Gordon part comes from.”

“Cool! Were your parents Irish?”

“No. I’m mostly German and Bohemian.”

“Ah, the original hippies.”

“Hippies and Nazis. That’s me.”

Alexi giggled at the bizarre vision.

The longer they sat in the diner, the more tipsy Alexi became.

The more tipsy she became, the more flirty her banter.

Leaning in, she hushed, “Why is a great guy like you single?”

Rusty blushed. Alexi did too. He could tell this was the question she really wanted to ask. Inquiring about the origins of his name was small talk she didn’t really care about.

“Honestly? Because I have nothing whatsoever to offer anyone.”

“Ohhhh, come on. That’s not true.”

“Yes, it is. One thing I’ve learned as I’ve gotten older is that no one cares about anyone unless they can get something out of them. That sounds awful, but it’s the truth. And I have nothing to offer anyone. I’m not particularly handsome. I’m not wealthy. I’m not exceptionally kind or generous or intelligent or talented. I’m just a great, big, boring, average nobody. That’s why I’m single. Because I’m not very noticeable. I’m nothing all that special.” Rusty motion a hand across the wall, “I just sort of blend into the woodwork.”

Alexi shook her head in disagreement. “You have plenty to offer. And you’re very handsome.”

Snickering, Rusty added, “No. I’m not that good-looking. Thank you for the compliment. I appreciate it. But, I know what I look like. I mean, back in Ohio, on a scale of 1 to 10, I was a solid 7 or 8. But here in Los Angeles, I’m like a... 2... and a half. On a good day.”

They both chuckled at his joke, each knowing full-well he didn’t mean his self-deprecating humor.

“You are not a 2!”

“Yeah, I am! I don’t stand out. I’m barely noticeable. Most women acknowledge my existence only because I occupy physical space. As a girl I was dating once told me, ‘Well, you know, Rusty, you’re not ugly.’”

Alexi laughed, “She did not!”

“Yep. I’m totally serious.”

“What did you say?”

“I freaked out on her. I was like, ‘Is that your idea of a compliment!?’”

Rusty honestly had no idea why he was single and he didn’t really give it that much thought. But, he loved making up reasons that sounded legitimate. He got a secret thrill out of inventing total bullshit answers and convincing people those responses were true. Or at least convincing them he believed it. He didn’t believe a word of what he just said, but it was entertaining to see her reactions.

“You stand out to me.” Alexi said in a tone that Rusty couldn’t quite read. Was it the compassionate comfort of a friend, or the seductive tone of a lover?

Well, after two years, he figured it was just compassionate.

She’d never be interested in him.

No woman pulls you out of The Friend Zone two years later.

Knowing she’d never want him anyway, Rusty felt comfortable revealing an awful trick he played on a bunch of women a few months earlier. Rusty proceeded to explain to Alexi what he called his “devious sociological experiment” with some girls on the Internet.

Shortly after Rusty moved to Los Angeles, he set up a profile on a social networking site. He made his profile exceptionally honest and detailed. He spent days trying to craft the perfect mix of witty charm and intelligence and self-deprecating humor. In addition, he posted some of what he felt were his most flattering pictures.

Then, he tried to meet people.

Rusty sent emails to upwards of 45 women over the course of two days. He made sure to write sincere, personally-crafted letters to each of them. No form letters. Nothing copied and pasted. These were all heartfelt and friendly.

Not one woman replied.

Not one.

He was shocked and hurt that he had been rejected by so many women. To not even acknowledge him? To completely ignore him? It was crushing.

That was when he decided on the experiment.

Rusty waited for a month.

Then, he searched online and found some photographs of a male model. He made sure to find images that looked like snapshots and casual pictures. Nothing that gave them away as “modeling” or “catalog” shots. Just candid images.

He replaced all of his pictures with the male model.

He changed nothing else in his profile. Only the photographs.

He didn’t alter one word of the text. He kept all the witty charm and intelligence and self-deprecating humor.

Then, he resent the exact same letters to those exact same girls.

This time, no less than 12 women responded.

They all complimented his good looks.

One of them even said she was shocked that he had such a fantastic personality because, “guys who are as cool as you, usually aren’t as good-looking.”

Despite being hurt and angry, Rusty was thrilled.

He felt vindicated.

With that one simple experiment, suddenly he saw that women were just as shallow and revolting as men. They cared about looks just as much as any man. Women were just as vain as men. Just as petty. Just as superficial.

He made sure to write back to all of them and admit his ruse.

He told them all, it was the same letter he sent before.

He told them all, he didn’t change a word of his personality.

He told them all, he only changed the photos.

Only one of the 12 women wrote back.

She proceeded to say what a jerk he was and blah, blah, blah.

Rusty didn’t give a damn what she said.

Her anger didn’t change what he learned about women.

He was just happy he did it.

Best to learn that lesson when you first move to Los Angeles instead of years later. Now he knew exactly what kind of people he was dealing with. Women in this city were just as superficial as him.

“You want to get out of here?” Alexi grinned.

§

As they pulled into her driveway, Rusty was finishing his story about what happened at Sherisa’s place that night.

“So, we’re standing around in the kitchen talking about movies and someone brings up The Matrix sequel and I said I didn’t like it very much. Next thing I know, this Heather Reed chick freaks out. She’s like, ‘Shut up! Don’t talk about it! I don’t want to know what happens!’”

“Well, some people are picky about that.”

“Oh, I know. Believe me, I hate it when people give away whole movie plots and stuff. I’m not that kind of jerk. But this girl went ballistic simply because I said I didn’t enjoy it. I said nothing else and she’s, like, practically shaking she’s so upset.”

“That’s weird.”

“Yeah. So, I defended myself and said, ‘I’m not talking about it. I just said I wasn’t into it.’ She goes spastic and is like, ‘I haven’t seen it. I don’t want to know. I said don’t say anything! Stop it! Stop talking about it!’”

“Psycho.”

“Totally psycho. Again, I try to calmly explain myself and I say, ‘What? I’m not talking about the movie. I’ve said nothing about it. Why the hell are you getting so upset about something I’m clearly not doing?’”

“What did she say to that?”

“Well, then it got really weird. The other like 3 or 4 people in the room all ganged up on me and stuck up for her. This psychochick is freaking out on me for no reason whatsoever, but all the assholes in the room were looking at me like I was some kind of jerk. And the host of the party was like, ‘Rusty, you really just need to drop it.’”

“What!? Even the host was taking her side over yours?”

“Yeah! That was the moment when I realized, I didn’t really like any of these people anymore. I mean, it had been a long time coming, but there isn’t much reason to talk to any of them anymore.”

“Well, I don’t blame you. Who needs friends like that?”

“Totally. That’s exactly what I thought. But you know the worst part?”

“What?”

“Apparently, this chick is a self-made millionaire. You’d never know she was rich. She started a successful clothing company and within like 3 years she went from being poor to being a millionaire. And I couldn’t help but wonder, were all these people kissing her ass just because she’s wealthy?”

Alexi nodded apologetically for her hometown, “Well, it is Los Angeles.”

“That it is.” Rusty conceded with a sigh that dragged for days.

§

Los Angeles nights are magical hours. Electrified with all the promise of dying dreams and answered prayers. With every breath, you can feel the virgins being touched for the first time and the thug bleeding to death in the cold alley of South Central. The energy of all those souls spark in the streetlamp glows alighting a thousand roads of the angelic city.

Buried in her quaint suburban backyard, Alexi showed Rusty her newly-remodeled guesthouse. Rusty had seen the progress over several months and the dirtpiles and wheelbarrels and hoses. Finally it was grasses and waterfountains and bamboo and sliding doors and tiki lamps. A romantic and idyllic oasis in a nondescript backyard of The Valley.

The bed was filled with white and downy fluff, looking and smelling as if clouds slept there during the day. Encircling the quilted bliss were candles set ablaze in a dozen scents of vanilla and jasmine.

Small talk and sweet nothings.

Flirtations Rusty was oblivious to seeing.

Had Cupid been perched atop the headboard, he would have been slamming his head against the wall in frustration.

“Well, it’s getting late. I guess I should get headed home.” Rusty rubbed his neck, saying one of the dumbest things of his life, as a rockstar goddess was throwing herself at him.

“Yeah?” Alexi tensed and gave him that smile which is really a frown. “Okay. I tend to get really shy in these situations too.”

With that one sentence, Rusty finally got it.

Reaching his hand to her cheek, he boldly turned her lips toward his. “You don’t need to be shy.”

Cupid stopped slamming the wall and snuck a glimpse over his shoulder.

Their first kiss was long and delicate and dizzied Rusty like he was in preschool, sneaking behind backyard bushes, to makeout with the neighborhood girl who lived down the street.

Claims of shyness and kisses melted.

Backaches and massages.

Skin touching skin.

Tongues between thighs.

Mouth upon breasts.

Warm in the bedclouds of heavenly night.

More magic to pour into the streetlamp glows.

Alexi covered her glorious body and whispered, “You don’t mind being with an older woman?”

Her insecurity was touching.

Rusty saw her as radiance personified. That firestar smile of hers illuminating every inch of the room.

“Older woman? Sweetheart, we don’t have an age difference. Thirteen years is nothing. I’ve always been of the philosophy that it’s smart to talk with people of all ages. Have conversations with people who are 9 and 99 and every age inbetween. Helps keep things in perspective, I think. No matter what age you are, I think you start to view your own life very differently when you pay attention to those who are younger and older than yourself.”

There he goes again. Rusty heard what a jackass he was.

No wonder he was single.

When a woman asks a question like that, he should have said, “I’ve wanted this, since the first moment I saw you.”

That’s it.

Short. Simple.

Instead he delivers the goddamn Gettysburg Address.

Jeezus, Rusty! What’s wrong with you!?

The poor woman was obviously feeling insecure. Comfort her and move on. She wants to fuck, not intellectualize with Plato, you numbnuts. No wonder you’re never getting laid anymore.

Usually, he never saw what a moron he was until days or even months later. This was weird to recognize his idiocy only seconds afterward.

He decided to kiss her quickly, to distract her from his being such a toolbag. Maybe if he pressed his lips up against hers, he’d no longer be in danger of talking her out of this whole thing.

Alexi coyly covered her breasts. Rusty would have none of that. Maybe he didn’t talk to her properly, but at least he’d touch her the right way. He gently, but firmly wiped her hands aside. Softly kissed tender flesh. Adored her body. Touched and licked every inch of her. In her mind, her body had betrayed her. She hated the fact that parts of her were not as firm as they used to be. She was ashamed of how she was beginning to look. Embarrassed by the stretch marks above her nipples and the lines around her eyes. As far as Rusty was concerned, there wasn’t an inch of Alexi Knauer that wasn’t breathtakingly beautiful. Every curve of her flesh was that of a woman to be worshiped. This was not a girl. This was a woman. And for the first time in his life, to not be making love to a girl, but to have a real woman desire him, was pure bliss. For the first time in his life, a lover made him feel truly masculine. The gorgeous rockstar chick wanted him. He thought of all the men who must have desired her over the years. All the boys with her poster on their walls. All the guys who lusted for her when she was on television. All the music industry studpuppies and the groupies who yearned to touch her. To have her. And now, that night, she belonged to him.

Him. The boy least likely. The geeky kid. The nerd. The 2.5 on a scale of 1 to 10.

For the first time in his life, he felt like he was worth something. He knew it was shameful to judge his own worth based on the beauty of the woman who wanted him. He knew it was shallow. He knew it was petty and foolish. But he couldn’t help himself. Here was a woman who embodied a sexuality that Rusty had only ever fantasied about, a woman who could seduce any man she desired, and she picked him.

Him. The boy. Least. Likely.

While she felt awkward to be so exposed, he left dizzy with passion and lust. The same dizziness you only feel when you’re 15 and it never comes back again. The shyness she felt was unwarranted for when he looked at her nude form, there wasn’t a flaw on her body. The texture of her skin, the hang of her ample breasts, the warmth and the taste between her legs, all of it was perfection. If only she knew how in awe he was of her beauty, all of her insecurities would have melted away.

Inside the glory of her body he had become a God to ravage a priestess. As he slid far into her flowering desires, he did grant his supplicant her most forbidden and devoted yearning. So too did she fill him with the power to give her life. Creator of the universe, he channeled all the glory of Eden into his woman who would bear the world in his image.

Enfolded. Embraced. Cradled in her wings.

He did soar in her.

To be her lover filled him with reverence and anguish. While she saw herself as losing her sex appeal, Rusty was heartbroken that he wasn’t there to see every little wrinkle just starting to form around her eyes. He wished he had known her back then, so he could have seen her skin ever so slightly lose a little softness, so he could have been witness to every joyful smile that crackled in those infinitesimal lines around her lips. He wished he could have been any of the lovers she had known. Any of the men who left her. Any of the men who took her for granted. Any of the men who stole just one more drop of her youth and beauty. For he would never have left, he would never have drunk of that sweet nectar only to leave her parched in the desert of abandonment. No. He would have stood by her side always. He was anguished for all the time they lost. All the love she already shared that should have been his. For in that moment, upon that night, this was a woman he could love through all the decades before she knew his name, until the last seconds of time she spends upon this earth.

Like so many women before, she stopped him.

Once again he found himself naked in the bed of a grown woman who decided not to have sex with him.

What. The. HELL!?

“... just not ready to...”

“... have something with James and...”

“... maybe we shouldn’t...”

“... I just don’t feel right about...”

Whatever.

Getting rejected by a girl over the phone is bad enough.

When the two of you end up completely naked in her bed and she rejects you there, you just want to throw yourself out the damn window.

Unfortunately for Rusty, the bungalow only had a ground floor.

§

Alexi didn’t return his calls the next day.

Or the day after.

Or the next week.

Rusty was heartbroken.

Another week passed before she finally replied.

“You know, Alexi, I’m not totally naïve. I mean, I didn’t think we were suddenly going to become a couple or that I’d be your boyfriend, just because we fooled around one night. But, I also didn’t expect that you’d just blow me off and stop talking to me. I never expected that extreme either.” Rusty stared at the texture in his ceiling as he spoke to her over the phone on a Sunday afternoon. Funny how fixated we all become at the texture in our ceilings from the conversations we never want to have.

“Me either. I’m sorry. I didn’t do it on purpose.”

Her response punched him so hard in the kidneys, all the air exploded from his lungs. He knew she was telling the truth, and that is what made her words so unbearable. Most of the time, when the touch of an old friend becomes that of a new lover, something starts to blossom inside. For Alexi, something began to wither.

In that moment, Rusty knew, nothing would save the garden.

In that moment he knew, he would never see her again.

“Maybe not. But you still did it. You know, I really like you. Like I said, I didn’t think we were gonna suddenly be a couple. But I was hoping I’d see you again. I was hoping we might spend a little more time together. I never thought you were going to turn around and just throw me away.”

“Don’t say that. It’s not like that. I didn’t meant to do that.”

“But you did.”

“And I’m sorry.”

“So, I guess this means we’re not going to see each other more?”

Alexi had braced herself to give this answer before she called. She futilely hoped he wouldn’t ask. “I don’t think we should. Not like that. I like you too. I really do. We’re still friends. But, I mean, I do have something here with James.”

Fuck. Rusty couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

Sometimes he hated these moments.

These moments when life felt like a movie.

Was this going to be his whole life?

Girls caring about him for 5 minutes then walking away?

He was 33 years old. When the hell was this going to stop?

He must have been a heartbreaking playboy in a past life.

Was he paying his karmic debt?

How could she be so cold? So impersonal? Rusty was furious. This totally felt like one of those weird movie conversations. The kind where you just want to jump into the moviescreen and scream at the characters, “Stop being so unemotional! Stop reading from a script. Be human! Feel something for each other! Pretend like you care!”

That was the part that bothered him the most.

Knowing this wasn’t fake at all.

Knowing this wasn’t artificial.

Knowing the truth wasn’t that she was pretending not to care, but realizing she honestly didn’t give a damn at all.

Eviscerated by her sincere apathy, Rusty’s anger melted into nausea and that heartbroken depression that starts as a little bubble in the pit of your stomach and grows into a sour belch an hour later.

“You really need to get out more.” Alexi suggested.

Rusty felt a wave of nausea. “Oh, really? Why is that?”

“So you can meet people.”

“I see. Get out more to meet people. Make friends, huh?”

“Exactly.” Alexis grinned and Rusty felt it over the phone and the sound made him ill.

“Ah. Did I ever tell you about the camping trip I took when I was 19 years old?”

“No.” Alexi shifted uneasily. She could tell from his tone, this wasn’t going to be a story she wanted to hear.

“Well, I went on this camping trip at this huge medieval festival. Thousands of people attend the thing and huge groups of friends get together and form encampments with each other. It’s lots of fun. So, I went and I didn’t know many people there. I was determined to get out more and make new friends. I was staying with a group of people I didn’t know too well and my friend Raven was staying in another camp.”

“I don’t see what this has to do - ”

Rusty barked, “ - Let me finish! So, Raven and I were pretty close. In fact, she even spent the night with me out at my moms place, on our drive to the campsite. We were just friends. I don’t mean we were having sex, but she stayed with me at my mothers. So, when we got to the camp, I started hanging out with Raven and her friends a lot. But by the third day or so, they asked why I was hanging out there so much. They told me I ‘needed to get out more’. Raven agreed and said I had to make more friends. I said, ‘That’s funny. That’s what I thought I was doing here.’ I walked out and never set foot in their camp again, for the remaining seven days of the trip. None of them tried to stop me. None of them invited me back. They acted as if I never existed.”

Alexi had lost her smile. “Well, that was a really rude and mean thing for them - ”

“ - Did I ever tell you about my 21st birthday?”

“No.”

“A few days before my 21st birthday, a friend of mine, Tyann Bowan, asked what I was doing for it - how was I planning to celebrate? I told her, I was doing nothing. She said she wouldn’t allow that. She insisted taking me out for my birthday.”

“That was nice of her.”

“That was more than nice. It was wonderful. Deep inside, I was thrilled. No other friend offered to spend time with me. No other friends even know or remember my birthday. They don’t give a shit. But I didn’t want to spend my 21st birthday alone and doing nothing. I pretended like it was no big deal to be alone, but it was a big deal. It meant the world to me that my friend offered to take me out.”

“So what did you guys do? Where did she take you?”

“My birthday rolls around and I wait for her to call. And I wait. And wait. And finally, at 2am, I went to bed.”

“Wait. So, she never took you out?”

“Nope. So, three days later, we talk and I ask her why she didn’t call for my birthday. You know what she said?”

Alexi gulped, too quiet for Rusty to hear, but it swallowed the fear of what she knew was coming next. “What?”

“‘Oh, I forgot.’ That’s all. No big excuse. No apology. No offer to make it up to me. Just, ‘I forgot.’ Like it was no big deal. Needless to say, I was crushed. ‘You forgot!?’ I asked her. You know what she told me?”

“What?”

Rusty nearly started to weep as the emotions came back, but he held it together. “She told me that I shouldn’t sit around waiting for other people to plan my fun and that I need to get out more. She promises to take me out for my birthday, forgets all about me, then turns it around on me, as if it’s all my fault. She told me it was all my fault and that it wasn’t her responsibility to take me out.”

Rusty shuddered in a tired breath. His voice cracked so badly that Alexi wasn’t sure if he was crying or not.

Rusty never shed a tear. He was done with that long ago.

But he came close as he told her, “Experiences like that make me realize I don’t need friends. I don’t want friends. Because when I do have friends, they don’t actually care about me anyway. Why have friends in a world where people no longer feel they are responsible to uphold their promises? I don’t want friends who have no sense of honor. I’d rather be alone than have friends like that. What is the point of getting out more and meeting people and making new friends when they all fuck you over anyway? What is the point in making new friends when all they do is let you down and break their promises, then turn around and blame me, as if it’s my fault they can’t keep their word? I’m sick and fucking tired of being told I need to get out more! Because the only people who ever say that shit are the worthless so-called friends who are in the process of abandoning me. ‘You need to get out more’, isn’t about me at all. It’s about them. It’s about their own guilt. It’s about the fact that you want nothing to do with me, and you feel shitty about that, so you rationalize that if I had more friends, I could go hang out with them instead. That way, I’d be less affected by you leaving me. I should get out more? As opposed to what? As opposed to walking alone in the woods? Why bother? No. No, thanks. I do not need to get out more. I do not want to get out more. And I sure as shit don’t need any advice on the advantages of friendship from some asshole ‘friends’ who are ditching me, just like everyone else ever has!”

“I’m not abandoning you.”

“That ‘you’ was collective not subjective.”

There was a long gap of silence where Alexi didn’t know what to say. She wanted to get off the phone, but how could she bow out of this gracefully? She certainly had no interest in being sucked into this vortex of self-pity Rusty was swirling around them. Swallowing, she commented, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know all of that. I mean, I can see why you’d hesitate to make friends and... I... I’m sorry.”

Rusty shrugged it off. He was so accustomed to that rage boiling inside, he felt no need to apologize for it anymore. “No. Hey, look, this is who I am. I’m just... all of my relationships are destined to be temporary. Some are 6 months. Some are 6 years. Some are 20 years. But eventually, they are all designed to end. I just forget that sometimes. It’s not so bad when you’re ready to let go. It’s just... it hurts when you’re not ready. When you need to hold on, and it starts slipping away.”

“Yeah.” Alexi felt awful for slipping.

“You know, our friendship means a lot to me. I love that we have gotten closer and closer in the three years we’ve known each other. And I love that we spent the night together. And I thought that was bringing us even closer together. If I had know it would drive you away, I never would have done it. Your presence in my life means a lot to me and I wouldn’t have sacrificed that.”

Silent static hissed over the line.

Finally, the rockstar replied, “I don’t know what to say to that.”

Rusty wanted to say, “That’s the whole problem.”

That seemed too mean. Instead he responded kindly. Like he always did in these situations. That wasn’t something he was happy about. He took no pride in his perpetual sensitivity. On the contrary, it made him feel like a doormat. This was exactly the kind of situation when he should lash out. He had every right to scream at her. To tear into her. But he didn’t.

Because in the end, what would it matter?

There were no hard feelings.

Rusty understood.

She was who she was.

Alexi wasn’t trying to be mean. She wasn’t trying to be hurtful. She didn’t use him. She didn’t fuck him over. She may have been the “older woman” but the truth was, deep inside, we are all nothing but awkward teenagers, no matter what our age. Alexi was just as hurt and confused as Rusty was. She didn’t expect the garden to wither either. It just happens.

They saw each other once or twice after that.

Never kissed again.

Things faded slowly over the next few months.

As Rusty knew they would.

No more invites to parties or rock shows.

Like so many others, she gradually melted away from his life.

Were anyone to ask them, they would still call each other “friends” because that’s what old friends always say. The truth is, they became nothing more than distant acquaintances.

Finally, his gorgeous rockstar lover never spoke to him again.

§

Rusty stared out his bedroom window, at the distant mountains, and the twilight blanket, darkening the city. Everyone always claims that you’ll find love when you stop looking for it. Then when you stop looking for it and start keeping to yourself, they tell you that you need to get out more. In other words, no matter what you do, everyone says you’re screwing up.

“Funny how people like her constantly throw you away and reject you, then they tell you to get out and make more friends. The people who want nothing to do with you are always the ones saying you need to meet other people. As if they’re doing you a favor. Ever notice that? Friends who love to be around you never tell you to go make more friends.” Isabeau observed.

Rusty nodded, her words seeping into his skin like a gentle ink of something that understands. “Why am I like this?”

Isabeau was sitting on the bed and explained, “Because no one loves you, daddy. This is what happens when people become disconnected from the world. From other people. You’ve been disconnected for so long. For years. It has really hurt you. I know you try to hard to pretend you don’t mind, but you do. Emotionally speaking, you’ve suffered a great deal of damage from years of rejection. This can’t be fixed overnight.”

He didn’t look at her.

He just kept staring at dusk. “Can it be fixed at all?”

“You tell me. What will it take?”

“A shieldmaiden.” Rusty knew the old adage that you can’t expect anyone to love you until you love yourself. But the truth was, Rusty did love himself.

This wasn’t about his feelings for himself.

This was about others lack of showing any feelings for him.

This heartache wasn’t about a lack of self-worth. It was about a lost faith in his fellow man. He couldn’t love anyone else because humanity had proven to be selfish and cruel. The salvation he wanted from a shieldmaiden wasn’t to rescue his own soul. Rather, it was to restore his belief in humanity. Were there just one kind woman upon this earth, one girl who would remain devoted and true, then maybe there was hope for the rest of the world after all.

A shieldmaiden.

Just one.

That was all he needed.

“And what is that?” Isabeau asked, adjusting her butt on the edge of the mattress.

Rusty smirked, bemused and confused to think a ghostly apparition could get a sore butt. He told his daughter, “Someone magical. Someone who will protect me as well as allow herself to be protected by me. Someone stronger than me, who doesn’t mind my weaknesses. Someone who will help me to recover who I am and be patient with me. Someone who sees into the essence of who I am and who likes what she sees.”

Isabeau was saddened for the idea that her father felt his shieldmaiden should be stronger than him, instead of his equal. That alone made her know, he still wasn’t ready. He was hurting too much. He needed to pull himself out of this despair before he had any hope of success. For although he loved himself, and life, and the world, he was too pained by humanity to bring anyone else joy.

Knowing she could not tell him any of this, he had to learn for himself, she used a different approach. Gently, she asked a question she feared him to answer, “Stronger than you always?”

Rusty immediately knew it was an important question. He could hear it in her voice. So, he waited a long while and thought about it carefully before he answered. Looking at Isabeau, he eventually replied, “Stronger when I’m weak. Just as I must be her strength when she is weak.”

With that, Isabeau felt much better. “And that is what it will take to heal you?”

Staring back outside, he said, “Yes. I need help. I’m not surviving on my own. I’m not making it. I’m an empty shell. I never used to be like this. I’m not a person who came into this world full of sorrow and rage. My childhood was pretty wonderful, actually. And I miss whom I was. I want him back. But I need help to find me again.”

“And the shieldmaiden you described is the type who can help you?”

“Yes.”

“Daddy, do you have any faith, any faith whatsoever, that such a woman exists in all the world?”

The lump that caught in his throat felt like a dry hunk of sour apple. “No. No, I don’t. Not one shred.”

“Then you have quite a quandary, don’t you? You feel lost and alone. You feel completely detached from people. You have no sense of simple human companionship in your life. You are of the belief that if one girl came along and actually became a real girlfriend and tried to help pull you back into the world of the living, that you’d feel ‘normal’ again. Yet, you have no hope whatsoever that such a woman exists.”

“Yeah. That about sums it up.” Rusty chuckled, not sure why it sounded funny instead of tragic. Sometimes he just got sick of not laughing at himself.

“You know the advice most people would give?”

“Of course. They’d say I’m trying too hard. I need to make myself happy and not rely on someone else. And I’ll find someone when I’m not looking. And they’d tell me to get out more. God, I hate that phrase. Been hearing that one for nearly a decade.”

“Why don’t you take all of that advice?”

Frustrated, Rusty spun to face her. “First of all, I’m not trying too hard. That is a huge part of the problem. I’m a hermit. I admit that. I avoid people. I stay away from them too much. So, to say I am ‘trying to hard’ to meet people or have a romance is bullshit. Truth is, I don’t try at all.

“Second - I need to make myself happy?

“Also bullshit. Human beings are social creatures.

“No man is an island.

“We need to interact with people. We all need family and friends and lovers. These types of interpersonal relationships are essential to the emotional health of all human beings. Without such relationships, we are incomplete. Mentally, emotionally, we are not able to function properly.

“I’m fucking tired of our society acting like the basic human need to have interpersonal relationships or companionship is a defect.

“And finally - I will find someone when I’m not looking.

“Well, I’m not looking.

“You know why?

“Because when I look, I always find the woman I want... But she is never the one who is looking for me. Therein lies the problem.

“So, now, I just want to find a woman who is looking for me.”

Isabeau knew he was being contradictory. Admitting that he needed people, while simultaneously admitting he was a hermit. Yet, she didn’t call him out on it. Such hypocrisy is what makes everyone human and she knew he was well aware of being so at war with himself. Instead, she wondered, “If you’re not looking, then why do you get so hung up on women that you shouldn’t be?”

“Shut up.” Rusty didn’t say those words with malice, just with exasperation.

“Daddy, Alexi is truly one of the worst choices you could possibly make. The polar opposite of everything you have ever wanted. Divorced. Too old for you. Has a daughter that is closer to your age. Drinks. Cheats. Is that your shieldmaiden?”

“No. My shieldmaiden is dead.”

Isabeau was frustrated. Angry even. After all this time, all these women, how could he say that? Who would be her mother if he was still hung up on lost loves. “Who? Kateri!? Are you going to leave her on a pedestal forever? She never even kissed you! Do you think you have some deranged nobility by clinging so tightly to her memory that you can never hold anyone else?”

“Shut up.”

“You never kissed!”

“She loved me!”

“Did she? Did she love you by her actions? Or did she just say the words when you needed to hear them? Your romantic bullshit is holding onto something that was never real! Just because she was the first girl to say she loves you, that makes you idolize her. That was fine when you were 17, but you’re almost 35 now. Let it go! If she loved you so damn much, she would have dated you.”

“You’re going to make me question if my first love actually loved me back?”

“Did she?”

“Yes! I believe she did. And even if I’m wrong, even if she didn’t, that doesn’t change my feelings for her.”

“Maybe it should.”

“What are you trying to tell me?”

“Daddy, you’re in love right now. You have been for months. You’re in love with Alexi! And you’re in denial. Because in your heart, you know it will never work. It will never happen. She would be bad for you. You need to admit that you are in love with her. Not to anyone else. Not even to me. Just to yourself. And then you need to walk away.”

Rusty understood what she was getting at. His love for girls was always one-sided and Alexi was no different from Kateri. “And if Alexi’s love for me is not the same, maybe my feelings for her should change.”

“Exactly. She’ll never love you the way you love her. Think about it. What would happen if you dated? Eventually... What would happen?”

Rusty sighed, “She’d leave me.”

“And how would you feel? Honestly?”

“I’d be devastated.”

“And if you stayed together? Got married?”

“I can’t even visualize that.”

“So what on earth are you doing to yourself!? Let her go.”

“I can’t just turn off my feelings for her.”

“Why? She feels nothing for you! You are still doing it! Same pattern. Never changes. Why do you constantly give your heart to women who do not want it at all!? They don’t even have their hands out to take it! You just hold it out towards them, and let it drop in the dirt, and then act all shocked and hurt when it gets trampled. You’ve done that all your life! Why? Why don’t you stop!? Break the pattern!”

Rusty both loved and hated these conversations where Isabeau hit him with such brutal truths. He needed to hear this and he hated how right she was. “Why don’t I stop? Good question. I dunno. Because I have never found a woman who does want my heart?”

“Sounds like you just pinpointed your problem.”

“I’ve never found a woman who wants my heart? Why is that?”

“Indeed. Why is that? What is it about you that keeps your heart undesirable by women?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I keep waiting for it to be seen instead of trying to reveal it? I have no idea.”

“Or maybe you reveal too much, too soon.”

“That reminds me of something I’ve been meaning to ask you both.”

“What’s that?”

“Would you let me photograph you and Oona? Maybe even shoot some video?”

“Photograph us?”

“I’m curious what might happen.”

“You mean if we’d show up or if we’d be invisible like vampires?”

Rusty snickered, “Something like that.”

“You think that’s a smart idea?”

“What do you mean?”

“Suppose it works? Suppose we are born and you show us these videos when we are 12 or 13 years old? What do you think that might do to us? That might really screw with our heads, don’t you think?”

She was right, of course. Rusty was being selfish (again!) and he hadn’t realized it. “I’m sorry. That’s true. Who knows what kind of weird paradox it might create? Too risky. You’re absolutely correct. Nevermind. That was a bad idea.”

Rusty looked deep into the past.

Falling back through time, he asked, “Did I ever tell you about the worst thing Marie said to me about her sister?”

Isabeau had just chided Rusty about Kateri, but she could also tell the difference between a moment that deserved anger and a moment that deserved compassion.

“No, daddy. Tell me. What did she say?”

Rusty sniffed and said, “Well, I already told you that Marie and I started dating because after Kateri died, Marie and I had no one else to comfort each other. We were together all the time. Over the years, we broke up and got back together over and over again. But when it finally ended for good, when we hit that last breakup, she said something horrible.”

“What?”

“Marie said I worshiped Kateri, and she deserved the same respect. And Marie was right. That gutted me. Marie did deserve the same respect from me. And I never gave it her.” Rubbing his chin, Rusty said, “I was always struck by the word ‘worshiped’ when she said it. It was so accurate. I have had enormous crushes on girls and used the word ‘love’ and been head-over-heels many times. But Marie was right - Kateri was the only girl I’ve ever worshiped.”

“Why was that such a bad thing to say?”

Rusty smiled his anguish, “Don’t you see? The worst part was that Marie didn’t disrespect my feelings for her sister. In that moment, when Marie was the most hurt, when she would have been justified to lash out at me, to say the meanest things she could muster, she didn’t. This angry and bitter and spiteful and venomous girl still treated the love I shared with her sister with tenderness. She showed my feelings courtesy and respect. She acknowledged that I worshiped Kateri. And that was one of the most hurtful things she could have done. Had she lashed out at me, had she derided our love, maybe her words would have implanted a merciful seed of doubt. Years later, I might have found my heartbreak completely removed from those memories. But instead, her affirmation only reinforced the grief of my loss and weighed the cross eternally upon my shoulders.”

Isabeau herself looked ready to cry.

Rusty shook his head - telling his daughter she shouldn’t take back the things she said. Everything Isabeau lashed out at Rusty with was right. “Is this really what she wanted? Would she rather be dead than be with me? Is that how horribly I failed her? Am I so awful a person? Am I so unattractive that a girl would chose to die over loving me?”

“Oh, daddy.”

“I would have never killed myself, because of the pain I think it would have caused her. Clearly, she didn’t reciprocate those feelings. She didn’t care how much her death would hurt me.”

Isabeau bit her lip, hoping her father would listen carefully to her advice. “No one ever wants to be dead. Sometimes, it just seems easier to embrace death than to endure suffering and hardship. Kateri just forgot that the most rewarding and enriching road through life isn’t necessarily the path with the least pain.”

Shutting his eyes tight, Rusty called to Kateri in his mind.

Kateri.

Kateri.

Talk to me.

Are you out there?

Remember that night? Remember that night on the phone when I asked you to promise me something? I told you that if I died before you and there was any way for me to wait for you, I would do it. And I asked you to make the same promise to me. Because I never wanted to lose you. Do you remember that? Are you there? Are you waiting? Could you do it? Was it possible for you to wait? Will we be together again?

Talk to me, Kateri.

Talk to me.

Isabeau wondered, “What if she asked you to let her go?”

“I don’t know if I can. I would want to. Only because I’ll do anything she asks.”

Sighing, Isabeau noted, “Maybe you shouldn’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“The girl has clearly proven that she doesn’t always make the best decisions. Maybe you should trust your own heart to do what’s best for her.” Isabeau absently fluffed the bedsheets. She just liked watching the ripples.

“I’ll never love anyone this much again, will I?”

“That’s not your biggest fear. Your biggest fear is that she’s not worthy of the love you can’t help but give to her.”

Scratching his nose, Rusty agreed. “Yes. You’re right. I fear that there is a girl more worthy out there. And maybe I’ll never give myself to that deserving girl, because I’ve given everything to Kateri.”

“Again - maybe that’s why she died. Maybe Kateri did it for you. So you could let go. Did you ever think of that?”

“Kateri had a daughter. Kateri never even kissed me. Trust me, I was not her priority.”

“Not consciously. But in terms of Fate, you never know.”

“If that were true...”

“If that were true, then holding on to her means her death was in vain.” Isabeau rised her eyebrow, letting her point sink home.

“Oh, shit. Don’t do this to me. You’ll make me second-guess my emotions for the rest of my life?”

“Not at all. Let Kateri go for your entire life. And if no one else comes along, you’ll still be keeping your promise at the end. You’ll reunite with Kateri.”

“I - I don’t want to let her go.”

Isabeau shrugged it off, even though it was a horrible decision that she should have screamed at her father not to make. “That is your choice. Just don’t ever question why you’re alone if you chose that path. You can’t have both. You make a decision. Kateri. Or move on. If you pick Kateri, then you have a girl in your heart already. There is no room for another.”

“Can I make room?”

“Yes. But you can’t live with Kateri. You need to pack things away. You can leave her photo in a album stashed in a drawer. You can’t leave her portrait on the nightstand. You must give the new girl some space to occupy in your heart.”

“I have to do this?”

“Daddy, if there is another, think about it. Can you betray her? Can you forsake your true shieldmaiden?”

“Of course not.”

“Then you must take this gamble. You must take this risk.”

“I know it was Kateri.”

Isabeau threw her hands toward the ceiling. “Then what are you doing? You are speaking in circles. You are contradicting yourself. You do not want to be alone. You know it was Kateri. Kateri died, daddy. Kateri died.”

“I - I ...”

“I’m sorry. I know it’s hard. You never spoke the words before, did you?”

“Yes. I have. It just always feels like I never have.”

“Daddy, if you accept and believe Kateri was The One, then you must accept that you will always be alone. But you know better. In your heart of hearts, you know that Kateri wasn’t right. She made bad choices. She started drinking. She killed herself. She got married. She had a child. These are not the things your shieldmaiden would do. She. Is. Stronger. Than. Kateri. Proved. To. Be.”

“True.”

“Daddy, every sign indicates that it was not Kateri. Everything. Being dead is the biggest one.”

Rusty smirked, “Not funny.”

“Remember what you told her that one night when you were 16 years old? She told you that you deserve better than her. You said that you didn’t deserve better because there was no one better, but you might deserve different. Remember?”

“Yes.”

“You know why that stuck with you all these years? Because you knew it was true.”

“The only thing crazier than holding onto Kateri - ”

Isabeau finished his thought. “ - is believing that there is no other shieldmaiden out there.”

“And there is. Isn’t there?”

“Yes.”

“Will we find each other?”

“In this lifetime? I have no idea. You’re seeking a straightedge and adventurous girl with a pure heart and the looks of a fashion model. You shallow bastard. You really think you’ll find a girl like that?”

Rusty glared at her joke but answered seriously. “I don’t care. I need to let go of Kateri first. One step at a time.”

“Forget your feelings for Kateri and ask yourself one question. Do you feel someone else out there? Can you sense her presence? Do you hear her wavelength?”

Shutting his eyes a moment, Rusty confirmed, “Yes.”

“And in the afternoon of that October day last year, what did Kelly McGrath teach you?”

Kelly had been a girl that Rusty worked with. Like so many magical people in his life, he knew she was special the very first second he ever laid eyes upon her. Yet, this time, nothing came of it. Despite her charm and charisma and knowing there was a predestined connection with her, Kelly utterly ignored him. He might as well not even exist.

“What did Kelly teach me?” Rusty repeated. “That not every Magic Child is destined to be a part of my life.”

“Just. Like. Kateri.”

“You’re saying that... that Kateri served her destiny.”

“Exactly.” Isabeau nodded. “Kateri served her destiny. Kateri came into your life and touched you and changed you and influenced you forever. But you must trust that the universe is unfolding as it should. Her death was not a mistake. ’Twas not in vain. This is how it was to be. Always. From the moment you met. This was the destiny of ye both. You still walk the right path. You are still entrusted to a blessed journey. You have not been cursed since that day, as you have so long felt. The tragedy and pain of her loss can never be denied. Never be diluted. Yet this is not the dark path that it seems. Believe. Trust. Know that you are of the light and the light has not abandoned you, no matter how bleak the landscape around your heart has become. Therefore, if you feel the presence of another, it stands to reason that it can’t possibly be Kateri who was your destiny.”

Nodding slowly, Rusty proclaimed, “There is another.”

Nodding in return, Isabeau confirmed, “There is another. Not all the Magic Children are destined to join you at the crossroads. Some just run parallel with you for awhile. And you smile. And you wave. And you know everything about the other. And you move on. Never talking. Never touching. Merely knowing from a distance. Sensing a union. Feeling it. Sharing it. Recognizing kindred spirits. Then you depart. Never to meet again. This is the way of things. You musn’t try to hold onto every moment. Some experiences are meant to be fleeting. Others are destined to last. Life has taught you many times that you can’t change either one. Spirits destined to return shall do so. Those who have had their time are gone forever. These fates exist beyond your own will or desire. They are already meant to be. The play is written. Now it is to be performed.”

Grinning, Rusty finally began to understand. “Kelly. She’s the one who will help me move on from Kateri. In a way I never imagined.”

“Kelly will never be your friend. You’ll never hang out. The great irony of Kelly is that she will be forever remembered as one of the most important and loved and influential people in your life and she attained that status by never being your friend and teaching you to move on from Kateri.”

Rusty laughed at the strange irony of it all. Knowing that his feelings about Kelly were right after all and that sometimes not getting to know a person can be as powerful as befriending them. “Kateri. She drank. She got married. She had a kid. She killed herself. She never wanted to be on a pedestal. And that’s just where I put her.”

“Kateri was your Jenny. Forrest Gump saw Jenny for who she truly was. That’s why he loved her. That’s why she couldn’t love him. Because she couldn’t see her true self. Kateri became something she was not proud of. Yet you never stopped seeing her true essence. She couldn’t live up to that. Even know, you find these words impossible to imagine. She is someone you held in such high regard that you can’t fathom the notion that she failed to appreciate herself as deeply as you appreciated her.”

“She was beautiful.” Rusty announced to the view outside his window, as if he were letting that memory fade.

“She was the first girl to say she loved you. That’s very beautiful. But she won’t be the last. And she won’t be the one to make your heart soar the highest when she says it.”

“She sure missed a lot of living.”

“Then you’d better live a little extra, just for her.” Isabeau curled her lips in a wry smirk.

“I thought I was supposed to let her go.” Rusty said, reflecting her sardonic tone.

Inhaling sharp through her nose, Isabeau explained, “When you truly let her go, daddy, you’re going to learn to love her more than ever before.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Not yet. But you will. You’re on the road.”

“I feel like I’m running against the wind.”

“The winds will always change.”

Rusty rubbed his brow, thinking of what she said. Somehow it sounded like one of those weird phrases you have heard in a movie, something incredibly familiar that you know you’ve never heard before.

“Daddy, you’re stronger than this. Don’t become one of those assholes who spends the rest of your life feeling sorry for yourself just because you loved someone who died. That’s a fucking stupid waste of life and you’re not that kind of person.”

Chapter Six

“Sweetheart,” said June over the telephone, “You know I love you. And no matter what you say, I will never think less of you. But there is something I need to ask you.”

Lately, his mother had often been talking about coming to visit him. So, Rusty figured she was leading up to asking if he really wanted her to come or not.

“Okay,” Rusty said.

“Okay,” she paused to compose herself. Seashell silence hissed momentarily. “Are you gay?”

“WHAT!?”

If he hadn’t already been laying on his couch, Rusty might have fallen over into it.

Oh, dear God. He had been single for way too long.

“Well, you never mention any girls. You never talk about seeing anybody. I was just starting to wonder.”

“Mom! I couldn’t be any farther from being gay. I just went out with a girl last night!”

“Okay. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. Now I feel embarrassed. I’m sorry.” Then she got all defensive, “But you never talk about girls!”

Rusty was not offended or embarrassed. Honestly, he was laughing and rather speechless, because he was so shocked by her assumption.

“Well,” Rusty replied sternly, as though addressing a child, “that’s because I’m not in a serious relationship. If I had a girlfriend, I would talk about her. But if I go out with someone once or twice, there isn’t much to talk about. I go out with girls all the time and they’re around for 2 weeks. So, most of them aren’t worth mentioning.”

Cripe. Since when does “dating” translate into being “gay”!?

“Well, okay. Good. I’m glad. I mean, I’m not glad you’re alone, I’m glad you’re, well, I don’t mean that, not that there’s anything wrong - ”

“ - Mom. Stop. It’s okay to be politically incorrect. You can say you’re glad I’m not gay. The gay mafia isn’t going to drag you onto a talkshow if you admit you’re glad your son isn’t gay.”

June laughed, “Okay. I’m glad you’re not gay.”

“Yeah, me too.”

§

The truth was, Rusty hadn’t dated anyone worth mentioning in the last two years. He had been on plenty of dates. That was true. He hadn’t lied to his mother. But most of his dates were so irrelevant, he was already forgetting their names.

That bothered him.

There once was a time when his “hopeless romantic” obsession made him pine over every girl who gave him a phone number.

Now?

He couldn’t be bothered to recall their names after a few weeks.

Three years in Los Angeles and he had never met anyone who wanted to be with him beyond two dates.

Friendships were difficult to maintain as well.

He would hear all the complaints about Los Angeles being filled with people who were petty and shallow, but he had his doubts that it was a fault of the city. More likely, it was a fault of age. As he approached his thirties, even the friendships in his hometown were falling apart.

People get married.

Have kids.

Life ends for those people.

That’s not to say married parents have meaningless lives. On the contrary, that’s exactly the sort of exclusive cliqué Rusty was trying so desperately to enter. But once you become part of that life, you can’t go clubbing everynight. You can’t take a spontaneous hike without checking with your spouse and figuring out if the babysitter is available. You can’t meet for lunch when you have to take the kids to tennis or baseball or piano lessons.

Life just becomes more regulated.

Friendships are consequently neglected and slowly drift apart.

Los Angeles wasn’t the problem.

Hitting his thirties was the problem.

Rusty would constantly invites friends to go out and they all turned him down. No one ever had time to catch a movie or go for a bikeride or see a concert or have dinner or hang out at the beach.

Once you get rejected so many times, you just stop asking.

At least his career was finally looking up.

At least that was something.

He became an architect for one of the largest firms in the world, P.R. Williams & Wilfandel Engineering. They were the kind of place he dreamed of working ever since he aspired to become an architect. Some of the most technically challenging bridges and skyscrapers and even residential homes and amusement parks were created by people in his offices.

He finally accomplished something.

Photography was still his passion.

Los Angeles made shooting pictures strangely more difficult and easier at the same time. More difficult because with countless photographers and models in the city, models tended to flake out a lot more often. Easier because there were so many beautiful girls in the city, finding replacements for the flakes was simple.

He only wished he was good enough to make a living with it.

People constantly complimented him on his skill and told him how wonderful he was, but no one ever seemed to want to hire him.

They loved him, so long as he didn’t cost them anything.

As a result of his inability to make a career out of his photography, he spent most of his time finding models and working with them to build his portfolio. No one made any money, but at least he was keeping his skills sharp.

In July of his third summer in the city of angels, he found a model on the Internet named Kacey LaReinheart.

He was floored by the images in her portfolio.

Young. Petite. Platinum blonde with a pixie swoop of pale locks dashing across her brow. Her heritage was listed as Hispanic, but she looked as Scandinavian as they come. A tiny Viking princess, she was every girl you ever see in those posters in fancy Beverly Hills hair salons, where a haircut costs the same as a car payment.

The first time they spoke, she popped up on his chat messenger.

§

AnnachieG(Rusty): hey kid.

i’m photographer #26293 on ModelMonsters.

you have some great shots.

Kaceysong(Kacey): Thanks shuga..likewise

Kaceysong(Kacey): whom am i speaking with?

Kaceysong(Kacey): my name is Kacey

Kaceysong(Kacey): ahh rusty..

Kaceysong(Kacey): *research is bliss*

AnnachieG(Rusty): yep. Rusty. look at my website.

if you Internet-stalk me you’ll find out all sorts of stuff.

;-)

Kaceysong(Kacey): hehe..beat ya there

Kaceysong(Kacey): your work is eyecandy...i like

AnnachieG(Rusty): i figured as much.

most people aren’t even smart enough to click on my website.

since you were, i figured you already looked me up.

thanks for the compliments.

you are quite the eyecandy yourself. too bad we are 3000 miles from each other.

Kaceysong(Kacey): no doubt...

Kaceysong(Kacey): I had plans on goin’ out there but just moved into a new place..so it’s gotta go on hold for a bit..

AnnachieG(Rusty): single!? WTF? that is a shock for my FaceSpace stalking of you....

Kaceysong(Kacey): lmao

Kaceysong(Kacey): !!!!!!

Kaceysong(Kacey): *covers mouth so the office doesn’t hear*

Kaceysong(Kacey): nah not really

AnnachieG(Rusty): well, your FaceSpace link is on ModelMonsters. didn’t take much of a Sherlock Holmes to figure that one out.

Kaceysong(Kacey): ..that i know of anyways

Kaceysong(Kacey): eek

Kaceysong(Kacey): *contemplates*

AnnachieG(Rusty): damn, you’re cute.

you know how i know?

because you look adorable even in lame snapshots.

“this is a crappy photo of an average-looking person ... and Kacey.”

Kaceysong(Kacey): hehe well thanks...you’re rackin’ up brownie points already...

Kaceysong(Kacey): lol

Kaceysong(Kacey): what r u up to?

AnnachieG(Rusty): oh, my nose smells like poo, i brown-nose so much.

what am i up to?

i am home for lunch from work. so i have to cut this short soon.

and i was doing research for a dentist. but the one office i called had a rude secretary, so i don’t like them.

Kaceysong(Kacey): ahhh so u in the office environment as well..i’m in real estate...yaaawn..and i’m about to get off...HA! so it’s cool u have to go..

Kaceysong(Kacey): wink!

AnnachieG(Rusty): this is the first time i ever saw you online.

i hope to do so again. we’ll have to pick up this brown-nosing another time.

Kaceysong(Kacey): lmao

Kaceysong(Kacey): till then...

Kaceysong(Kacey): bye shuga

AnnachieG(Rusty): later kiddo.

§

Oona appeared over his shoulder. “What are you doing?”

“What?”

“Florida? Her profile says Florida!? Kacey?”

“So?”

“Dad! Focus! Why are you getting flirty with some girl who lives 3000 miles away? You live in Los Angeles, California! Home to thousands of the most beautiful women on Earth! Why are you wasting your time with - oh, why do I bother?”

Oona stormed out of the room.

“Hey! Young lady. Get back here.”

Circling back, she yelled, “No! Stop it! You don’t have that right! You don’t get to order me around like your daughter yet! Until I have become a flesh-and-blood girl, you and I are a team. You understand? You don’t order me around! My life is the one at risk here! My existence! Not yours!”

The guilt he had so long escaped came right back to the surface. Was Oona right? Fawning after a girl who lived so far away. Was that naïve? (There’s that word again.) What was the point? “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Do you even get it? This is about my entire future! My very existence. My whole life! I think I have the right to get a little upset and be kind of defensive when I feel like my own father isn’t fighting hard enough for me!”

What about all that talk that he should be free to date and not feel guilty?

He didn’t want to argue and bring that up. Just seemed petty to throw that in her face. Clearly she was upset. You can’t defend yourself against female emotions with logic and reason. That much Rusty had learned about women. She was upset and hurt, so he needed to be sensitive to her pain, not throwing technicalities back at her.

Oh. Wait. That was years ago already.

Rusty walked over and sat on the bed and dropped his head. The punch to his gut felt more like he was sitting on a stool in a boxing ring. Oona was right. That was what hurt the most; the fact he couldn’t argue with her, even if he had wanted to.

“Listen, Oona. I’m sorry. But don’t think I’m not looking out for you and your sister. Don’t you see the only way to find the girl is to look everywhere. Follow my heart. You want me to look in my own city? Okay. That’s fine. But doesn’t it stand to reason that I shouldn’t limit my search to my geographic location? Right? If someone catches my eye, don’t you want me to entertain the possibility of getting to know her, no matter where she lives? Don’t you get it? This isn’t me pursuing longshots in futility. This is me pursuing every possible opportunity. I’m sorry I can only be in one place at a time, but I can’t afford to limit where, or how, I search. So, I will look in person, in my own city, other countries, through friends, at parties, at work, over the Internet, on dating sites, in airports, or wherever else I can!”

Oona had a strange expression on her face, her cheeks and eyes were quivering in something between an apology and a beloved smile of admiration.

“Good.” Oona grinned.

She jumped atop the bed, folding her knees underneath herself as she plopped next to Rusty and kissed his cheek.

Rusty thought it was a strange response. “Good?” That was all she had to say? No apology? No more arguing? Just “good”? What did she mean by that?

§

Kacey and Rusty began to talk every single day.

He couldn’t believe how well they were hitting it off.

Flirting. Dreaming. She gave him her phone number the second time they messaged each other. Within a week, their daily phonecalls became plans to visit and meet each other. Kacey went so far as to suggest she might never leave. And Rusty didn’t mind that thought at all. She had a few friends in Los Angeles, but she told Rusty she didn’t even want to see them. Kacey promised to devote every hour to Rusty.

Rusty bought her a plane ticket a day later.

Everything was perfect. Stunning woman. Fun. Single. No kids. Didn’t smoke or drink or do drugs. Kacey wrote poetry and sang music and her modeling and acting career was starting to really go places. He couldn’t ask for more.

Everything was perfect... until the night before she arrived.

AnnachieG(Rusty): good evening.

Kaceysong(Kacey): hello love..how r u

AnnachieG(Rusty): excited! can’t wait for tomorrow!

Kaceysong(Kacey): i think this weekend is gonna be fun-DEFINATELY. But, I’m coming to get to know you more..i don’t want to rush into anything..expectations..etc.

AnnachieG(Rusty): i agree 1000%.

Kaceysong(Kacey): expectations i can’t handle...ok cool

Kaceysong(Kacey): as long as we’re on the same frequency..your apt is fab btw!

AnnachieG(Rusty): there are ZERO expectations. no pressure whatsoever.

Kaceysong(Kacey): I think u should call me when u get off today...

AnnachieG(Rusty): i always have been, darlin’

Kaceysong(Kacey): i don’t want u to have the wrong idea..i mean i know i’m coming there sponaneously..but I’m not looking to like sleep w/you etc..i mean..i don’t even kiss on first dates...have i given u the wrong idea..

Kaceysong(Kacey): ?

Kaceysong(Kacey): *feel wierd now*

AnnachieG(Rusty): i told you - no expectations.

Kaceysong(Kacey): well the things u say don’t back up yoru statement

AnnachieG(Rusty): i’m flirting with you, silly.

Kaceysong(Kacey): lol

Kaceysong(Kacey): ok cool..i’m officially a retard

AnnachieG(Rusty): but i have a big, comfy couch and that is where i planned on having you stay everynight.

Kaceysong(Kacey): lol!

Kaceysong(Kacey): im sorry

AnnachieG(Rusty): no need to apologize.

Kaceysong(Kacey): u rock!

AnnachieG(Rusty): indeed. i rock your face off AND i rock with my cock out.

Kaceysong(Kacey): lmao!

Kaceysong(Kacey): where is this side when we talk on the phone?

AnnachieG(Rusty): on the phone?!

what are you saying? i’m not as funny on the phone?

douchebag.

Kaceysong(Kacey): dick

Kaceysong(Kacey): no your funny just not as um vulgar

Kaceysong(Kacey): lol

Kaceysong(Kacey): quote i just read: ‘if i try to be like him, who will be like me?’

AnnachieG(Rusty): “rock with my cock out” isn’t vulgar.

Kaceysong(Kacey): well it surprised me coming from u

Kaceysong(Kacey): HA

Kaceysong(Kacey): !

AnnachieG(Rusty): ohhhhhhh, i’m full of surprises.

but all good ones.

;-)

Kaceysong(Kacey): U R SO ALL TALK!

Kaceysong(Kacey): lolololollolololollolol

AnnachieG(Rusty): (jaw drops)

oh, no you didn’t!

Kaceysong(Kacey): oh yes i did

AnnachieG(Rusty): i’ll remember that.

AnnachieG(Rusty): and prove you wrong.

AnnachieG(Rusty): how was your day?

Kaceysong(Kacey): multitasking is def in full effect lol

AnnachieG(Rusty): no problem. i understand.

Kaceysong(Kacey): awesome..long. i couldn’t keep my mouth shut..everyone knows Im coming lol

AnnachieG(Rusty): awesome? that’s great! i’m happy that you’re so excited. i’ve told a ton of people too.

Kaceysong(Kacey): i also heard a ’lemme guess, you’re staying in his spare bedroom’ lmao

AnnachieG(Rusty): what is that supposed to mean? of course you are. or the couch. up to you.

Kaceysong(Kacey): lol

AnnachieG(Rusty): this’ll be great. we’re gonna have a lot of fun. no schedules. no plans. no watching the clock. just 3 days of playing and enjoying the lovely summer of Los Angeles.

Kaceysong(Kacey): yeah mos def...i spoke to my friend julian and peter and I may stay over there..i’ll have a bed/room

AnnachieG(Rusty): ..........whoa. excuse me?

Kaceysong(Kacey): what? i figured it would be more comfortable than a couch. what’s the big deal? peter’s off on tour and shit so he offered his room.

AnnachieG(Rusty): what’s the big deal? we only have 3 days. i thought this was going to be our time to hang out and get to know each other. and now you don’t even want to stay here? i DO have a spare bedroom with a bed. now you don’t even want to stay here anymore?

Kaceysong(Kacey): ugh nm i guess i just figured if i was so close to my friends i’d hang with them too...and yes i’d feel more comfortable stayin’ there...

AnnachieG(Rusty): well, i’m sorry. i’m trying to be understanding. pretend it isn’t us. okay? imagine it is another couple. a guy and girl like each other. so the guy buys the girl a plance ticket so they can spend the weekend together. then she tells the guy she wants to hang out with her other friends and stay over their apartment. doesn’t that seem a little rude to the guy?

Kaceysong(Kacey): I guess from the things I’ve heard you have models over your house alot and all of them are offered the same apartment living situation to move in with you..I dont like that nor do i like what seems to be your intentions... so yes i’m a bit uncomfortable...

What the hell was that supposed to mean!? Rusty never offered any model to move in with him! And what was this about “things she heard”? Heard from whom!? She lived 3000 miles away! They shared no mutual friends or acquaintances! So, who could she possibly have spoken to!? Nobody she knows has ever met him!

Suddenly, Rusty realized who it must be. That asshole male model, Kacey had asked about during one of their first conversations. The weirdo who called himself “Powder Duke”. Stupid fucking stage name. Yeah. Those little freaks in that circle of Hollywood drug addicted dramaqueens love to spread rumors and start gossip. That’s why Rusty only photographed them and never befriended them. Unfortunately, with those kind of rats, you simply need to sneeze near them and that’s enough for them to talk smack about you. Nevermind that he only saw the guy once or twice in the entire 3 years since meeting him. That’s all it took. Rusty would remain gossip fodder for a lifetime among those cockroaches.

AnnachieG(Rusty): clearly you are uncomfortable now and i had no idea. and i don’t know WHO you are talking to. but NONE of that is true.

Kaceysong(Kacey): and i’d rather sleep on a fuckin’ bed ina room than on your couch. bullshit. i read what you put on one of your models comments on your site. you made it a point to mention that you shot a certain shot right before another model moved in. wtf does that have to do with the shot.. thats unnecessary information you felt you HAD to put out there. i told you im not a fuckin ’idiot. so it makes me feel a bit safer to stay where there’s people i’m familiar with yes and we can still chill...and do allt he things we planned i just wont sleep at your house on your couch

AnnachieG(Rusty): oh sheesh! i’ve got a spare bedroom! ive told you that. as for that “model”, she was a roommate who was the daughter of a good friend of mine. she had noplace to go. so i offered to let her stay here. she lived here for 6 months. we barely ever saw each other. she was a kid. 18 years old. there was no romantic interest there. i never tried to date her.

Kaceysong(Kacey): i don’t give a shit the mere fact that you stated that is just ridiculous...

AnnachieG(Rusty): you are judging me and jumping to conclusions that are completely wrong.

Kaceysong(Kacey): just forget i said anything...

AnnachieG(Rusty): look, you told me you’ve been lied to a lot. so i understand that you would have a hard time trusting me. but just give me chance. give me the opportunity to prove that i’m a decent guy.

Kaceysong(Kacey): dude all i did was reference you lke i do all photographers and i don’t like what i heard. i don’t understand why i cant’ kick it with my friends. for like a night or something...i mean FUCK. i am 3000 miles away which is never so...but whatever

AnnachieG(Rusty): i’m a very sarcastic and flirtatious person on Model Monster. i’m not like that for real. i’m kinda shy and reserved. you don’t understand why you can’t see your friends? i never said you couldn’t! you are the one who told ME that you didn’t WANT to see them. you said that over and over. now, i feel like you only want to see them because you are trying to keep your distance from me.

Kaceysong(Kacey) signed off at 6:45:16 PM.

Isabeau and Oona were nowhere to be seen. He was glad they weren’t in the room. This was too humiliating to admit to anyone right now. Not even to them.

Suddenly, Kacey came back online.

Kaceysong(Kacey): look dude.... i spent money on this fuckin’ trip too. i took off my LAST vacation daya nd went a whole daywithout pay...so don’t front lke you’re the only person that put any doe into this

AnnachieG(Rusty): money? did i mention money at all? this has NOTHING to do with that.

Kaceysong(Kacey): if i wanna fuckin kick with my people some of the time I’m out there. that’s what i’ll do. get the fuck over it.

Classy lady. Yet another ignorant bitch who confuses rudeness and cruelty with “independence” and “empowerment”. Rusty knew she’d brag to her friends about what she said, and the worthless fools would commend her and encourage her and say it was “strong” of her to be so vulgar.

AnnachieG(Rusty): it’s not that either.

Kaceysong(Kacey): i DONOT LIEK BEING TOLD WHAT I CAN AND CANOT DO! I’M NOT KIDDING! IM IRRITATED AND TIPISSED OFF NOW.

AnnachieG(Rusty): i never told you what you could or couldn’t do. go back and read my replies. i never once said you couldn’t see them.

Kaceysong(Kacey): what’s the big fuckin’ deal then?? why wouldnt’ u want me to be comfortable... i mean if i dont want to stay at your pad then i just don’t and that’s that. i want to get to know you yes. im so pissed i can’t think straight. forget i brought any of thsi up bc im honestly just thinkin’ ’fuck it’ anyways now

That was the moment when Rusty no longer cared if he ever saw her or not. Like a lightswitch, everything he ever felt for her turned off and he knew it would never come back. Forgiveness was not in his nature. Screw this girl. She lied to him. She used him. Now she was twisting it around and acting like he was the bad guy? Rusty didn’t give a damn what she thought or said, because he knew the only thing he was guilty of, was trusting this manipulative and vindictive bitch. His only crime was how gullible he had been for a pretty face. Never again.

AnnachieG(Rusty): You were the one who said over and over that you didn’t WANT to see them. You said multiple times that you didn’t WANT them to know you were coming here. We’ve been planning this for a week. The two of us. Together. For all 3 days. No one else. You said it was a “romantic gesture” several times.

Then, 24 hours before you arrive, you hit me with wanting to hang out with your other friends and not stay at my place? you ARE free to do that. i’m NOT telling you what to do. i’m just shocked that you changed your mind like this. that is ALL. there is no need to be pissed. because i’m not dictating ANYTHING to you. can you understand that i’d be like, “whoa. um ... okay? i didn’t expect this.” it has nothing to do with money. it has nothing to do with seeing your other friends. it has to do with a change-of-plans that i didn’t see coming. that’s all. and moreover, the true REASON for your change-of-plans is because you suddenly don’t trust me. and that makes me feel shitty and i want to explain myself so you don’t think i’m a jerk before you even have the opportunity to know who i am. so, i’m sorry if i’ve said or done anything to freak you out. you are free to come here and see anyone you want. do whatever you please. but i was really looking forward to it being just the two of us for those 3 days. so i could hang out with this amazing, vibrant, creative girl who has an absolutely incredible personality. and now i feel dumb because you aren’t answering.....(smirk) ........kacey?

Kaceysong(Kacey): sorry. phone call

AnnachieG(Rusty): ok.

Kaceysong(Kacey): look just keep the plans how they were, i’m sorry i deviated...i just want to see everyone and vice versa, but whatever. i gotta go.

AnnachieG(Rusty): so i am still picking you up tomorrow?

Kaceysong(Kacey): i dont know dude..i have a headache and don’t really wanna talk anymore

AnnachieG(Rusty): well, have a good night. sorry things are turning out this way.

Kaceysong(Kacey): me too

AnnachieG(Rusty): (sigh) look, just..... whatever you decide..... i couldn’t be happier that we met. you arleady gave me TWO things that i will cherish:

#1 - i learned that i am still able to be passionate and romantic and take risks.

#2 - i learned that there are girls out there like you who are wiling to be just as crazy. and that’s inspiring.

so thank you for that. i hope to see you this weekend. goodnight, dear friend. sweet dreams.

Kaceysong(Kacey): i’m sorry too. just please pick me up. i only want to see my friends as well at some point. i told them i’d go out with them one night

AnnachieG(Rusty): i’d love to pick you up. very much so. and i’d love for you to see your friends too. we can go to my place. if you want to call a friend when you get here and stay with them the first night, that’s cool. and if you are comfortable after we meet, you can stay here. it’s all up to you. whatever makes you comfortable, i’ll support 100%. fair enough?

Rusty grinned. He was so proud of himself. Did she believe him, even though he didn’t mean a word of that crap? He was just telling this manipulative whore what she wanted to hear. She was going to play sociopathic little games with him and pretend to like him, just to get a free trip to California? Fine. Now she’d play his game. All the cruelty she tries to use to make him angry is going to backfire on her. No matter what she tries, he will give her no power whatsoever.

Kaceysong(Kacey): yes. that’s all i asked in the beginning dude. we could have avoided all this ya know. it’s irrelevant just please pick me up and we can go from there. i’m fine now

AnnachieG(Rusty): no problem

Kaceysong(Kacey): i’m mad stressed out dude...i’m sorry

AnnachieG(Rusty): it’s okay. we’ll work it out. see you tomorrow.

Auto response from Kaceysong(Kacey): I am online, but may be away from my computer right now.

§

What a fool he had been.

She had been planning this all along, hadn’t she?

That was the very first time she ever mentioned “Peter” or “Julian” to him. Who the fuck were they!? Rusty was starting to see it very clearly. She was probably fucking one of them (or both of them) and told them, “Hey, I’m gonna string this older guy along and see if he buys me a plane ticket and I can blow him off and come see you instead.”

Sure enough, Rusty never even picked her up from the airport.

Kacey spent her first night in Los Angeles with her other “friends” and hung out with them all afternoon. The girl didn’t make plans to see Rusty until just before sundown the next day.

Rusty pulled his motorcycle up to the address of a church on Ventura where Kacey asked him to pick her up, after her Alcoholics Anonymous meeting.

In the back of his head, he kept asking himself why he was doing this. He never drank in his life and he wanted a girl who was the same way. When he said he “wanted a girl who didn’t drink” he should have specified that quitting drinking due to alcoholism was not what he had in mind.

Of course, knowing Rusty never drank alcohol, she had lead him to believe she never drank either. It wasn’t until the day before she arrived that she admitted the truth. Rusty wondered if she admitted it, only to seem less appealing.

If so, it worked.

Milling about in the parking lot were a half-a-dozen other addicted religious zealots and Rusty could only smile to himself. He sure knew how to pick exactly the wrong girl.

“Hi!”

“Hi!”

They hugged for the first time and Kacey waved goodbye to her new alcoholic friends who gave her a thumbs up.

Seeing the confusion on Rusty’s face, Kacey explained, “Oh, I told them all about you.”

“About me?”

“Yeah. How we never met before and this was our first time seeing each other and stuff.”

Rusty smirked to himself. Not because he found her comment amusing, but because he suddenly realized he barely heard a word she said, because he already hated her so much. Nothing she was saying was even registering in his mind.

“Ah. They think it’s weird?”

“Not really. You think it’s weird?” Kacey asked.

“Not really.”

Awkward pause. Rusty was so tempted to turn around and leave her there right that moment. That would have been fun. But toying with her, stretching it out, would be far more entertaining.

“So, that’s the motorcycle?” Kacey pointed. “Very cool.”

Ah, the small talk. Awkward filler. How lovely.

Yes. Yes. Let’s talk of nothing.

“Yes, ma’am. That’s it. You ready?”

“Oh, I’m nervous.”

“Don’t be nervous. Everything will be fine.”

“If you say so.”

“You hungry? I know a really nice little cafe nearby. They have a cool little cobblestone patio with fountains and trees and a quaint little bookstore attached to it.”

“That sounds cool.”

Rusty would have loved to be with a girl who might use a word like “lovely” or “splendid” or “charming” after giving her such a description. This broad calls it “cool”? Great.

He taught her to put on the spare helmet and headed to dinner.

§

Rusty had changed.

Years of rejection and abandonment had left him far more enraged than he thought possible.

On top of all hat, this girl was going to lead him on and pretend to like him, just to get a free ride to California?

He wasn’t interested in being a “nice guy” anymore. He was out to make her as uncomfortable as possible. Screw with her. But he would do it all with a corrosive smile of saccharine sweetness.

When they sat down at the coffeeshop, he scooted into the bench next to her; an intimate move reserved for teenage couples and newlyweds, not something Kacey would want from Rusty.

“Um,” Kacey rubbed her neck, “would you mind sitting there?” She pointed across the table. “I’m not comfortable sitting this close.”

“Oh, certainly,” Rusty grinned. “We just sat a lot closer on the motorcycle, so I didn’t think it was any big deal.”

Getting up, he moved with a friendly wink.

They spent their dinner talking about nothing. Filling silence.

How was she liking Los Angeles?

Did she get out of the airport okay?

Was the bed comfortable at her friends house?

What were her plans for the next couple days?

Rusty never asked about seeing her. He never questioned when they would hang out again. He never brought it up. Instead, he waited for her to volunteer the information, because he knew damn well that she never would. The only reason she was sitting at that table was out of a sense of obligation; making a feeble attempt to pretend she wasn’t using him. She may have been a liar, she may have been manipulative, but she was awful at hiding how much she hated herself for being the kind of person she was. Rusty loved watching her squirm.

As he took care of the check, Rusty asked, “Up for a little tour around my fine city?”

“Sure!” She almost sounded like she meant it.

Walking back to his motorcycle, Rusty had an epiphany.

Maybe, most people were not “good at heart” like he had always believed. In truth, maybe “good” people are the minority in the world. Most people tend to be liars and thieves, full of greed and selfishness. They become nothing but destructive zombies and empty shells with no respect for themselves or anyone else. They care so little for their own lives that they become addicted to things that destroy them. Like this Kacey bitch. These awful people have no problem with lying and betraying the innocence and trust of those who are good at heart. They lie about everything. They lie so often, about so many things, they don’t even find it immoral anymore. To them, deception is ingrained so deeply in their personality, they don’t even realize they are doing it.

Maybe, Rusty shivered at the thought, there are far more monsters in the world than angels.

Taking Kacey on a winding cruise back up to Ventura, they eased to a stop at the traffic light. Rusty asked if she knew the Tom Petty song “Free Fallin’” and the reference to Ventura Boulevard.

“I’m not into Tom Petty.”

Annoyed with her response, Rusty snapped, “I didn’t ask if you liked his music or not. Everyone has heard that song. I’m just pointing out that this is the street he was talking about.”

“Oh. No. I don’t know it.”

Whatever. Asshole.

As they accelerated around the corner and the noise of wind and machine became too loud to talk, he was thankful that he couldn’t hear her voice anymore.

She was an awful passenger.

Motorcycle passengers need to move with the rider. Flow. Lean. Riding on the back seat is like being a dance partner. You have to be coordinated and graceful. Some people have the knack. Some don’t. Kacey was tense and stiff and shifted her weight with all the fluidity of a sack of dead puppies in cement.

Rusty took her over Mulholland and down into Hollywood.

He should have called it a night right there.

He should have taken her home after that.

Unfortunately, despite his anger, despite her using him, there was still a romantic side to him that held to an ignorant faith, no matter how much a girl screwed him over.

Yes, he was a fool.

Maybe a walk through some gardens together would do them some good. Maybe she would come around. Maybe she would decide to like him after all. Maybe there was still a shred of hope. Maybe a beautiful setting would give them a second chance.

Twisting his motorcycle up the winding roads above the Sunset Strip, he headed to Greystone Manor, a beautiful estate transformed into a public park.

As they rounded the blind bend on the steep hill, their path was blocked by a massive iron gate. The park was closed.

What happened in the next few seconds, Rusty would replay in his head for weeks.

What he should have done was stop the motorcycle, have Kacey dismount, and carefully ease back down the hill. Instead, he had the temerity to attempt making a sharp U-turn on the extraordinarily breakneck incline of the skinny driveway, while carrying a passenger who was not ready for such a quick weight shift.

As he approached the curb and realized he wouldn’t make the turn, he stopped. Being such a sheer hill, his foot didn’t touch the ground as the motorcycle lurched forward. Kacey, her extra 100 pounds of weight behind him, slumped forward into his back and his foot slipped.

“Shit! Shitshitshit!”

The bike fell from under him. He jumped clear without a problem, but the 400 pounds of steel nearly pinned Kacey’s leg to the asphalt. Thankfully, she manged to get out from under the collapse with only a scratch or two.

“What the fuck, dude!?”

As much as Rusty had grown to hate the girl, he was genuinely embarrassed. He didn’t like her, but he certainly didn’t wish her any bodily harm. Breaking her leg under a fallen motorcycle wasn’t exactly the evening he was hoping for.

“I’m so sorry. You okay? Are you alright?”

“NO! What the hell is wrong with you!? I thought you knew how to ride that thing!”

“I’m sorry. It was the hill. Are you hurt?”

“No. I’m fine.” Kacey said more calmly.

Rusty was pissed. Would the universe never allow him to be jerk? Was this fate punishing him for being cocky?

He went to pick up the motorcycle.

He had dropped bikes before, but only on flat pavement.

This was the first time he ever had to pick one up on a hill.

“Ugh.” He groaned.

“You can’t pick it up?” Kacey spat with disgust.

“Well, it’s not exactly a bicycle.”

Just wanting to get away from Rusty as quickly as possible, she marched over to help him. Once her hands were on the machine, she actually regretted mocking him. “Oh, damn. I had no idea they were this heavy! Is that normal?”

“Well,” Rusty grunted, “no. The hill is making it a lot harder than usual.”

Scrambling for the kickstand as Kacey held it in place, they got the bike back on two wheels. Rusty gently walked the Suzuki back down to the road where the hill was slightly more gradual.

Broke the tab on the gearshifter.

Damnit.

Those were sixty bucks.

Crap.

Bent the clutch lever too.

Another twenty dollars there too.

Looked undamaged otherwise.

“Thanks.” Rusty muttered.

Kacey simply shook her head, still pissed at this weirdo for nearly breaking her leg. She was happier than ever that she decided not to stay with him. How did she ever think this guy was cool? What an idiot. He was a total dweeb. Can’t even turn his motorcycle around in a driveway without crashing it? Douchebag.

Once he was settled, Rusty tried to turn the bike back on.

The motorcycle wouldn’t turn over.

“Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no.”

“What now?”

“Oh, nothing. It just won’t start.”

“What!? I have plans tonight. I have to get back to my friends house, like now.”

“Okay. Well, I’m sorry. It’s not starting. I don’t want to be stuck here anymore than you do.”

Rusty couldn’t believe this.

Now he was stranded on the side of the road in Beverly Hills with this horrible girl, when both of them just wanted to be as far away from each other as possible.

Rusty tried several more times, but it wasn’t even turning over.

He began pacing down the street and pulled out his cellphone to call a towtruck.

They informed him it would be three hours before anyone could arrive to pick them up.

“Three hours!?” Kacey shrilled.

“I know. I’m not happy about it either.”

“I can’t wait here on the side of the road for three hours.”

“Well, you can call your friend to come pick you up. Should only take him 20 minutes to get here.”

“He’s at work.”

Rusty didn’t bother to ask why she claimed she needed to get back to his place right way if he wasn’t even home. He knew instantly, Kacey was telling the truth about him not being home and she was lying about needing to leave.

Without much more to do, Rusty paced by the motorcycle while Kacey sat on the curb a few dozen feet away. Fuming.

This was going to be a lovely 3 hours.

Upon the curved face of the hillside, where Kacey couldn’t see, Isabeau stood in the shrubs.

She was pointing at the motorcycle.

Rusty wasn’t sure what she was attempting to mime.

He shrugged back at her.

Isabeau pantomimed straddling a motorcycle and holding the handlebars. Then she pointed at her left hand.

Look. At. The. Clutch. Lever.

Rusty turned back to the handlebars. Sure enough, the kill switch underneath the clutch lever had come uncoupled. That never happened before.

It snapped right back into place with no problem.

Sticking the key back in the ignition, Rusty crossed his fingers.

She fired right up.

Kacey had been staring at the ground and perked up right away.

“You fixed it!”

Rusty looked back to the hillside to thank Isabeau, but she was gone. He whispered to the empty trees anyway, “Thank you.”

“Yeah!” Rusty called down to Kacey, “I fixed it.”

As she walked back up the hill, she looked hesitant.

“I don’t know if I want to get back on that thing.”

As much as he had grown to despise her, Rusty sincerely felt awful about nearly crushing the poor girl. She was a bitch and a half who used and humiliated him, but he didn’t want to make her crippled. “I’m really sorry. I promise I’ll take it really slow and easy. No highways or anything. Just main roads. Okay?”

Realizing she didn’t have much choice, Kacey agreed. “Okay. Just please be careful.”

He didn’t want to say, “Well, if you hadn’t leaned all your bodyweight down the hill, I would have made it!”

It was true.

She did make them crash.

But honestly, Rusty shouldn’t have forced an inexperienced passenger into a U-turn on such a steep hill. The accident may have been her fault, but he should have known better. Rusty couldn’t deny that he was still responsible.

“I promise, I’ll be careful. I’ll get you back safe. You have my word.”

Kacey didn’t comment but for a sigh as she begrudgingly put her helmet back on.

§

The next day, Rusty drove back to the ghetto neighborhood in Sunland, to the house where Kacey was staying with her two boyfriends (or whatever that whore was doing with them). Rusty and Kacey had dinner plans.

Scoffing to himself, Rusty parked his motorcycle across from the house. Their front yard was bald-spotted with charred grass behind an ugly cinder-block fence. The street smelled like chaparral and dust and food stamps. He loved that Kacey wanted to be there, with her other “friends”, instead of his nice neighborhood with baby strollers and jogging paths and Frisbee games in a lush park at the end of his street.

Good for her.

She screwed him over.

She used him.

She deserves this putrid desolation.

He hoped their house smelled like catshit. Even from the outside, the place looked like the kind of white trash pigsty that reeks of filthy litter boxes. Even from the outside, you can always recognize homes filled with that ammonia stench. They were the sort of people who would walk their dogs and never clean up the crap.

Rusty called her cellphone, but Kacey never answered.

They had only spoken 20 minutes ago. She was expecting him.

He called again.

Still no answer.

Bitch.

No big shock.

Rejected again. Ignored again.

What else is new?

There was no way he was ringing the doorbell. Walking across that disgusting yard would require a tetanus shot.

After waiting around for another 10 minutes, he was ready to leave. Just as he was putting his helmet back on, she finally came out of the front door.

“Hi.” Kacey forced a smile. She was in sweatpants, a tanktop and sandals. Rusty knew immediately she wasn’t going to get on his motorcycle dressed like that.

Rusty pretended to not notice.

There was no way he’d make this easy for her.

He smiled widely, “Hi! You look great! Ready to go?”

“Oh, um, I can’t.”

“You can’t? Why not?” Rusty pouted a phony sing song tone.

“I’m sorry, I just - After yesterday, I’m just really freaked out about getting back on the motorcycle.”

“Ohhhh, I see!” Rusty kept on smiling. Looks like she found her prefect excuse to never see him again. He bet she was just waiting for that. “Well, you do know I have no other way to pick you up?”

“I know. You’re not mad, are you? Don’t be mad.”

Yes. Clearly this had been her plan all along.

Pretend to like him. Get him to pay her way to California. Blow him off and never spend any time with him at all. Every lie she had said was leading up to this moment in time, where she could just tell him to kiss off. By dropping the motorcycle, he had provided her with the ideal reason to throw him away.

Don’t be mad?

Funny how the people who betray your trust the worst, always tell you that you shouldn’t get upset about it. They always ask to “still be friends” even though that’s the last thing you want.

No. He would not make this easy.

Rusty twisted the knife, every insincere shred of joy tore into her stomach as he let her see every drop of his rage. “Mad? Noooo. Of course not. Why would I ever be angry with someone as lovely and wonderful as you? I totally understand.”

Kacey tensed.

He wasn’t even trying to hide his lying.

Thanks to buying her ticket, she was going to be in Los Angeles for three more days. Rusty knew, this was the last time he’d ever see her or speak to her again.

“I’m glad you’re not mad.” Kacey muttered uncomfortably.

“No, Kacey. I’m not the least bit upset. Not at all. Why would I be? I completely understand.” Venomous, he spat at her, “I understand you very well.”

“Thanks for not being mad.”

“No problem.”

“So, I’ll call you later?” Kacey lied again.

“Oh, I look forward to it.”

“Bye.”

“Goodbye, Kacey.” Rusty smiled and was genuinely joyous, knowing those were the last words he would ever speak to this hideous person. The girl was so pathetic, so passive-aggressive, she was like a spider who sends you her venom in the mail.

Driving away, Rusty rode off into one of the most beautiful orange sunsets he had ever seen and found himself elated that Kacey was back in that wretched house and she would never see the beauty of the heavens that evening.

She got exactly what she deserved.

She wasn’t worthy of that sunset.

That night, Rusty didn’t need to share it with anyone.

That night, the sky belonged to him.

§

Weeks later, Rusty went to the grocery store and a completely innocuous moment occurred that would remain with him for the rest of his life.

An exceptionally overweight man with scraggy hair and oily skin, potted and puffy as a sponge, was buying groceries along with a man in an electric wheelchair. The wheelchair man was sickly and thin and obviously mentally retarded, drooling on himself and straining to speak.

The part Rusty would never forget was the look in the eyes of the retarded man, as he stared at the ass of a young college girl in the next checkout line.

No one else noticed.

No one was paying attention.

But Rusty was.

And in that moment, looking at these two grotesque and slovenly men, Rusty felt like he’d been hit in the gut by a baseball bat.

These men had desires too.

They had longings and yearnings for women. Just like Rusty. They ached for a touch. For love. For companionship.

Rusty thought back to all the beautiful women he had adored and made love to. All the erotic moments and gentle nights. That time in the backseat of his car in the park with that petite freckled brunette. The old girlfriend with the deep Mother Earth breasts whose parents were always out of town for the weekend. The little blonde stripper who took him home after flirting with him on the dancefloor all night.

So many moments.

So many lovers.

And that look in the eyes of that poor man in the wheelchair.

Burning with the same desires.

The same lusts.

Yet trapped in a body that would never allow him to indulge his passions. Here was a young man who was a reflection of Rusty himself.

When he got to the parkinglot, Rusty sat on his bike and wept. Tears and sobs convulsed from him like they hadn’t in years.

He wept in anger at himself, for all the time he wasted feeling sorry for his lovelife.

He wept in fury at the world, for how unfair it was to men like those in the grocery store.

But mostly, he wept for failing to be grateful during every single second of his bullshit life, for how truly blessed and privileged he was. He wept with remorse, because he should have spent his life thanking the universe for ever second of his miraculous existence, instead of mourning his own pathetic loneliness, for which no one was responsible but himself.

That damned jiggly-headed retard made him ashamed of every complaint and every second of lovelife self-pity he ever felt.

§

Rusty sprang up in bed, already half asleep, he was mortified by a thought he never had before. “My God. What if she was born into the wrong body!”

Isabeau and Oona came glowing into the room. “Are you okay?”

“Dad? What’s wrong?”

“The wrong body!” Rusty repeated. “What if she was born into the wrong body?”

Isabeau looked at her sister, then her dad, “...What?”

Oona turned on the light.

Squinting at the glow, Rusty groaned, “My soulmate! I mean, what if that’s why I can’t find her!”

Oona asked, “Dad, what on earth are you talking about?”

Scratching his head, Rusty explained, “Hey, mistakes happen all the time. There are mutations and disfigurements in the physical world all the time. Right? Just like that retarded guy I saw in the store today. People born missing a limb, or an extra finger, or something? A flaw. A mutation. So, what if that’s what a transgender person is? Not a biological mistake, but a spiritual one. Female souls accidentally born into male bodies and vice versa. You follow me?”

Isabeau choked on a held breath. “So, you think our mom might be... a dude?”

“What?” Oona asked.

“Did you fall asleep in biology class?”

“I’m just saying, you know, I’m not gay. So, I’m not looking at some transgender dude to be my wife. But what if that’s who she is?”

Isabeau rubbed her face with stressed fingers. “Dad! How are we going to be born if you marry a guy!?”

“No, no! You’re not listening! I’m not going to marry a guy. That’s disgusting. I just said I’m not gay. I’m saying what if the soul of my soulmate was accidentally born into the body of a man? The poor girl will live out her life as some freaky dude and I’ll never find her.”

Oona bit the corner of her mouth. “You’re worried she’s a he?”

Snapping his fingers at his little girl, he nodded, “My point exactly! I won’t meet her, I won’t even consider being with her, because she’s actually a dude. That’s why I can’t find her!”

Isabeau shook her head. “You have been single way too long, dad. You’re going crazy.”

“Hey, anything is possible! I’m talking to the ghosts of my unborn twin daughters and you’re telling me the notion that souls could accidentally get born into the wrong bodies is crazy?”

Oona looked at her sister. “He’s got a point.”

“No. He doesn’t. Because a dude in a dress doesn’t have ovaries! Duh. A guy can’t be our mother. That’s biologically impossible.”

“Which is why I will never find her! That’s my fear. What if that were possible!? What if she was born a he?”

Isabeau rolled her shoulders back like even they were trying to get out of this conversation. “It’s not possible. Souls are men and women too, daddy. A man can’t be born a woman and no woman can be born a man. That’s not how the universe works. Dad, I’m sure your soulmate was born a woman. You are always a man. She is always a woman. There are no mistakes. Not with souls as old as yours. You’ve both done this plenty of times before. You know exactly what you’re doing. Trust me, dad, our mom is a chick. Okay? Don’t start cruising the tranny gay bars yet. Keep your other options open.”

Rusty grumbled. “Very funny.”

How did she know what gay bars were?

Isabeau added, “Plus, I hate to remind you of the basic biology, but Oona and I can’t be born if - ”

“ - No, I know. I know. You don’t even have to say it. Yeah. You already said that. I get it. I’m sorry. I realize I’m just being stupid. Forget it. You know, I’m half asleep and I get this creepy thought. Forget it. I just, you know, I panic sometimes. I don’t want to fail you. I want to find her and do this right.”

Oona smiled at her dad, “You’re doing fine, daddy. Get some sleep. Forget the bearded ladies. Dream of lingerie models.”

Rusty laughed in the dark as his daughters turned the light off and left him to slumber. They definitely inherited his sarcasm.

§

Kacey crossed Rusty’s mind a lot in the months to come.

Ordinarily, when he liked a girl as much as he had liked her, he’d fill his journal with entries about her. Looking back, he was shocked to discover he never mentioned her at all.

In the story of his life, she might as well not exist.

As if he subconsciously knew, this was how it would end.

But he still thought of her, even if there was no proof she ever existed. He thought of her over and over, unable to understand how he could have been so dumb.

What a sucker he was for a pretty face.

He had fallen victim to a scam. To a liar. Tricked by a sexy young Internet vixen. Flying her to California under the fake pretense that she liked him? How could he be so gullible? You hear about moronic guys like that all the time. Some news report of an old man getting swindled by some sexy young chick from the Internet.

Damnit.

He had finally become one of those stupid men himself.

Kacey was beyond gorgeous. Did he really think someone that pretty would find him attractive? Women that beautiful will be happy to use him, but they’ll never love him. He was embarrassed and ashamed that he had allowed himself to become nothing more than a gullible statistic. So humiliated, in fact, that he never told a single person about her. Rusty kept her a huge secret for a reason. No one would ever know Kacey was part of his life. It was demeaning.

What an idiot.

What a fool.

He would never be so easily duped again.

There was one comfort though.

Years later, Rusty was reading her website and discovered Kacey had gotten pregnant by some guy in California who rejected her outright, abandoning her as a single mother in Florida.

Justice was served.

Rusty had truly felt something for her.

Had she been good to him, had she been kind and honest, Rusty would have worshiped her. Just like Kateri.

Worshiped.

Knowing he never would have abandoned Kacey, especially if she had borne their twin girls, or any other child for that matter, Rusty couldn’t help but feel a smile of malicious glee curl across his lips. Kacey deceived Rusty, and broke his heart, to hook up with some other guy, and now that guy had tossed her to the curb.

Good.

Heck, maybe Rusty was wrong. In all honesty, Rusty didn’t know if the “friend” she stayed with was the same guy who knocked her up or not.

That didn’t matter.

What matters is that Rusty never would have left her.

Kacey would never be a single mother if Rusty was the dad.

He would have stayed. Had she treated him with kindness and love, Rusty would have blessed her with reciprocal devotion.

Instead, she picked a man who abandoned her and their child.

Good.

Serves her right.

What goes around comes around, and dancing to the melody of karma is a bitch.

Chapter Seven

Dating websites had become the bane of society.

At least, Rusty sure saw them that way.

Rusty missed the days when “personals ads” were exclusive to newspapers. When they were considered “weird” or “strange” and respectable men and women avoided using them at all costs, because only losers answered personals ads.

Thirty years later, the proliferation of social networking websites (which looked suspiciously like personals ads when they began) made the evolution into dating sites seem a lot less creepy and pathetic.

Oh, how he wished they still held a stigma.

Were dating sites considered creepy and pathetic, he wouldn’t be expected to use them! Unfortunately, they had morphed into being “socially acceptable” and therefore, all single people were expected to “try it out” at least once.

No longer were death and taxes the only inevitable things in life.

Inevitable things had become death, taxes... and dating sites.

And looking at the profiles of some people, it was no wonder they were single. Everyone on those sites, male, female, young, old, gay, straight, all seemed to be self-absorbed assholes who “loved to laugh” and “enjoyed traveling”.

After awhile, it felt like you were just reading the profile of the same person over and over again.

Kind of like morons who purport to be “fun loving” people.

What kind of moron says that?

Of course you’re “fun loving”. Who the hell isn’t “fun loving”!? Everyone is “fun loving”. Have you ever once seen a person having a great time and then saying, “Damnit, this sucks! I’m totally enjoying myself. Screw this! I’m going home!”

Rusty also learned to read-between-the-lines for other things. Snarky attitudes aside, he learned to be extra nice to those who claim to be a strong person. Only the weakest of people need to boast about their strength.

There’s an old joke Rusty always loved:

Q: How can you tell when a woman is lying?

A: Her lips move!

At least their lips aren’t moving in still photos!

There was one woman Rusty knew, a redheaded fashion model from Ohio named Amy Harbringer, who had a list of 31 demands for her “applicants” as she called them.

Cripe.

That right there made her seem like an arrogant toolbag.

Applicants?

She demanded her suitors have a sense of humor (that sounded suspiciously close to being “fun loving”, Rusty thought), astrological compatibility (because what could be more mature than basing a lifelong romance on superstitious nonsense?), acceptance for her love of hockey and soccer, hot and look like a hockey or soccer player, must be 6 feet tall or more, and not overly tan. The list went on and on with dozens of vapid expectations. The funniest of all? Any man interested in dating her had to be “open minded”.

Rusty actually emailed her and confronted her on it.

Like all arrogant toolbags, she felt totally justified. Society had become infested with sanctimonious idiots like this girl who have convinced themselves that “cruel and selfish” equals “liberated and honest”.

Rusty believed she was completely honest.

That didn’t absolve her from being a driveling waste of flesh.

Oh, how he wished dating sites were taboo.

How he wanted to avoid them.

He was about to turn off his computer, making that useless vow to never log onto a dating site again when he got the idea.

One last try.

§

Megan Wojkowski was a thousand degrees away from any other woman Rusty had ever dated. Staring at her photos on the Internet, Rusty studied every pixel on his screen. Her body was taunt and muscular and she was covered in tattoos all around her torso and running up and down her arms. Arms that would fling sweat all over her drumkit, as she played gigs in dive clubs with her deathmetal band. Despite how trendy and ubiquitous tattoos had become in society, Megan was unique in that all of her art was designed by her and was very detailed line work. No color. All black and white.

The most intriguing aspect of Megan was her demeanor. The woman was not only a gorgeous and aggressive rocker chick who modeled in tattoo magazines, but she was a brilliant, card-carrying member of MENSA, sporting a PhD in both astrophysics and psychology. Or as she called it, “kick-asstrophysics”.

Had he wished for a fantasy girl who had the potential to become a real person, Rusty never would have invented someone as cool as Megan. Rusty would have never imagined anyone like her could possibly be real. Women this sexy and eccentric simply didn’t exist in the real world. They were only in movies.

Yet here she was, and she was attracted to him.

Standing upon the altar in Las Vegas, Elvis announced, “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

In that moment, in addition to everything that had already charmed him so completely, Rusty discovered that Megan was one of the greatest kissers in the world.

§

Feeling lonely as ever, Rusty decided to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt, he would always be alone. He woke up in one of those moods. One of those I-hate-the-world-for-abandoning-me moods which everyone feels from time to time and he was feeling more often than he preferred.

Early in the morning before work, he signed on to a dating website and decided he’d put in every trait he truly wanted in a woman. Not just the “dealbreaker” ones, but all of them. Right down to the picky stuff. Just like that terrible girl who wanted a hot guy that likes hockey.

Sure.

He could play that game.

He’d list it all.

This would be the exact woman who would become the ideal mother to Isabeau and Oona. No compromises. No pulling punches. He would prove to himself that there were absolutely no women like he was seeking. Not anywhere.

So, he entered his parameters.

• Caucasian. (Isabeau and Oona were white girls, after all.)

• 5’0” to 6’6” in height. (Height was somewhat meaningless to him, but he wasn’t into midgets, so he couldn’t leave the default 3’0” minimum.)

• 18 to 45 years of age. (Ordinarily, he didn’t care about age whatsoever, but she had to be young enough to bear his daughters.)

• Athletic build. (He kept in shape. So should she.)

• Workout 5 to 7 times a week. (She can’t be lazy about it. He’s not.)

• Never drink. (He hated alcohol. Turns good people into assholes.)

• Never smoke. (No one likes making out with an ashtray.)

• Agnostic or Spiritual. (No theistic zealots.)

• Never married. (He had never been and expected the same.)

• No kids. (Moms will always put their kid before their boyfriend.)

• Wants kids. (Obviously. Isabeau and Oona. Duh.)

• Speaks English. (The only language he knew.)

Those were the only caveats that really mattered to him. He didn’t care about skin color and would have dated a black or Asian girl, but Isabeau and Oona inadvertently dictated that one. He didn’t care about irrelevant crap like income or education or hairstyles or hobbies or politics or eye color or pets or astrological signs. Any woman who cared about those things was clearly a petty idiot.

Rusty knew there wasn’t a single woman in the country who could fit those prerequisites. So, instead of searching within a 20 mile radius, he looked across the entire United States, confident he would get no search results.

Here goes. Nothing...

SUBMIT.

A brief spin of the cursor, a flash of the page, and much to his shock, three results appeared.

Two of the women, he did not find attractive.

The third was Megan Wojkowski in New York.

It had occurred to Rusty, some weeks earlier, that there are two kinds of people on dating websites.

Those who talk about what they want in a romance.

And those who talk about what they have to offer.

This is an interesting distinction, because each approach speaks volumes about a person.

Those who talk about what they want are inherently selfish jerks. After all, why should anyone presume total strangers will care about what you want? What difference does it make? Do these people think strangers will read their profiles and potential suitors shall become utterly thrilled to learn they can provide this person with everything they desire?

No.

You have found a repulsive human being when a person on a dating site has sentences filled with phrases like “I need somebody who is...” and “I’m looking for someone who...” and “I want... I want... I want...”

The good people, the generous people, are the ones who talk about who they are and what they have to offer. That shows they have a sense of altruism. They are attempting to show you that they are interested in being worth something to you. They want to have value. They want to mean something. They aren’t asking you to be what they desire, they are sharing who they are, in the hopes they might prove to be that which you desire. That’s the sign of a far more giving person.

Never respond to anyone who talks about what they want.

Only respond to those who talk about what they offer.

Vital distinction.

Besides, the truth is, everyone is looking for the same thing, but we only deserve to be with people who are exactly like ourselves.

Shaking his head at his computer, tweaking his profile, Rusty asked Isabeau. “What do I have to offer? I can’t give anything to anyone they can’t find better in someone else. There are millions of men in this world who are far more wealthy and attractive and kind and funny and ambitious. So, what makes me so special? I have nothing to offer a girl that she can’t find a better version of in someone else.”

Isabeau laughed, “You don’t see it?”

“See what?”

“Daddy,” Isabeau’s hand slammed to her hip, “the answer is simple. Devotion.”

“Devotion? I’m not the most devoted man in the world either. There are plenty of men who have a greater sense of devotion than I have shown to -”

“ - Not to her.”

“What?”

“They are not devoted to her. That makes all the difference.”

“What do you mean?”

Rolling her eyes at her dad being so clueless, Isabeau explained, “Flip the question around. You have dated girls who are not perfect. There are girls who are more wealthy and attractive and kind and funny and ambitious than the girls you have dated. Right? But you still loved them anyway.”

“Well, yeah.”

“Yeah. Now what if just one of those girls had shown you true devotion? You would have stayed with her. Wouldn’t you?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“There you go. Just because there are plenty of women who possess a strong sense of devotion, none of them have ever given their devotion to you. Don’t you see? The need for devotion works both ways. When the right girl comes along, she’ll see you the same way. She may not think you’re the most handsome, wealth, funny, kind, ambitious boy she’s ever known, but if you are the most devoted, that will finally make her love and trust again. Maybe the reason you are so focused on the pain of abandonment and your obsession with devotion is because that’s exactly the things she is preoccupied with too. Find that girl and you have found the right one.”

Something clicked inside him when Rusty saw Megan. All his life, he would get that same strange sense of fate and destiny with every girl and he was always right when he recognized souls that would become important to his future.

Perhaps, he thought, that’s why Isabeau and Oona appeared in the first place. Maybe there was something about his ability to recognize important souls that made it inevitable to become a person who would have visions of his future daughters.

Rushing out the door to work, he sent Megan an email.

He was so excited to talk with her and so late for work, the email was rather looney. Then he decided, so be it; the right girl will appreciate and understand his looney tendencies.

She wrote him back that afternoon.

Little did he know, when he saw Megan’s photo on the Internet, they would be getting married 3 years later, without ever having met.

§

“Hello?”

“Hey. It’s Megan. I’m in Vegas. You want to get married?”

The phonecall came when Rusty was at work.

Ever since they met online, three years earlier, they joked around about eloping in Vegas. In fact, that was something they told each other they would do, during the very first conversation they ever had.

Now, she was asking him to do it for real.

Was she crazy?

Fantasies are all fine and good, but to actually go through with this? That was kind of nuts! No. Not kind of nuts, it was totally crazy!

Surely, she must be joking.

§

“You’re joking.” Rusty’s boss replied.

“Nope. I’m completely serious. A friend called me up and asked me to elope with her in Vegas. So, I’m going. I’m all caught up on my projects for the day and I’ll stay late tomorrow to make up the time.” Rusty announced, nervously. He wasn’t afraid of being denied permission to leave work, he wasn’t asking, he was telling. He was just worried that they’d think he was so weird, they’d fire him when he got back.

Rusty’s boss was already accustomed to his quirks, but he had to admit, this one was stretching things. “Okay,” he chuckled, “Congratulations. Have a great time.”

“Thanks! See you tomorrow!”

Rusty knew his return was going to be an interesting day at work, once word got around. He could picture it already.

“Rusty did what!? And he never met her before!?”

§

On his way to meet Megan, Rusty couldn’t help but daydream about the events that lead him to this decision.

One of the most emotional cinematic experiences of Rusty’s life was that plastic bag scene in the movie American Beauty. A character in the film watches a plastic bag dancing on the wind, and videotapes it, to preserve the moment. The boy in the movie wanted to capture that image because it reminded him of how much beauty was in the world and how it was so hard to stomach it sometimes.

Rusty found it hard to imagine he had first seen that movie a decade ago. Seemed like only a year or two, it remained so vivid.

It shook him to the core. Nothing before or since had ever touched Rusty quite like that. He found it so profound because he realized one of the most uplifting and wonderful thoughts in his life... and simultaneously, felt one of the most lonely and isolating shivers that ever went down his spine.

The wonderful thought? Realizing he was not alone in his view of life and the universe. Rusty wasn’t some misunderstood weirdo by striving to live his whole life in perspective. Others see the whole picture as well. Beginning to end. All the beauty, all at once. There are others who remain alive and conscious of the glory of living from moment to moment. Rusty felt connected to fellow human beings in a way he never had before.

Someone. Else. Gets. It.

The isolating thought? Realizing how rare his kind is. Hearing the snickering in the audience from the mindless drones comprising most of humanity. Although he was not alone, and there are others like him, it’s not likely he will find many. Most people simply aren’t wired to think on that wavelength. The masses are lemmings who are blind and sleeping. Zombies. Those who do things like watch television and believe the newspapers - like most of the audience who laughed during that scene. They didn’t understand. It was a joke to them. They were incapable of comprehending.

Reminded him of that song “Out of This World” by The Cure.

When we look back at it all, as I know we will

You and me, wide-eyed

I wonder...

Will we really remember how it feels to be this alive?

This is why he eloped at an Elvis Chapel.

A few months earlier, Rusty was having a conversation on the phone with an old friend named Sheryl. She and Rusty had known each other for nearly 10 years and she told him, “You know, Rusty, I would totally date you, if I thought it had any chance of working out.”

Wow, that was insulting.

The worst part was, he knew she meant it as a compliment.

But he didn’t take it as one.

Her words angered him. Rusty realized in that moment, just how passionately he loathed the notion of not taking a risk in life. Life is so short. How dare anyone live it so timidly? He realized, “I’m tired of knowing and dating women with that attitude. I want someone who doesn’t believe it will work out... AND THEN GOES FOR IT ANYWAY! I need someone bold. Daring. Someone crazy. Someone with passion and fire and courage and ADVENTURE in them! Someone full of sandstorms and whirlwinds and shooting stars! Are there no women who know how to leap from the cliff anymore? I do not require a cautious mate. I can not tolerate a tepid lover. I need a wild heart. Someone... tempestuous. Fierce. Courageous. Nothing less.”

Someone who keeps her entire life in perspective.

There is more, yet he found it difficult to explain. As time went on, the more precisely his heart was able to recognize the dynamic he required in his lovers, despite the fact his verbal capacity to articulate such traits seemed to become more diminished.

When he was laying on his deathbed at 105 years of age, did Rusty want to look back on his life and say he didn’t have the guts to elope in Vegas?

No.

He wanted to climb into his deathbed with no regrets.

§

Within a few hours, it was done.

Rusty rode his motorcycle through the desert, got completely lost, took forever to find the befitting chapel, met his bride for the first time, rushed over to the courthouse to get the license, became the husband to Megan Wojkowski, and Elvis left the building.

§

Afterward, they went to a diner where Megan called her mother. She told her mom, “Yeah, we just got married and now we’re going on our first date. I always liked to do things backwards.”

That wasn’t the most entertaining part of their date however. The best part was when Rusty remembered that he actually had a date with some other chick the next night.

“Oh!,” he said. “That’s right. In fact, I’m supposed to go out to dinner with this one girl tomorrow. I totally forgot about that!”

Rusty’s wife laughed and said, “So are you going to tell her?”

“Well,” Rusty replied, “I think it may be best to tell her before we go out. That’s not exactly the kind of news you want to break to a chick when you’re sitting in the restaurant. ‘Hey! I almost forgot to mention, I eloped in Vegas last night. I hope this doesn’t mean we can’t makeout later?’ Yeah. Not good.”

Megan laughed then added, “You know I wouldn’t mind if you made out with her.”

“I know. But I think she’d mind.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. Sorry I ruined your date.”

“Oh, that’s okay. I gained a wife as compensation. So, I’m not complaining.” Rusty winked.

Then he burst out laughing.

“What?” Megan asked, “What’s so funny?”

“Oh,” Rusty giggled, “that poor girl. Can you imagine? Your date cancels on you because he ran off and got married? You think she’s even going to believe me? She’ll probably think I’m making the most lame excuse of all time. Like skipping work five times because your grandma died.”

Megan smirked, “Yeah. She won’t believe you. She’ll just think you don’t like her.”

“Poor kid.”

As Rusty predicted, the girl canceled their plans once he dropped the news. Alas, he guessed some broads just aren’t that open to unique relationships.

Time spent in that diner was one of the best dates he ever had.

They were so very different, Megan and Rusty.

Yet so very much alike.

Even the waitress looked at them like an odd couple. Him so straight laced, yet in motorcycle leathers. Her covered in tattoos and multi-colored hair. They looked perfect together and completely wrong, all at the same time.

She was the only person he ever met who understood that “aging is an option” and a much of the physical deterioration older people experience is a choice. Rusty noted how he was at an age where he felt more alive and strong and vital than ever, yet he would also hear his peers talking of aches and pains and ailments. They were all starting to talk of “getting old” and it was starting to show on their faces. Rusty never saw himself that way. He never looked at life that way. And sure enough, you would think he was 15 years younger than these men who were his age.

“I’m just sad because other people around me were getting old before their time, and I want so desperately to show them they are aging not because of the calendar, but only because they are listening to the world I don’t believe in.”

Megan agreed, “Take my uncle. That man is in his 50’s and acts like he’s 207. Full of aches and pains and complaints. I pity people like him. I want them to stop acting so damn old.”

Rusty saw his grandfather succumb to the same mentality in his 80’s - thinking he was old and feeling worthless because of it. None of it was physical. He was mobile and healthy and active and had all his mental capacity. All of his “aging” was psychological. That’s what killed him. He felt old. Because of that, life became pointless. He lost the will to live.

That did piss Rusty off. And it made him sad, all the time.

Rusty understood well what Megan was saying. “Funny you say the because my uncle is the same way. I have acquaintances back in Los Angeles who are the same age as my uncle and are more skilled skateboarders and mountain bikers than me! They are incredibly fit and youthful and know how to live life fully. Now and then, you will see their type. Ever find those senior citizens in their 80’s and 90’s who own Harleys and go rollerblading? They are few and far between. They are wonderful and fun and have never grown old or had a midlife crisis. They simply stay true to who they are. Lifelong. They don’t listen to rest of the world. They dance to the beat of their own drum. They live forever.”

Megan said a friend of her berated her when they had a similar conversation about holding steadfast to ones vigor and youth. “I admire those people. I had one friend say if I really loved my life and the things in it, I would just enjoy my life graciously. The fact that I find it necessary to call attention to these things says I want to keep up the appearance of youth - so that I can gloat about how ‘brave’ and ‘fearless’ and ‘adventurous’ I am.”

“What!?” Rusty nearly gagged on his mashed potatoes. “That dude sounds like an asshole. Gloating? Oh, if he only knew. We stand upon the horizon. We touch the sky on the peak of the mountain. We turn back to the masses below and hold out our hand. We beg them - ‘Come! Come with me! Look at this! See all you are missing!’ And fearful to fall, scared of what others will think, they mock us. They accuse us of gloating. When all we truly want is to have them share the path and see the glory.”

“I agree. And if I should enjoy life graciously? I can think of nothing more gracious than reaching out with the longing to share what I have learned and not keep it to myself. It’s only perceived as ‘gloating’ when others yearn to emulate my life, yet are paralyzed by the belief they are incapable of achieving those dreams. I’m not here to brag about being ahead of them. I’m here to save their place in line.”

“Amen, honey. What are they waiting for?” Rusty laughed.

On and on they spoke.

Likely philosophizing about things that had never been discussed in that greasy spoon diner booth in all the decades it sat in that desert.

They spoke of attaining success and dreams in life and all they gave up to get there. That was strange to him too.

Rusty noted there are a lot of people in the world, most especially successful people, who proudly profess they do not believe in fate or destiny. Successful people often claim that we all make our own fate. Those people are egomaniacal fools who give themselves far too much credit for their achievements. In truth, we are all set upon a certain path, a certain flow, by the universe. We are free to deviate from that path. We can alter our fate. We can change our destiny. Depending upon the inertia of our river, some fates may be more difficult to shift than others, but only a great fool pretends there is no water.

Megan agreed and added, “I figured out a long time ago that we all gravitate towards a certain path in life. Some people are born wealthy and they are meant to remain that way forever. No matter how many poor investments they make, no matter how many foolish things they squander their money upon, they’ll always come out on top. Some people are born in a violent ghetto and they are destined to remain there all their lives. Even if they get an education and work to turn their life around, things will always backfire and life will keep pulling them back into that poor hellhole. Some people are born healthy and happy into a loving family and they are destined to grow ill and live an unfairly short life. No matter how many doctors they visit or what treatments or therapy they try, or how much they change their diet, they won’t recover. Some people were meant to be famous, even if they didn’t want it. Some people are meant to be unknown, even if they try to become infamous. That’s the way life works, I think. Some of us can’t change course, no matter how hard we try. There are certain fates, good and bad, that no power in the universe can steer us away from. Forces beyond our control align to influence our lives and no power of angels or devils can save us or condemn us to any other destiny. Some of us are meant to walk in the light, no matter what befalls us. Some of us are meant to walk in shadow, regardless of anything we do.”

Rusty definitely found the right girl.

At last.

She also admitted to being really upset the last few days and voiced her gratitude to Rusty for accepting her proposal. In her vulnerability, she spoke of disorders and obsessive compulsive behaviors and attention deficits.

Rusty didn’t see it. Taking a bite of hamburger, he told her, “I don’t think there’s a thing wrong with you. The truth is, a lot of people in this world are really messed up. So, they like to label other people and presume everyone else is messed up too. I think the people with emotional problems like to drag everyone down with them. They’re all thinking, ‘If I have emotional problems, everyone does!’”

“That’s a good point.”

“I’ve seen it. Like, when I was about 20 years old, I was dating this girl who suggested I see a psychiatrist because she thought I was depressed all the time.”

“That’s kind of rude.”

Rusty nodded at his orange juice. “Well, that’s the thing! See, she had kind of brushed me off and broken up with me after she went to college. So, yeah, I was kind of mopey around her, because I still liked her a lot. I was crazy about her and she was all cold and aloof towards me. As a result, she had this misinformed impression that I was always depressed. Which wasn’t true. I was just depressed everytime I talked to her, because I still wanted to be with her.”

“Right,” Megan smiled, “you weren’t depressed constantly. Just when you were around her. So, in her mind, she thought you were like that even when she wasn’t around. I get it.”

“Exactly! Plus, her mom was a psychologist or psychiatrist or whatever. I always get those two mixed up.”

“Psychiatrists prescribe medication. Psychologists don’t.”

“You sure?”

“I have my PhD in psychology, my dear. Remember?”

That sounded a little cocky.

Rusty knew she wasn’t being cocky, but he liked that she sounded that way.

“Ah. Right. Well, I have no idea which one her mom was. Anyway, my point is, she was the reason I was depressed. And it’s hilarious to me that this clueless chick was so hell bent on getting psychoanalysis for everyone, that she presumed I had some sort of problem, instead of recognizing that she was my problem.”

“Well, like you said, people don’t want to admit things like that. If she was the reason for your heartbreak, she wanted to pass it off to some other source. Blame it all on you.”

“Exactly.”

Between bites of her fettuccine, Megan observed, “You know what you said earlier? About seeing that retarded guy in the checkout lane and how it made you rethink how lucky you are in life?”

“Uh, huh.”

“Did you ever stop to consider that maybe the retarded guy wasn’t looking at the girl’s ass at all? Maybe he didn’t even have sexual desires. Maybe that wiring in his brain never even got hooked up.”

“Oh, yes. Of course. I did think of that. And you’re right. Absolutely right. Maybe his eyes were just wandering about and I was totally misinterpreting things. But that’s not the point.”

“It’s not?”

“No. The point is that there are men and women in this world who will never know the touch of a lover. And even if that man at the grocery store never lamented such things, the fact of the matter is, there are people who do. And what right did I have to complain about my lovelife when those people existed?”

Megan nodded, “Like that poem about the sin of sorrow.”

“The sin of sorrow?”

“Yeah. How does it go?” Megan bit her lip to recall the memory. “Sorrow is only a sin when we seek to bury it in the cacophony of the world. Better by far to embrace the long grief and trust the unmitigated woe, for to stifle that ache is like a sickness uncured which takes on a life of it’s own and erodes all which we hold precious. Allow not the life of rage to live in thy gentle heart, for thou can die of such living.”

Megan shrugged, “Something like that. Don’t feel sorry for yourself, but don’t suppress those feelings either.”

Rusty was delighted. No girl had ever recited him poetry from memory before. Excited, he replied, “Now you just reminded me of a poem. Befitting for tonight too, I think. It says, ‘Those who forget the comforts of home shall not conjure another. Those born to isolation shall spend endless hours with arts of word and song piled high around them like blankets, shrouding them from the chill of quiet wanderings on wintry streets rife with happy souls that will never know thy name.’”

Megan raised a toast and said, “To songs piled high like blankets.”

Rusty laughed and tinked his glass to hers, “To songs like blankets! And to being happy souls.”

“Happy souls.” His wife grinned.

§

Rusty thought for sure he was going to get laid.

After all, what else do you do on your wedding night?

Consummation, baby!

Considering how amazing their first kiss happened to be, he couldn’t wait too be inside of this girl. His wife. He couldn’t stop saying that in his head.

His wife.

His bride.

He smiled every time the word went through his mind.

He never thought anyone would agree to marry him.

Finally, he would be able to fulfill his promises to Isabeau and Oona. Who knows? Maybe they would be conceived that very first night!

Rusty knew the night was going to be magical.

Little did he know it would be dark magic.

“We should find a hotel.” Rusty noted as they left the diner.

“Actually, I think I’m going to head back.”

Rusty didn’t understand. “Head back? Where? Oh, you already have a hotel? Of course. What was I thinking? You said this was your last day in Vegas. Obviously you already - ”

“ - No, I had a hotel. I don’t have one anymore. I checked out. I mean I’m going to head back to Chicago.”

Life tends to freeze wonderful and awful moments in time.

As this awful moment froze, Rusty was heartbroken to realize his life seemed to have a lot more awful seconds hang in the air than wonderful ones. “Excuse me?”

“I think I’m just going to head back tonight.”

“But it’s like 2 o’clock in the morning. You want to start driving back to Chicago now?”

“Yeah. I really can’t afford another hotel.”

“Well, I can pay for the room. I don’t mind that.”

“No, I really think I should just head back home.”

That was the moment when Rusty regretted everything. Not because she was rejecting him for sex. Because of what it symbolized. The fact that she had no desire to consummate their marriage somehow made it feel less genuine. Like a sham. What was the point of being married to him if she didn’t want to be with him?

What was he supposed to do?

Yell at her?

Scream at her?

What could he say? “Hey, you just fucked up my entire dream!”

Why?

What good would that do?

That kind of reaction wouldn’t have changed her mind.

Tearing her head off wouldn’t make her say, “You’re so right. I’m sorry. How silly of me! Let’s have sex now!”

All he could think about was that he was being rejected again.

He drove for five hours through the desert to spontaneously marry this girl and the second it’s over, she leaves him.

Would anyone ever stay with him?

Even getting married didn’t make a difference.

His wife is leaving him the night she said their vows.

Seeing the sense of rejection on his face, she reassured him that they’d see each other again soon and how happy she was that he showed up and she rambled on about other crap he didn’t really pay much attention to.

All he could hear was that voice in his head.

The voice that kept repeating the same thing.

He hadn’t gotten laid for six years.

Six years of rejection.

Six years of crazy situations like this.

Six years of these women eroding his self-worth.

Leading him on and tossing him aside like garbage.

Now he got married... and he still couldn’t get laid.

That thought repeated over and over in his head.

Even as he watched Megan drive away, that was all he thought.

I got married, and I still can’t get laid.

But it was so much more than sex. It was intimacy. Feeling desired. Feeling needed. Feeling wanted. Feeling attractive. Feeling like someone gave a damn about him. That is what a wedding night is about - feeling like someone will finally love you forever. Instead, his wedding night, the night Rusty dreamed of all his life, left him feeling used and worthless.

The voice in his head mocked him:

Not quite what you expected, Mr. Hopeless Romantic, was it?

§

Shortly after midnight, riding his motorcycle back to Los Angeles, Rusty ended up getting lost on a service road in the middle of the desert and going almost an hour out of his way. Rusty was a decently smart guy with a good sense of direction, so it was a pretty innocent mistake. He pulled off the highway to get gas. The route he took to the gas station was a good quarter mile from the highway exit. So, when Rusty exited the gas station, he spotted a road running parallel with the highway and thought, “Oh, to save time, instead of circling back, I’ll just follow that to the next freeway entrance.”

Big. Mistake.

For those of you familiar with the desert, you know why that was a very bad idea.

For Midwestern boys like Rusty, he didn’t understand: There is nothing in the freakin’ desert. When he looked at a map of the desert and it shows 3 roads, he would think, “Well, I’m sure there are a few more sideroads or something.” No. There aren’t. The map is accurate. There’s nothing for thousands and thousands of square miles. If the map shows roads don’t have an intersection for fifty miles, that means - SURPRISE! - there is no intersection for fifty miles! There are no “smaller streets” they forgot to include on the map. There ain’t nothin’ but desolation.

Sand. Cactus. And shallow graves. That’s it, man.

So, Rusty found himself riding down this service road. The whole time it ran parallel with Interstate 5, he could see the damn highway, 200 feet to his right. There has to be a crossroad and a highway entrance eventually. Right?

Wrong.

He was riding... And riding... And riding... And riding...

Eventually, the freshly paved asphalt became brittle and gravelly asphalt. Crap. Not a good sign. He reduced his speed on the rough terrain.

He noticed there was no other traffic either. Not one vehicle ever approached from the other direction.

Also not a good sign.

It had now been twenty minutes that he’d been on this damn road. Not one single intersection for twenty miles. What the heck?

After a good half hour, the old gravely asphalt came to a dead end... at a dirt T-intersection.

Dirt.

And the dirt road still didn’t intersect with Interstate 5 - it ran underneath the highway - which, of course, was still a mere 200 feet to his right.

SON OF A FR - GOD - DA - MOTHER - FUUU - AUUUUUGH!

He was livid. He just wasted 30 minutes to reach a dead end and now he’ll spend another half hour having to backtrack. He just wasted an extra hour of driving for nothing!

WHO EVER HEARD OF A 30 MILE LONG DEAD END STREET!!?

(sigh)

Fine. No big deal. He just eloped in Vegas. This was a Mad Max adventure in the desert, right? Be happy.

He turned around, replenished the gallon of gas he just wasted, got back on Interstate 5 where he had exited an hour earlier, and buckled down for the rest of his four hour journey. Rusty’s new wife had given him an extra t-shirt to fight against the cold before he left. He almost declined, but thanked goodness he didn’t. Rusty had the shirt up over his mouth like a ninja mask and it protected his neck and warmed his breathing. Traveling the route at 4:00 in the afternoon was bearable, but in the middle of the night, he was freezing. Especially once he reached the High Desert.

For those unfamiliar with the topography of California and Nevada, most of the terrain between Los Angeles and Las Vegas is the High Desert - a vast mesa averaging 3000 feet above sea level. The old myth of a huge earthquake that would make California “fall into the ocean” is not only a geological impossibility, but it would result in 3000 foot cliffs, not Arizona beaches. Everyone knows that deserts get cold at night. A desert at three-grand in altitude gets very cold - especially in November. As Rusty made his way up to the elevations of the High Desert plains and approached closer and closer to the city of Bartertown, er, he meant Barstow, the Santa Ana Winds were growing more and more intense.

About a year or two earlier, Rusty had a motorcycle accident when 70MPH Santa Ana crosswinds literally blew him off the highway near Altamont Pass outside San Francisco. As a result of that experience, heavy crosswinds left him quite skittish when motorcycling. So, Rusty wasn’t too thrilled by the fact that he was battling the Santa Anas for hours.

Most of the journey, the Santa Anas were headwinds, not crosswinds. Mercifully, this reduced his fear of being blown sideways off the highway. However, they were about 50MPH headwinds. His motorcycle was a Suzuki SV650 - a naked sportbike with no windshield. There he was, at 2:00am, being buffeted by a torrential, non-stop headwind that was threatening to blow him backwards right off the seat of his bike. His neck and shoulder muscles were burning with excruciating pain and he held an iron grip on the handlebars as he struggled to keep his head from being whipped backwards by the constant fury of air. Rusty had never experienced anything like it. Not a single gust. Not a single pause. Not a single beat. Just a steady and continual 50MPH headwind for mile after mile, minute after minute, completely unrelenting. He was very fit and in excellent shape and skateboarded and bicycled and lifted weights all the time - yet he was nearing exhaustion from hour after hour of endless muscle strain.

Finally, the winds subsided. At last, he was home free.

... For about ten minutes.

Then the winds returned. Harder. For another hour straight.

What. The. Heck?

About fifteen minutes outside of Barstow, there was a traffic jam. Thankfully, being on a motorcycle, he was able to split lanes all the way to the front of the half-mile backup. At the front of the line, he saw the California Highway Patrol had blocked off the highway and were forcing people to exit. He approached an officer and asked what was happening.

Apparently, a huge 18-wheel semitruck full of photocopier paper had been blown off the highway about a mile up the road. Wind-whipped paper was strewn all over the asphalt. Would take them hours to clean and reopen the Interstate.

... Hours?

NO!

On the bright side, getting lost on that service road may have saved his life. Otherwise, who knows, he might have been right next to that truck when it lost control and crashed. Right? You never can tell. Perhaps that service road detour and the resulting loss of travel time was a great and wonderful blessing in disguise.

But he was minutes from Barstow and Barstow was only two hours from home! Rusty had ridden over two hours, brutalized by a merciless windstorm, only to be told he had to turn around and go back!? The officer suggested that Rusty take a detour back to Interstate 40 and cut over to Interstate 5 that way. Might be 45 minutes out of his way, the officer said.

Auuuugh!

No! He just wanted to go to bed!

There had to be another route. There just had to be. Surely the Interstate wasn’t the only way?

Oh, how naive Rusty was.

Turning back, he rode another 15 minutes before he reached the previous exit in the town of Baker. Stopping at some lonely and isolated desert gas station straight out of a horrorfilm, Rusty was assisted with a map by the attendant, who informed him that the only way to take Interstate 40 to Interstate 5 was to travel down Kelbaker Road. Studying the map, Kelbaker Road cut straight through the heart of the Mojave Desert Preserve. Not a single town... not a single crossroad... for over 60 miles. After that, another 60 miles on Interstate 40 before Rusty reached his destination of Interstate 5.

The CHP officer had been completely wrong. This was not a 45 minute detour! It was a two hour detour when he was only two hours from home!

This was a nightmare. Rusty was exhausted. He was freezing. He was a mere two hours from home and all he wanted to do was go to sleep.

He should be in a warm bed having sex with his new wife.

Instead he was freezing at a gas station in the middle of nowhere.

His alternatives to the detour?

The closest hotels were an hour away, back towards Vegas. An hour back towards Vegas means an hour back toward Los Angeles the next morning.

Thinking it over, Rusty had three choices:

1. He could wait there for undetermined “hours” for them to clear the road.

2. He could circle back towards Vegas and find a hotel. Maybe. If there were vacancies.

3. He could ride Kelbaker Road through the desert.

He was trapped. No matter what Rusty decided to do, he’d be adding at least two more hours onto his trip. AND HE WAS ONLY TWO HOURS FROM HOME!

It was 3:00 in the morning, and he opted to make a date with the heart of the Mojave.

If he had known then what he knew at sunrise, he might have picked the hotel or even sat in that horrorfilm gas station all night. Deciding to take Interstate 40 proved to be the most perilous option he could have chosen.

Riding a motorcycle on Kelbaker Road in the dead of night is a surreal experience. One starts to honestly fear you have been sucked into a Twilight Zone episode. Mile after mile, minute after minute, the road rolls on and on through nothing but sand and darkness as far as the eye can see. And then the mind starts to scare you with all the bad thoughts.

What if I break down?

What if I crash?

Who will find me?

How will I get out of here?

I won’t have any cellphone reception. I can’t call for help.

Can I hitchhike? What if no one comes by? I haven’t seen any other traffic for twenty minutes.

I can’t walk out of the desert. It’s too far. The closest town is thirty miles in any direction. And which direction would I go?

I can’t sleep out here and wait until morning. What if I get bitten by a rattlesnake? Or a scorpion?

Force those thoughts out of your head. Focus. Concentrate. Stay awake. Watch the road. You will make it.

Thankfully, Rusty knew the trip should take about an hour, so at least he could keep an eye on the clock and his fuel without panicking about how much further he had to go. One lesson he learned long before - when in the desert on a motorcycle, you refuel at every gas station you find, even if you just did it twenty miles ago. Because you never know how far you might have to travel before you reach the next one. That is not a gamble you want to lose, no matter what stakes you are willing to bet in Vegas.

Eventually, he got to Interstate 40, refueled again, and started on his way for the next sixty miles.

The great relief of the detour was that there was no wind on this route. Kelbaker Road was completely devoid of the Santa Ana and so was Interstate 40.

At first.

About ten minutes down the Interstate, he saw a very strange aura glowing in the distance. The approaching headlights appeared diffused. Orange. Very bizarre tint, the likes of which Rusty had never seen before. Looked like yellowish fog. Squinting his eyes, Rusty actually spoke out loud into his helmet, “... What the hell... is that?”

Rusty was about to ride headfirst into the strongest Santa Ana crosswinds of the night, which were whipping up a blinding sandstorm so severe, he couldn’t see more than twenty feet in front of his headlight. Unbeknownst to Rusty, he was about to pilot his motorcycle thorough the very heart of this ungodly maelstrom of sand... for three... solid... hours.

The sandstorm blew swashes of sand across the highway, just like snowdrifts during blizzards back in Ohio. With his visibility so impaired, Rusty feared he would come upon a really deep sanddrift without being able to see it and his front tire would skid out from under him. As the crosswinds would gust, he would get shoved so violently to the right, he nearly careened off the berm numerous times.

Finally, he realized the only solution was to slow down. The bike would swerve exponentially worse based upon his forward momentum. A gust that shoved him six feet sideways when he was doing 80MPH would only shove him three feet when he was doing 40MPH. So, he reduced his speed, as that was the only safe way to lean into the wind and fight the gusts.

Slowing down caused two new problems. First of all, that meant it would take twice as long to break free of the sandstorm. The second, and more nervewracking problem, was surrounding traffic continuing to barrel down the Interstate at 80MPH! Considering their equally-reduced visibility, Rusty was horrified that a semitruck would flatten him. Knowing that a truck had already been blown off the road on the next highway over, he was horrified as everyone kept on hurtling down the road at reckless speeds that would never give them enough time to avert an accident. After all, he could barely see the car taillights ahead of himself. How can they possibly notice his tiny little motorcycle lights in this sandstorm?

Rusty put his flashers on, in the hopes that the little bit of extra warning light might save his life. There was nothing more he could do.

When Rusty later told people this story, he always got the same reaction. They would say, “Well, why didn’t you just get off the highway?” Another response was something like, “Couldn’t you have just pulled over?”

He would explain, “Okay. Listen. You’re missing the picture. You obviously haven’t been out West. As I already mentioned earlier - this was the middle of the Mojave freakin’ desert! It’s not like being in the city. There wasn’t an exit three miles ahead with a shopping mall. If you have never been in the desert, you may not comprehend that there are no exits for thirty to sixty miles at a time. None. Zero. And when I finally did come to an exit, it would just be another abandoned two-lane road in a sandstorm. No shelter. No buildings. Nowhere to go. No alternate route. Just another tiny road headed off into hundreds of square miles of darkness. And what would I do then? Sit immobile on the side of a road next to my motorcycle in the middle of a giant sandstorm, attempting to ‘wait it out’ for an unknown amount of time? I may have been there for hours. Who knows how long the storm would last? The winds were showing no signs of stopping.

“As for pulling over, what was I supposed to stop on? There were no rest areas. It was a two-lane highway in the desert. Nothing around for scores and scores of miles. Where should I park? The shoulder of the highway? The shoulder was buried under drifts of blowing and billowing sand. Could I even stop in all that sand without crashing? Even if I could, would I be able to get back out again? Plus, I would have been sitting about two or three feet away from the passing traffic, blasting past at 80MPH with no visibility. No thanks. As dangerous as it may have been, my safest alternative was to forge ahead, knowing that I will eventually break free of the storm.”

Rusty had no other choice.

There were no safer options. This was it. He had to keep going.

So, that is what he did. Ever onward. Into the brink.

Never before had he been more scared on his motorcycle.

Even times he had crashed were less upsetting. Because crashes happen quickly and are over in an instant. This was a constant stress and strain for hours. His bike was perilously leaning the whole time, fighting with his bodyweight and twitching the handlebars as the wind kept threatening to rip them from his grasp. Then for a second, the wind would subside and his bike would careen back to the left as Rusty tried to even his balance and steering again. Two seconds later, the gust would return and would not relent for a solid twenty minutes.

This whole time, he couldn’t see more than a few dozen feet in front of himself, and he couldn’t see traffic racing down on him from behind until they were almost running him over. His entire world was nothing but wind, sand, asphalt and darkness. Nothing else existed. His heartrate was skyrocketing and his adrenaline was through the roof. He kept having visions of himself as some crazed cartoon biker with jiggling muscles and wavering veins.

At that point, he was beyond grateful that his new bride had given him that t-shirt. Thankfully it was filtering all the windswept sand, so at least Rusty could actually breathe clearly. Nevertheless, every breath of air still tasted like dust.

After hours of being battered to exhaustion, Rusty eventually came to an exit near the town of Dagget (he kept thinking of the monkey-in-a-suit android dog on the old Battlestar Galactica television show and wondered if that is where the writers got the name). He headed north, in the hopes of finding a gas station where he could just rest and take a break.

Riding for mile upon mile, it started to look hopeless. Thankfully, the wind was behind him now, so he was slightly less horrified going up this road. Nevertheless, a errant sidelong gust would smack him now and then, nearly blowing him into oncoming traffic.

Every. Damn. Time.

God either didn’t exist or was a sadistic bastard.

Over miles of road, Rusty passed about half a dozen cars. And he swore those sideways winds never appeared until each and every car did - nearly killing him everytime. He was almost in tears out of pure terror, exasperation, and overpowering fatigue.

Finally, he spotted a gas station to his left and pulled over. Parking his bike and removing his helmet and gloves, Rusty was a nervous wreck. His hands were shaking and people were staring at him as if he were some crazed speed freak. He was sure he must have looked like one. Many people throughout his life have called him an adrenaline junkie. Without a doubt, that was the most intense fix this junkie has ever had. If other shots of adrenaline in his life put him in the clouds, this one had him orbiting near Jupiter somewhere. Rusty avoided eye-contact with other patrons of the station. Tears were streaking his cheeks, but he was too cold to feel them. Wiping his face with the palm of his hand, he was surprised to see his skin was wet. His heart was pounding through his chest and he didn’t want anyone to speak to him. A few people attempted idle chit chat.

“Sure is windy. How can you ride in this?”

“Oh, I manage.” He muttered over a forced grin and quickly walked away.

He just wanted to be left alone. He wanted to get home and go to bed. He made it this far. No turning back now. But he was dreading the thought of having to return back to the Interstate. Maybe he’d just sit there until the wind stopped. Rusty really didn’t think he could take anymore.

Four hours of bone-chilling wind.

Four hours of sandstorm blindness.

Four hours of nearly being run down by trucks.

Four hours of almost being blown into oncoming traffic.

He couldn’t bear another minute.

As Rusty sat on a bench outside the gas station oasis, attempting to calm his trembling nerves, he looked up to his left and there it was. 300 feet away.

Highway entrance sign. Interstate 5.

YES! He didn’t have to go back to Interstate 40 after all! His goal was right in front of him! The serendipity of the moment gave him a ray of hope and rekindled his inspiration. He had made it! He was almost back to Barstow! He was only two hours from home! Less than one more hour and he should be through the harbor of mountains and close enough to Los Angeles to be safe from the wind!

A few more moments of reprieve and he hopped back on his bike, eager to begin the easier part of the journey.

As he headed down Interstate 5, he experienced his first sunrise in the desert. Nature and the universe seemed to be giving him a divine and holy gift:

Welcome back to the light.

You have survived the darklands.

Welcome home.

The winds had ceased. At last. Eight grueling hours after Rusty left Las Vegas - which was ordinarily a four hour journey - he was back at his apartment, showered, and collapsed in bed.

When he awoke four hours later, his heart was still racing.

That was when he got freaked out.

Rusty sat up on the edge of his bed and actually spoke out loud to talk myself down - “Rusty. Just relax. It’s okay... You’re home. You’re safe. You’re in your own bed. It’s all over... You didn’t crash. You didn’t die. You made it home safe and sound. All in one piece... Your motorcycle is fine... You are here. You made it. You’re safe... It’s okay. Calm down. You made it home... You’re okay. Calm down. Just calm down. Relax. Relax. Breathe. You’re all right. Everything is fine.”

With a sigh of relief, it began to work. His heartrate slowed. His breathing became steady. He was finally coming down off the adrenaline rush.

Wow. Intense. Elope in Vegas. Motorcycles. Sandstorms. Lone rider in the Mojave Desert at 4:00am. Now that was a true adventure! Life was good.

Rusty fell back into a dreamless sleep as a married man.

The Sandman had done enough for the night.

§

Rusty was proud of himself for throwing caution to the wind and doing something so crazy and spontaneous.

“Neither one of you drink?”, friends said, “You can’t even blame alcohol as an excuse. You’re insane!”

To which Rusty usually replied, “I sure hope so.”

At another of her awful dinner parties, Sherisa chided Rusty.

“Ummmm, you know, I hate to break it to you, but, uhhhh, eloping in Vegas isn’t all that special. People do it all the time, you know. Why do you think there are Elvis Chapels all over? People do what you did all the time!”

A pair of sober friends getting married on a whim, just for the hell of it? Spontaneously motorcycling through the desert with less than 24 hours notice, to marry someone you never met? No. People do not do that everyday.

Rusty didn’t want to remind Sherisa how ignorant she was. Instead, Rusty let her think she was right. Let her think she had just put him in his place. The truth was, he had such little respect for her opinion, he felt arguing with her was a colossal waste of time.

Yes, getting married at an Elvis Chapel happens all the time.

But not the way Rusty did it.

Rusty noted meeting your bride thirty minutes before the wedding and having your “first kiss” with a girl happen while you’re standing on the altar and you’ve just been married by Elvis is a spectacularly surreal event.

“To paraphrase Ferris Beuller,” Rusty explained, “‘If you have the means, I highly recommend you experience it. It is so choice.’”

For Rusty, his marriage was truly the greatest gift the universe had ever given him in regard to relationships. Marriage finally taught him truths about his personality that he never saw before. Maybe he would have never learned them any other way. His outlook on intimate relationships had evolved into something vastly different from any viewpoint he ever held in the past.

Days after getting married, friends kept asking if he and his wife would move in together or get divorced. After all, he lived in California. She lived in Chicago. What did they plan to do? What were they thinking?

Rusty shrugged it off. They had no idea. That really wasn’t the point. They eloped in Vegas for the sake of doing it. Que sera sera. If they lived apart for years, that was fine. If they decided to move in with each other, that’s fine too. They didn’t give it much thought.

When she found out about Rusty and Megan, another of his single friends said, “Oh. I guess I just take marriage more seriously.”

Excuse me? Rusty thought.

“What makes you think we’re not taking it seriously?” He said. Rusty was pretty offended.

When he told his wife about that conversation, Megan was offended too and replied, “What?! You know just because we don’t take life seriously doesn’t mean we don’t take our marriage seriously.”

Wow.

Brilliant.

“Just because we don’t take life seriously doesn’t mean we don’t take our marriage seriously.”

Once she said that, Rusty no longer cared how long their marriage would last. Three months? Thirty years? No matter. He knew in that instant, he had married the right girl.

§

“So, that’s the plan?” Isabeau asked. “Did you forget all about us?”

Oona grinned, sitting on a rock at the edge of the hiking trail.

Rusty knew they were just messing with him.

“Of course not. I’m just biding my time.” Rusty explained.

“You really think it could be her?” Isabeau asked.

“I married her, didn’t I?”

“Yeah. But you didn’t marry her because you love her. You did it because you lost faith in anyone loving you. Big difference.” Oona noted.

Rusty wiggled his tongue at his daughter. “Nah. Whatever. It’ll all work out. You’ll see. Yes, I think she could be the one. I’ll tell her about you two in due time.”

“Well, she hasn’t ever slept with you yet, so it’s definitely not her right now.”

“You are such a brat.”

§

Nearly a month later, they decided to give conventional married life a shot. Megan came out to Los Angeles, so they could attempt to actually live together and do the marriage thing the way ordinary folks do.

Didn’t work.

They simply lacked the correct synchronicity. They adored each other. They were extremely harmonious and had great chemistry. They were just not compatible for traditional marriage. Less than two days after she arrived, she decided to go back to Chicago. No hard feelings. They never fought. They never argued. Rusty still revered her. In fact, he grew to truly love the girl. Mainly out of a deep respect for her sense of adventure. He admired her for that and had no regrets whatsoever about being her husband.

Rusty stood next to her car in a bank parking lot.

He had just taken out some money to help her get back home.

“I’m sorry. You must think I’m so weird.” Megan spoke softly and her eyes were pained not for herself, but for the hurt she feared she was causing.

Rusty shook his head and rested his hands on the fuzzy edge of the open car window. “Well, yeah, I do think it’s weird that you drove 2000 miles across the country only to turn right back around and go home. Of course that’s weird. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t. But, hey, you need to do what you feel is right. If you don’t feel like you belong here, I can’t make you stay.”

“Thank you. For being so understanding.”

“Hey, what’s a husband for?”

“You’re not mad?”

Why do women always ask that question?

Making people angry or hurting their feelings seems to be paramount in the concerns of all women. Or, Rusty thought, perhaps it’s just him. Perhaps he’s just constantly surrounding himself with women who see themselves as hurtful and enraging.

Are you mad?

I don’t want to hurt you.

Those two phrases are the only things every woman ever seems to say. Along with that other horrible phrase:

We can still be friends.

Men never say any of those things.

Men never rip out the heart of a girl and expect her friendship.

Why do women always think they can eviscerate you and expect to be forgiven?

“No. I’m not mad. Why would I be mad?”

“Well, because I came here to live with you and I only stayed one night and I’m leaving.”

“Like I said, you have to do what you feel is right. I want you here. You are welcome to stay with me as long as you want. You’re my wife. You can stay the rest of your life. You can stay for year. For months. Or 36 hours. Whatever you need to do.”

“Thank you.”

Looking back on that moment, in only a few years, Rusty couldn’t even remember if they kissed goodbye or not.

He imagined they didn’t.

He remembered the first kiss so well.

Surely the last would have stuck in his mind too.

Marriage is meant for two people to be loving and kind and supportive of one another. He had been kind and supportive to her and she just disregarded his efforts. He understood though. She was going through a rough time after all. Confused about her future. Unhappy in her career. Floundering in debt. Things were tough for the woman.

Therefore, despite the amicable farewell, he didn’t find it strange when he called her the next night, to see how she was holding up on her long drive back, and she hung up on him.

When he asked how she was, she replied with, “Well, I don’t know what you want me to say. I’m not looking forward to sleeping in my car tonight.”

“Well, I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting a certain reply. I just wanted to know if you were okay.”

“Oh, so you’re just calling so you can feel better? Well, enjoy sleeping in your nice warm bed in your nice apartment. Bye!”

CLICK!

Did she miss the part where she was his wife?

Where his apartment was going to become their apartment?

Considering that he made it very clear that she was welcome to stay with him as long as she wanted, he had no idea how she could be so resentful, bitter and spiteful towards him.

He didn’t kick her out.

He didn’t tell her to leave.

Rusty wanted her to stay, and told her as such, multiple times.

She could have been in his “nice, warm apartment” with him!

Sleeping in her car was her choice.

That was her decision.

He was willing to help her and give her a home and a roof over her head. She chose to reject that help and return to Chicago.

How was he at fault for any of that?

How was he suddenly the bad guy?

By the time she got back home was when they decided to have the marriage annulled. Mutual decision. They had their life experience. Why linger? Although, almost three years passed before they officially finished that.

What can they say? They both hated paperwork.

When they wed, Megan was feeling very despondent and lost over things. That was part of the reason she wanted to get married. To awaken herself. To have an experience to shake herself up before she departs this Earth. Looking back, she even told Rusty, she thought it may have saved her life. That was so touching, Rusty didn’t even know how to respond. Being told by a girl that his marrying her saved her life? Wow. That was so powerful, Rusty was rendered sort of speechless.

His motives of “shaking things up” were very much the same. He needed proof there were still girls willing to take risks and be crazy and fun. Jump from the cliff and have faith the wings would appear.

They didn’t really have much choice. They had to marry each other. They were meant to be; at just the right time and place. Everything about it felt somehow... inevitable.

Years later, Rusty discovered, people still didn’t understand that. A married friend once asked if he would take it all back, knowing what he knew now.

It broke his heart she would even ponder such a question.

No. He would never take it back. Rusty lacked the vocabulary to articulate the heights of his elation over marrying his wife. For him, marriage simply became a milestone - a marker along the journey. For decades, he idolized the idea of marriage and regarded it as a “goal” to accomplish in life; To find “The One” and be loved and happy. After he had the experience, it was no longer the “end all be all” of romantic relationships. Marriage became a mere facet to color the prism of life, not something to define it. Nothing lasts forever. Marriage was no different - it was not permanent. In fact, traditional marriage vows admit they are only temporary - “’til death do us part” and “as long as we both shall live.” Acknowledgment that the bond will one day be over. The wind always carries the bag aloft. Once you embrace the impermanence of life, it elevates your perspective to appreciating and cherishing every... single... second... you... breathe.

Too often it is assumed that marriage means removing all the armor and sharing every facet of our souls with one who will cherish all we can offer. In truth, the greatest pinnacle of marriage is to remain custodians of isolation and thereby bound in that empathy. We are all solitary souls living the wonderment of the universe. To attempt to become “One” is a theft of true freedom. Once we embrace the notion that even the greatest bonds hold vast gulfs of disconnection, the beauty of true unity can begin. Once you love the void that separates you, both spirits remain poised on a boundless shore of a glorious sea.

Yet another sign of “this incredibly benevolent force, that wanted me to know there was no reason to be afraid.”

§

He dreams of her again that night.

She is about 5’3” and blonde with long hair and the most deep green eyes.

They are dancing in a field and discussing how many people are always going to try to separate them and how they can never allow that.

In those eyes of hers, he sees two things that no other woman on earth has ever possessed - true kindness and unwavering devotion.

Everytime they are together again, he is reminded of that.

She is the one who will never walk away.

Her true strength lay in -

Isabeau finished his thought by saying, “ - Us.”

“Yes.” Rusty capped his pen and casually brushed aside the dream journal on his bed.

“In us.”

“In us,” Rusty repeated, rubbing his eyes. “My God. I had no idea she was that beautiful.”

Isabeau wriggled her lips with a sarcasm that looked like rolling her eyes. “Why do you think you date models, silly?”

“I really want her here. I want us together in the tangible, waking life, not just the dreamworld.”

“Me too. We’ll get there.”

Rusty was doubtful. “It wasn’t supposed to take this long.”

“Yes it was. We just didn’t want it to. It was always supposed to.”

“I know now why I need her. Because when I look into her eyes, I see the entire universe reflected back at myself.”

Isabeau loved when her dad fancied himself a poet. It was when he was the most truthful. “You see who you truly are. And why you matter.”

“Yes. Isn’t the dad supposed to educate the daughter? You’re a lot smarter me.”

“No, I’m not, silly. We are simply the source for each other. We are the strength the other requires. The greater insight. The deeper wisdom.”

“The stronger fortitude.”

“The tougher determination.”

“We are the inspiration - ”

“ - to each other.” Isabeau kissed his cheek.

Still reeling from the bliss of his dream, awash in the floaty feeling of just awakening, Rusty replied, “Yes. I see it now. We can do this.”

“Yes. We are. Believe.”

“She looked so familiar.”

“Now you know.”

“What? You can’t be serious. How can I know what she looks like?”

Isabeau explained, “You saw her. About 5’ 3”, long blonde hair, green dark eyes. Other dreams you saw her too. Look at Oona and I. Don’t we prove that’s who our mom will be? Remember the tropical beach dream you had when you were a teenager and she was laying next to you?”

“Of course.” Rusty smiled. He’d never forgotten that dream. Everything about it felt so real. The sound of seagulls and waters of the lagoon lapping against white sands. Wind in the palm fronds hushed with almost the same sound as the waves. Warmth of the sun on his skin. The scent of her perfume as she lay next to him in her bikini. Sand between his toes. He felt it all. No dream had ever been more real.

“You already know. You’ve always known.”

Rusty nodded, his smile confident, but his voice quivering, “Yes. I know who she is.”

Isabeau opened the blinds and took in the beauty of the day. “She is going to have the courage to talk to you as if she has always known you. She will understand you and accept you right from the moment you meet. You know that courage. No other woman ever has that around you. She’ll see you for all you are. Light and dark. Cruel and kind. And she’ll love you all the more for it, instead of running away.”

In that moment of their shared pep talk, his faith was renewed. He would find the right girl, and soon. “True. You are right. I do know what we are.”

Something changed in him after that.

After marriage.

After that dream.

Something changed forever.

His loneliness was never so deep again. Even though he was alone, Megan had given him the one thing no other woman had ever given him before - hope. For the first time in his life, he didn’t feel defective or unlovable.

He always knew he had that in him.

He left the seed of that hope deep in his heart.

He even showed it to other women. But every single woman he had ever known walked away from that seed. No woman ever gave it a drop of water to grow. Until her. Until Megan.

Yes, she had changed him alright.

That’s why Rusty never felt a moment of pain or sorrow or regret when thinking about his ex-wife. He only felt love and gratitude. Because she was the only girl who ever truly gave him a chance, even if only for a little while.

Rusty’s gaze wandered over to his dresser.

Six years had passed since he had sex with Amy.

Six. Years.

Looking in his bedroom mirror, he shivered.

What was wrong with him? He was still young. He was still handsome. Why was he constantly rejected in Los Angeles? Even in the movies and in television shows, the biggest loser characters never have a dry spell that lasts six years.

Why was that?

Was it because three years without getting laid was somehow funny, but six years was too tragic to make a joke out of it? Or was it that no writer, director, or producer could imagine anyone going that long without being touched by another human being?

Six goddamn years.

The universe seemed to delight in reminding him he was alone.

Six. Years.

Nothing shouts “loser” louder than a box of expired condoms.

Chapter Eight

Rusty had called Sherisa on a lovely May afternoon, just to say hello and chat awhile. Not a minute into their conversation, Sherisa asked Rusty what he was doing later that day.

“Nothing. Why?”

“You should show Charlinda around.”

“Charlinda?”

“Charlinda Hiller. She’s staying with us for a few days from Minnesota and booking some modeling jobs.”

Rusty didn’t need Sherisa to say Charlinda’s last name. He already knew exactly who Charlinda Hiller was, because they had actually exchanged an email a month or two earlier. Charlinda was a young brunette fashion model who was registered with Sherisa’s modeling agency. Rusty loved her look. Sporting lavarock black hair and polished dime white skin, he dropped her a rather noncommittal suggestion of possibly working together one day, a compliment on her poise, and an invitation to view his portfolio. Charlinda responded to his email with polite gratitude and an equally noncommittal agreeability to shoot with him someday.

“Sure,” Rusty replied to Sherisa. “You know I love to show guests around Los Angeles.”

“Cool. Let me ask her.”

“Okay.”

Rusty waited through a brief pause and mumbled voices before she came back to the phone. Sherisa had a young daughter and Charlinda was in the backyard playing water balloons with her. Charlinda would love a little sightseeing around California and she remembered liking Rusty’s photography.

Rusty agreed to pick Charlinda up in half an hour.

§

Walking into Sherisa’s house, Rusty had a flashback to the first girl he ever kissed, Jessica. They had only spoken on the phone and had been introduced by a mutual friend. The first instant he ever saw Jessica in person, she was profiled, bent over, picking up clothes from her bedroom floor. Now, Charlinda was doing the same, bent over her suitcase, in Sherisa’s livingroom.

That same old shudder.

This girl will change everything.

Despite meeting numerous lovely models in his pursuit of photography, Charlinda was easily the most beautiful girl he had seen in years. The phrase “dreamgirl” is so overused, but in this case, it was befitting. She didn’t move like a human. She glided. Floated. On blackberry breezes and elderberry moonlight. Her eyes, a brown so dark they appeared ebony in almost any light, seemed to focus not upon your own, but somewhere just behind them - looking into you half-an-inch deeper than she had any business staring. Disconcerting and arousing all at once, being locked in her gaze was ripples on a midnight ocean. Raven hair, razor straight and Lilth long, shimmered down to past the curves of her waist, smooth as a porcelain vase. Sensuality of too much seduction. Dirty and innocent, Charlinda shivered with the aura of a girl who knew the touch of sex before she should have. That evil touch. That bad touch. Her power. Her weakness. Her strength. Her frailty. Her dark closet where the dollies need to be punished for being filthy little whores.

They made their smalltalk introductions.

Shook hands.

“Hi. I’m Charlinda. With a ‘C’.”

Rusty chuckled, “Well, yes. How else would you spell it?”

Charlinda blinked, “With a ‘S’.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Rusty stammered awkwardly. So much for a suave first impression. He was already acting like a dork. But, Charlinda was so excited to be on her first trip to Los Angeles, she didn’t seem to mind.

She took a phonecall from her boyfriend back in Minnesota, just as they were headed out the door. Speaking to her man, she was curt and terse and obviously annoyed with him. Apparently that was the third time he had called her that day, and it was barely past noon.

As Rusty walked ahead of Charlinda into the yard, to get his spare motorcycle helmet for her, Sherisa pulled him aside. “Don’t fall in love.”

“What?” Rusty chuckled.

“You know what I mean. I know you.”

“Oh, please. I’m not falling in love. I just met the girl. She lives 1500 miles away and has a boyfriend. Today will probably be the last day I ever see her.”

Sherisa looked skeptical. “Uh, huh. There’s an old saying, ‘Sex is like air. It’s no big deal... unless you aren’t getting any.’”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’ve been holding your breath for a long time.”

“Shut up.” Rusty laughed.

Charlinda came out the door and Sherisa waved them off. “Have fun, you two.”

“We will!” Charlinda bounced down the walkway as only first-time-tourists to Hollywood can glow.

“You’ve ever been on a motorcycle before?”

“Nope!”

“Oh, boy.”

“What? Wait! Have you had passengers before?” Charlinda suddenly panicked.

Rusty chuckled, “Yes. Yes. Plenty of times. Don’t worry about that. I know what I’m doing.”

“Oh, good!”

“No, I just meant if you’ve never been on a bike before, I need to take it easy.”

“Yes, please. Don’t go doing wheelies or anything.”

“No, no. I’m a very prudent rider. You’ll be safe. I promise.” After the Kacey fiasco, he certainly learned a big lesson. Of course, he wouldn’t be stupid enough to tell Charlinda about that.

Rusty went over the main groundrules.

1. Don’t get on or off until he gives her the okay.

2. Don’t try to put your feet down when we stop.

3. Move with him and lean through turns.

4. Don’t rest your heel on the tailpipe, it will melt your shoe.

All these stipulations started to freak her out. “Are you sure this thing is safe?”

“No. Absolutely not. Live dangerously with a badboy.”

Charlinda smiled and her laugh pealed koala delight in a way that made Rusty think, Sherisa might have been right after all.

§

The first place Rusty took Charlinda was to the Hollywood Bowl Overlook. Four years earlier, that had been the first place Sherisa and her husband took Rusty, on his inaugural visit to Los Angeles. Ever since, it had become a tradition for him. First stop for all guests.

Getting there from Burbank, he took her on main streets instead of the highway. Trying to get her comfortable on motorcycle, they rolled up Ventura to Coldwater, then circled back across Mulholland. Charlinda gasped and squeezed him several times at the beauty of the sprawling vistas, as they threaded the spine of the Santa Monica Mountains.

Walking to the overlook, Charlinda was awestruck.

Rusty pointed out the landmarks. The Valley. The Hollywood Sign. Griffith Observatory. The Hollywood Bowl. The 101. The Capitol Records Building. All of those things and more could be seen from the mountaintop. On a clear day you could see all the way to the Pacific and even Catalina.

The air smelled of dust and pine, spiced with the odd scent of chaparral, perfumed in each light breeze.

Looking down the steep ravine, Charlinda asked, “So, is this where you bring all your models?”

“Pretty much.” Rusty responded, wryly.

“I knew it. Just kill them and dump the bodies over the cliff?”

Rusty feigned indignation. “What!? Excuse me? No. What kind of guy do you think I am? Rape then kill. I’m not going to let some perfectly hot ass go to waste. I’m not gay! Gosh, how rude.”

That was a test.

How far could he push his sick and wicked humor with a girl who barely knew him? How uncomfortable could he make her and still have her like him?

Charlinda laughed. A sincere and deep laughter, Rusty was elated that her sense of humor was as dark and twisted as his own.

What was it Sherisa had told him?

§

When they sat down to lunch for Thai at Toi on Sunset, a window seat cast a warm California glow over their meal.

That was where they really talked and learned all about each other. For both of them, even though neither one would ever admit it, that was the moment when they started to fall in love a little bit.

Charlinda was only 20 years old, but had been modeling a few years in Minnesota. She wasn’t close with her family. She’d already lived with a couple of guys. The first time, she was 17. Rusty was obviously shocked by that, but she explained her family was a bit white trash and her mother didn’t care. Charlinda’s current boyfriend was her age, but he was clingy and possessive and expected to hear from her two or three times a day. She loved California and really didn’t want to go home. Although she was staying with Sherisa until the end of the week, Charlinda had nowhere to stay for the rest of the month.

Rusty didn’t offer his place.

He wanted to. But he didn’t want to seem too eager.

What was it Sherisa had said?

Rusty told Charlinda his story too. Moved to Los Angeles at 32 and had been there for 4 years. Loved every minute of it. Was working a great job, but not doing enough photography. He still didn’t have a lot of friends. He had been trying very hard to make new friends when he moved. Fresh start. New life. All that rigamarole. But none of those friendships really went anywhere. So he talks to Sherisa and her husband now and then, but barely anyone else.

Rusty outright lied when it came to the topic of being single. He was embarrassed to tell Charlinda how long it had been since a woman made love to him.

Seven years.

Seven long and lonely and angry years.

Pathetically, he was a walking cliché and he knew it. Filled with all the expectant rage and sorrow and alienation you’d imagine. He was horrified that he could relate to Travis Bickle in Taxi Driver and even more horrified to realize how many thousands of others were undoubtedly living the same life.

The reason he was so ashamed of his lack of sex was twofold. For one thing, it’s not like he hadn’t tried. Since moving to Los Angeles, he’d gone out with more women than he could remember, and they all rejected him. One date. Maybe two. Then they’d never see him again. Toss him aside. Dozens and dozens of women. What was he doing wrong? Back in his twenties, he used to have no problem getting laid every few months. Girls adored him when he lived in Ohio. Why was he suddenly so unattractive? What had changed? His self-esteem was crushed, which of course made him compensate by projecting an even bigger ego and smugness.

The second reason he couldn’t bear to tell Charlinda about his involuntary celibacy was because seven years was the longest “dry spell” he ever heard of. Even in movies and television shows, some nerdy character is always the butt of a joke when they say they haven’t gotten laid in a year, or two or three. But seven? That is an eternity. Seven years is so horrifyingly long to think about, no one even makes jokes about seven years.

The most upsetting part was somehow knowing this wouldn’t be his longest. Every instinct told him, someday, no one would ever touch him again.

So, he lied and told Charlinda it was “about two years” when she asked.

Not exactly a lie. It was about two years.

About two... plus five.

They shared hints of darkness as well.

Rusty briefly spoke of the suicide of Kateri, his first love from highschool. He didn’t elaborate much. There is never any need. When you tell someone your first love killed herself, and you never even kissed her, that alone goes far in telling people how damaged you are.

Charlinda spoke of her recent torrid affair with a married couple and her fears that their ménage à trois may have driven the husband and wife to divorce. She neglected to elaborate too, but it confirmed his suspicions of her darkly naughty side. Secretly doing the husband on the couch while the wife still slept.

Ordinarily, such immorality would have sent Rusty screaming in the opposite direction. Coming from Charlinda, such torrid indiscretion made her all the more enchanting. He wanted to rip her clothes off and take her right there on the table in a plate of pad thai.

“Check this out,” Charlinda demanded as they prepared to get back on the motorcycle and head to the coast, “it’s one of my favorite shirts.”

Rusty stared as she pulled the bottom taunt, revealing an Ophelia illustration. Charlinda scolded, “Oh, my God! Are you staring at my boobs?”

Rolling his eyes, Rusty burst out laughing. “Oh! What!? No! Now, that’s not fair!”

Charlinda laughed and pointed at him in mockery.

With a wry smirk, Rusty confessed, “Ooookay. That was a good one. You got me. I walked right into that. I bet you do that joke to all the boys.”

“No. Just to you.”

“Well, I don’t know if I should be insulted that I proved to be so gullible or flattered that you let me stare at your chest.”

“So you were staring at my chest.”

“No, but I will now!” Rusty glared without shame and Charlinda smacked him in the arm as she turned away.

“Wait. Wait. Should I make pervy noises too?” Rusty started quavering sighs. “Ohh-hhh-hh. Yeaa-aaa-ah.”

“Ew! Stop it!” Another smack.

“You started it!”

They were both chucking as they put on their helmets and made their way to Venice beach.

Charlinda sparkled in the setting sun.

Her first Pacific Ocean sunset.

Rusty didn’t know how long he would know this girl, but he was proud to be sharing these pivotal life experiences with her. First sunsets. First motorcycle rides. These were days she would never forget. There’s a certain reverence in realizing that you are giving someone moments destined to become lifelong memories.

What was it Sherisa said?

Back at Sherisa’s house, their night ended with a gentle hug and a kiss Charlinda turned away from. She may have rejected his attempted kiss, but when he winked at her, Charlinda’s smile and the way she held his hand as she walked away, said she wished she had let him do it.

§

Two days after they met, on Wednesday evening, Rusty and Charlinda spent the whole night strolling around CityWalk at Universal Studios before stopping for dinner.

“Thanks for inviting me out to eat tonight.” Charlinda smiled.

“Thanks for accepting my invitation.”

As they ate, Charlinda spoke of her ambitions as a model and her love of Los Angeles and her frustrations at never getting anywhere back in Minnesota.

“I know exactly how you feel. How do you think I felt when I came to Los Angeles for the first time? All of us feel that way. All of us Hollywood dreamers are in the same boat. When you’re into anything creative, the flyover states have nothing to offer.”

“Totally. No one back home gets it.”

“Well, most of them never do. They have smaller ambitions.”

“Not only that, my friends back home are all afraid to leave town. Like they don’t even want to get on an airplane.”

“Mine too! That’s so weird that you say that. I’ve invited people to come to California and they’re scared to get on a plane. It’s like back in our podunk little flyover states, no one has any dreams of attaining anything; of going anywhere. When you have ambitions and you grow up around those people, you feel all alone. Then you visit Los Angeles and it’s exciting because everyone here is the same as you. People are either a big success and accomplishing their dreams or they are working towards them. And even if a person hasn’t made it yet, even if they’re struggling, there’s something really refreshing and inspiring about being around so many people with aspirations beyond watching television and drinking a beer.”

“Exactly!” Charlinda quivered, looking close to tears, but in fact, she was just elated to be understood so clearly. Rusty had just articulated precisely what was in her heart.

She started to fall in love with him a little bit more.

Everyone does, when we feel like someone understands us.

“Are you going to eat your pickle?”

Rusty scoffed, “Pssh. Are you kidding? If I could do that I’d never leave my apartment!”

Charlinda laughed so hard, no sound came out of her for a few seconds.

“Why? You want to eat my pickle?” Rusty perversely chuckled, his lips pursing tight to red.

As she caught her breath, Charlinda gasped between laughs, “I honestly don’t know how to answer that.”

“You can answer anyway you want. I was hoping for, ‘Yes! Yes! I want it. I need it!’”

Rusty moved his pickle to her plate.

“That is so wrong.”

“Yet so right?”

“Now if I eat it, it’s just going to feel dirty.” Charlinda observed.

“Oh, stop. You know you want my pickle. You wouldn’t have asked if you didn’t want it. She was askin’ for it!”

Still laughing, Charlinda said, “Anything you say just sounds dirty.”

“Eat that pickle. You want your lips on it! I know you do. Do it! Eat my pickle! Who’s your pickle? Who’s your pickle!?”

Rusty hadn’t laughed that hard in a long time.

The rest of the evening was spent smiling and joking and flirting until their cheeks were warmed sore with delight.

§

Charlinda answered in three rings. “Hey, Rusty!”

“Hey, beautiful. Say, what are you doing tomorrow? Any shoots lined up?”

“What’s tomorrow? Friday? No. Nothing. I don’t have anything booked.”

“Yeah, you do. You’re going to Disneyland.”

“What!? Are you serious?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you just invite me to Disneyland?”

“Yes.”

“Seriously!?” Charlinda squealed.

“Seriously.”

“Oh, my God! I’ve always wanted to go to Disneyland!”

“You’ve never been there?”

“No!”

“Well, you’re going now.”

She squealed again. “Oh, my God! But isn’t that expensive? I can’t afford to get into Disneyland.”

“I’ll take care of that.”

“No. I can’t let you pay my way into Disneyland.”

“Who said anything about paying? I have free passes.”

“Seriously?”

Rusty chuckled at the fact she kept using that word. “Seriously.”

“Oh, my God! I’ve always wanted to go to Disneyland!”

“I know. You just said that. Well, you’re going tomorrow. If you want to.”

“Yes! Of course! Oh, my gosh! You are so cool! Thank you so much!”

“You’re welcome. And thank you!”

“For what?”

“For accepting my invitation, silly!”

§

And so it was, early in a California June, in the middle of his thirties, that Rusty finally had one of the single most perfect days of his entire life. Charlinda was everything he ever dreamed of in a girl. She was charming in a way he had never encountered before. There was an affable agreeability to her, a childlike joy in pleasing him, that made his heart thunder. Everything about her showed class and poise and decorum. Dressed in simple jeans and a comfortable shirt, she carried herself like a demure princess in an evening dress. However, that’s not to imply pretentiousness or frailty. On the contrary, she was entirely resolute and had the spirit of a survivor, yet she remained congenial, in a way that was endearing beyond words.

Charlinda and Rusty spent the entire day talking and laughing and playing and hour by hour he was charmed by her more and more. They held hands many times throughout the day, but they never kissed. Despite their mutual flirtations and coy grins of shy romance, there always remained a sweetness and innocence to their time together. Rusty could imagine it was back in 1955, when Disneyland first opened, and they were just a greaser and a girl in a pink poodleskirt, sharing a milkshake at one of the Main Street ice cream parlors. By the time the sun had gone down and they settled in for the nightly fireworks over Sleeping Beauty’s castle, Rusty felt content in a way he never had felt before.

He held Charlinda in his arms, warming her as much as himself against the chill of the desert evening. When the sparkle of Tinkerbell sailed over the castle, Rusty wept tears of joy. Her back pressed against him, Charlinda couldn’t see his face. Rusty didn’t make a sound, but he cried like a child in the dark. All his life, he had dreamed of this exact moment in time.

Rusty had only been to Disneyland once or twice before, but this was the first time he saw the fireworks.

He had wanted to see Disneyland fireworks since he was a child.

Now here he was.

Staring up at that beautiful castle, just like he had seen on television all those nights as a little boy. Staring up at it, with the smell of Charlinda’s hair rubbing against his face. The heat of her body against his. The sound of her voice still warm in his ears.

The dream day.

The dream castle.

The dream girl.

A day that tasted like giggles and Matterhorn winds. A day of pirates and haunted mansions and jungle cruises. A magical day where every second culminated in a sizzle of castle-crowning fireworks, reflected in the eyes of a girl he was falling in love with.

When he wished upon a star, every dream that he dreamed had come true. Maybe it took far longer than he had hoped, but his moment had finally arrived. And so he wept for the heart-bursting joy of it all. A joy that he could never hope to put into words.

Charlinda never felt his tears in her hair.

§

They got home from Disneyland very late that night. Very late.

Charlinda didn’t want to wake Sherisa and her family by getting in at 2am, so she stayed the night with Rusty.

She remained a lady and he was the consummate gentleman.

They slept in the same bed, and he never laid a finger on her.

Until...

In the morning, he stared at her lithe form sprawled next to his.

Feeling his eyes upon her, she awoke and smiled softly.

Without a word, she sat upright, reached down and pulled off her t-shirt. She moaned and kneaded catlike shoulders into the mattress, giving Rusty a delicious long look at her bare chest before slowly easing back down under covers and muttering, “I’m hot.”

Naked from the waist up, he reached out for her. The chill of the morning air bristled against his skin and melted away as he climbed atop her and the wave of her bodyheat enveloped him. There’s nothing more intoxicating than the flavor of bedroom air surrounding a lover.

“No.” Charlinda moaned, pretending to push him away.

Coquettishly saying a “No” that means “Please?”

“Yes.”

He forced aside her hand. A hand which offered no resistance. Her flesh was pale and creamy buttermilk oil. Rusty began at her neck, licking and tasting. And so would he seduce her, as much as she begged to be seduced.

Yes, it was wrong. Yes, it was naughty. Yes, she had a boyfriend back home. But what happens in the privacy of Hollywood bedrooms is of no concern to Minnesota boys.

She was 20.

She was beautiful.

She would always have new boyfriends.

On that golden California morning, Rusty was the next one.

Rusty caressed her. Touching her as he had dreamed since the second they met. Here she was. In his bed. Half undressed. Giving herself to him, while pretending she wasn’t. Saying her bashful “no” would never stop him. Not now. Not after all this time. Not after all the pain of all the rejection he had faced. Seven years of rejection by women would finally come to an end. Seven years of dating and kissing widows and mothers and models and teenagers and never making love to any of them, always being turned down, being abandoned, being ignored, filling with anger, learning to hate, burning with rage. Finally this delicate girl with gossamer fine porcelain skin was throwing herself at him. Rusty didn’t care what she had done, where she had been, or who she was hurting. All that mattered was that someone was touching him again. Someone was at long last quenching the firestorm of loathing he had come to feel towards all women. Rusty didn’t even realize how overpowering his animosity had become until his flesh was inside of hers.

Naughty girl. Nasty whore. Homewrecker. Cheating on her boyfriend. Nothing more than a dirty, dirty slut. And she was glorious. And she was perfect. And she was a dream of salvation and hope, no matter how wrong it all was. And she was all his.

All his.

Warm.

Wet.

Hard.

Sliding.

Thrusting. Pulling. Choking. All morning. Anytime guilt began to swell in the eyes of his poor little whore, Rusty drove all her pain away by slamming inside her again. And again. And again.

He wanted to hurt her.

He wanted to heal her.

Make her cry.

Cry for mommy.

Beg for daddy.

And always, always, always, kiss away her tender tears.

§

“Where have you been!?”

The lovers faced an akimbo Sherisa; a scolding mother.

“We’re sorry. I’m sorry.” Rusty explained, “It’s my fault.”

“I should have called.” Charlinda defended Rusty.

Rusty tried to justify himself, “You knew Charlinda was with me. You knew she was safe.”

“How did I know that? You could have gotten into an accident.”

“I know. I’m sorry. That was rude.” Rusty frowned.

“Yes, I should have called. We didn’t even think about it.”

Sherisa glared, seeing the sex in their eyes.

She did not approve.

What was it she had said?

§

Making love to Charlinda always fulfilled his every fantasy of melting into one of those Renaissance paintings of a sixteen year old princess and ravaging her in elegant Parisian bedchambers. Charlinda was no less erotic than those ancient eyes of centuries old canvas and oils. Her body would sway under his touch and her flawless ivory skin would undulate seductive sublime grace of swan feathers in a brook. Every move of her body and twitch beneath his fingertips made him desire her more and more. In those moments, no matter how hard he tried to remove his heart from the experience, in the dark of their canopy, he fell for her a little more each time.

They couldn’t get enough of each other and were in bed three or four times a day, for the next three days.

“You know, I was thinking,” Rusty told her on the couch, as he nuzzled her neck, on Monday afternoon, “you should just stay with me this last week.”

“Can I?” Charlinda grinned. “I can be your house pet!”

Rusty chuckled, “House pet? I like that. You already run around my apartment naked all the time. Why do you do that?”

“Does it bother you?”

“Uhhhh, no! No. Of course not. Are you kidding? I get to come home to a hot, naked, fashion model in my apartment everyday? That’s every man’s dream. I’m definitely not complaining. You make a wonderful pet.”

“I’m just more comfortable nude. Plus it saves time, since I’m just going to let you rip all my clothes off anyway.”

“Okay. No further explanation needed.”

“So, you really want to keep me? Like a rescue kitty? Let me stay with you?”

“Well, you kind of already are.”

She laughed, “That’s true.”

Rusty couldn’t quite read her expression.

“What?”

She just grinned with those eyes warm as brownies.

“What!?” Rusty repeated, giggling at how he felt his tummy tickle in her gaze.

Without a word, she proceeded to shower him in kisses. His face. His neck. His forehead. His stomach. Back to his cheek.

Rusty wriggled and laughed, shivers rippling down his back.

“Stop it!” He protested.

She began to undo his pants.

“No! I have to get back to work!”

Ignoring him, she continued fiddling with the buckle on his jeans.

“My lunch break is over. I’m already late!”

Charlinda stared mischievously and grated his ribs with her fingertips. Rusty was incredibly ticklish and exaggerated his squeal like a little boy, “No! Bad touch! Bad touch!”

His lover gasped and immediately started laughing so hard, she could hardly breathe. “Bad? Touch!?” She gulped for air.

“Yeah.” Rusty replied, still in a little boy voice. “Bad touch.”

She rolled on top of him and they laughed until he promised to make it up to her the moment he got back home.

§

The lobster bisque was particularly heavenly.

“My God. This tastes like giving cunnilingus to an angel.”

Charlinda nearly spit her spoonful across the table.

“Rusty!”

The week was nearly over and she would be heading home to Minnesota soon. And her boyfriend.

“You think you might want to stay here?”

“Where? In this restaurant? Well, yeah, I want to stay for our entrees!”

“No, dumbass! I mean here in Los Angeles.”

“Oh!”

“God, you are such a model. Are you naturally brunette?”

“Shut up!”

“I’m serious. Do you?”

“Want to stay in Los Angeles? Of course! I hate Minnesota. I’ll never get anywhere there. I’ll just end up pregnant in a trailer park if I go back there.”

Smiling, Rusty stared at her. For the first time in his life, he looked at a girl and saw her for exactly what she was. This wasn’t a woman he was idolizing. He wasn’t putting her on a pedestal. There were no false hopes or misleading promises or foolish dreams. Every shred of his being told him this girl couldn’t be trusted. Any fool could see, she was only using him.

Yet he adored her anyway.

Because at that point in his life, he would rather spend day after day with a girl who pretended to love him than to spend anymore days alone.

“You should stay.” Rusty finally offered. “Here. With me.”

They had both been thinking about it.

They even talked about it.

But Rusty never made the formal offer until that moment.

Charlinda scrunched her entire body in the restaurant booth. She looked adorable in that dim tealight candleglow. “Really?”

“Yes. I really want to be with you. I don’t want you to leave.”

“So, you want me to move in with you?”

“Well, more than that. I’m asking you to be my girlfriend.”

“You are?”

“Of course. I mean, I really love having a relationship that is open and free and laidback and casual. But if we’re going to live together, I need something a little more committed. You know? I need some devotion.”

Charlinda told Rusty that she has a hard time trusting people and thinks everyone has an ulterior motive.

Rusty asked her, “What possible ulterior motive could I have for being with you? You’re a young, hot, fun girl and I love your company. That’s my motive. I’m not hiding anything. Someday you’re going to leave me, and get in some bad situation by picking the wrong friends and lovers, and you’ll look back on our relationship and realize that I was always honest and true. And you’ll feel awful because you’ll see that I had no ulterior motives, I genuinely cared about you, and you threw it away.”

“Yeah. You’re probably right.”

Rusty chuckled into his glass of tea. “Yeah. I am.”

“Are you sure? I know you like being by yourself. I mean staying with you for a few days is one thing, but moving in is a whole big change. Think you can handle me?”

“Ha! Is that a trick question?”

“No.”

“No, Charlinda. I can’t handle you. Any man who thinks he can handle a woman is kidding himself. But I still want to live with you.”

“Aw. Baby. I just want you to be sure, if we make this decision. It’s a big step. I don’t want you to kick me out in a week.”

Rusty took a sip of tropical iced tea and told his soon-to-be-girlfriend, “Baby, I know. I wouldn’t do that to you. This is going to sound really cheesy, but you know what I keep thinking about? The Matrix.”

“The Matrix? The Keanu Reeves movie?”

“Yeah. You know that scene when Neo is about to jump out of the car and Trinity tells him he doesn’t want to go down that road because he’s already been there and that’s not where he wants to be?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, that’s what I keep thinking about. That is you going back to Minnesota. If you leave, I know exactly how my life will be. I’ve been down that road. And I don’t want to be there. But I don’t know what will happen if you stay. I don’t know if we’ll stay together 30 days or 30 years. All I know is, I don’t want my life to go back to what it was before you showed up.”

Charlinda and Rusty joked around so often, she was always impressed when he said something serious. “I know exactly what you mean.”

“Yeah. The same is true for you, isn’t it?”

“Totally. I know exactly what my life back there will be. And I don’t want that life either.” Charlinda leaned in, grabbing his thigh. “Yeah. I’d love to be your girlfriend and move in with you.”

Rusty was beaming.

He knew she’d accept his invitation, but there was something so much more meaningful about hearing her actually say the words.

They kissed a little longer and a little more passionately than they should in a restaurant. The hand Rusty had on her waist even started to drift slightly higher.

“So, why are you still single? 36 years old. Never married. No kids. There has to be something wrong. Are you gay?”

“No! I’m not gay. Asshole.”

“True. A gay guy couldn’t give head like you.”

Rusty laughed, “And I was married. Remember?”

“Just kidding. So why are you single?”

“I’m not. I just got a gorgeous girlfriend about 30 seconds ago.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I guess I’ve just been waiting for a girl like you to come along.”

“Ohhhhh, smooth answer.”

“You like that? That answer works everytime.”

“Oh, so you’re a dickhead? Now I see why you’re single.”

“I’m not even sure why myself. But I’ve noticed most women I meet in Los Angeles are supremely selfish. Although, I want to emphasize that it’s only my personal experience talking.”

“Emphasize your personal experience?”

“Yeah. See, I don’t believe in generalizations about people because I have this theory in life that we shape our own destinies and that we gravitate certain types of experiences and people into our lives. And when we do that, it’s a very personal thing.”

“I have no clue what the fuck you’re talking about right now.” Charlinda sipped her drink.

“Well, okay, it’s like this: Say you have a girl and all of her boyfriends cheat on her. Right? She’s gone out with ten different guys and all of them cheat. Okay? Now most people who experience that are going to become bitter and angry and say - ‘All men cheat! You can’t trust any of them!’ Right? But she’s wrong, of course. The truth isn’t that all men cheat. The truth is that all men cheat on her. You see? The problem isn’t that all men cheat. The problem is the pattern of the type of men she’s bringing into her life. You got me?”

“Yeah. I think I see your point. What happens to us shapes the way we see the world. The way we get treated by people makes us think all those people are like that.”

“Right. You see? The girl only dates cheaters, but she blames the men instead of recognizing that she is picking the wrong kind of guys.”

“I suppose.”

“Okay. So, that’s what I mean when I say that in my experience all women in Los Angeles are selfish. It doesn’t mean they are. It just means all the ones I personally meet and date are very selfish. I’m just defending my statement. I don’t want to give the impression that I’m complaining about a city full of women. What I’m really complaining about is the pattern of personalities I’m attracted to. I’m fully responsible for repeating the same kind of relationships. So, if all the women I meet are selfish, I’m not blaming them. I’m blaming me.”

“Yeah. I get it. I see what you mean now. That’s a very mature way to look at things. Most people don’t have that kind of self-awareness.”

Rusty shrugged, “It’s only self-awareness if it’s true. My theory might also be completely full of shit.”

Charlinda chuckled, “No wonder you’re so pissed off.”

“What do you mean?”

“Honey, we women can smell a guy like you from a mile away.”

“A guy like me?”

“One who hasn’t gotten any in a long time.”

Rusty tensed. He didn’t want to go down this road either. Not even joking around. Yet for some reason, he suddenly heard himself say, “You have no idea what it does to a person.”

“What? Not getting laid?”

“Yeah. You will ever know what that’s like. You’re young and sexy and a woman. That puts you in a completely different world from me. I’m 36 years old. Most girls your age reject me on my age alone!You have guys from 16 to 76 falling over themselves to get to you. You can be with anyone you want. You don’t know what rejection is like.”

“How do you know? That’s not true! I was rejected once by a guy I really liked.”

Rusty scoffed, “Exactly my point! You were rejected once. I can’t count how many girls have rejected me. They haven’t invented a name for the number. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. You don’t know how many girls I’ve asked out and been turned down. Or how many I’ve only gone on one date with. I’ve started to forget most of their names there are so many of them.”

Charlinda didn’t really understand until that moment. “That’s pretty bad.”

“Yeah. You have no idea what it does to your self-worth. That’s why you can smell a lonely guy from a mile away.” Rusty adjusted his butt in the seat and regrettably found a position that was even less comfortable.

“But you’re so handsome. Why would girls reject you? You seduced me just fine.”

Rusty smirked, “Why thank you. I have no idea why it happens. But, just, well, just imagine this - pretend that some handsome male underwear model or some beautiful bikini model kept getting rejected. Imagine this gorgeous guy, and no girls will makeout with him. He’ll ask girls out and they’ll turn him down. Even though he was hot and sexy and posing on magazine covers, do you think he would feel sexy? If he was rejected over and over and over again, how long do you think it would be before he started to feel like he was really ugly and started hating himself for being so unloveable?”

Charlinda realized Rusty was right. She had no idea what he had been going through. It’s easy to label someone as “lonely” but it’s different to really think about what those feelings of rejection and isolation could mean to them. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I never thought about it that way. I can see how that would really be hard. No matter how handsome or beautiful a person is, if they were constantly rejected, it would just rip apart your self-esteem.”

“Now you’re starting to get it.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry.”

“No, no. It’s okay. Hey, you are the one who saved me. You redeemed the female species. Now, thanks to you, I don’t have to go on my carefully planned misogynistic killing spree at a women’s yoga class.”

Charlinda chuckled. “Well, I’m proud to do my part.”

Rusty had been keeping his distance emotionally. He wanted to say more, but stopped himself. “So, now you know,” he chuckled, “I’m single because of continual rejection.”

“Aw.”

“That and the dreaded Zan Factor.”

Eyebrows raised on Charlinda. “Zan Factor?”

“Yeah. It means being rejected by sharing my feelings. Opening up.”

Charlinda squinted at him. She still didn’t get it.

Rusty pushed his plate aside and wiped his mouth. “Okay. Here’s the Zan Factor. Back in college, I visited my friend Ed at Vassar in New York. He was friends with this really cool chick named Zan. Zan and I totally hit it off and got along really great. Instant connection. That kind of thing.”

“Okay.”

“Okay. So, over the next few weeks, Zan and I kept in touch and were writing letters to each other.”

Charlinda shook her head, “Wait. Did you fuck this chick?”

“No. We never even kissed. We just hit it off as friends.”

“Oh. Okay.” Charlinda relaxed her shoulders, glad her new boyfriend wasn’t talking about some other bitch he used to sleep with. “Go on.”

“So, we are writing letters and she tells me how she felt this deep connection with me and how she really felt we had this great bond and everything.”

“Uh, huh.”

“Well, I’m very flattered, so in my response, I tell her the feeling is mutual. I felt a great connection with her too. Then, next thing I know, I stop hearing from her.”

“That’s weird.” Charlinda crinkled her nose.

“Oh, it gets worse. I mention this to Ed, how Zan just dropped off the face of the earth, and you know what he tells me?”

“Huh?”

“Ed tells me that Zan was all freaked out by me and I made her uncomfortable, because I was talking about feeling this deep bond with her.”

Charlinda shook her head like a sneeze. “Wait. What!? I thought she said the same thing to you.”

“She did! That’s my whole point! She said it first! All I did was agree with her! And suddenly, I’m the creepy weirdo? I mean, she’s professing these feeling of a big connection and I say, ‘Yeah, I agree.’ Now suddenly, I’m the strange freak? What the hell!? That kind of behavior from women became the Zan Factor. I realized in that moment that I should just remain aloof and never trust a woman who claims to feel anything for me.”

“Aw. That’s sad.”

“Hey, chicks pull that crazy shit all the time. I swear the older I get, the more their capacity for lies and twisting reality frightens me.”

“And now you just invited one to move in with you.”

“Yeah. I must be out of my mind.”

“Most likely.”

“Pretty much. Yeah. I’m a fuckup.”

“Aw. You don’t seem like fuckup.”

“Well, I must be. I mean, all joking aside, you asked why I’m single and I don’t have any clue why I’m single. I used to try to overanalyze it and question things and ask myself why. Finally I just gave up. I stopped worrying about it. Clearly I’m just flawed in some way.”

“I don’t think that’s true. I think you’re being a little hard on yourself.”

“No, I’m just being honest. Look, what’s the one common denominator in all of my relationships? Me! Right? The girls are always different people. I can’t blame them. The one person who has been present in every romance I’ve had is myself. So, if all my loveaffairs end and I’m always involved, I think it’s safe to presume that I am the one responsible.”

“Wait. What!? Did you say you’re married!?”

“What? Yeah, Miss Delayed Reaction. I said that like 5 minutes ago. Where have you been? No. I’m not married.”

“You just said!”

“I said was. Past tense. Not am married. Have. Been. ”

“You’ve been married?”

“Kind of.”

“Oh, bullshit. How can you ‘kind of’ be married? You’re still married and cheating on your wife with me!” Charlinda scolded, clearly joking.

“I am not!” Rusty chuckled. “Would you listen to the whole story first before you keep jumping to the wrong conclusions? I already told you about my ex-wife weeks ago. I told you about her the day we met! When we were having lunch on Sunset! Remember? Psychochick.”

Charlinda honestly wasn’t upset.

The thought of being “the other woman” turned her on.

She was just as happy to have Rusty all to herself as to be his Dirty Little Secret. She didn’t care either way.

Rusty mentioned Megan weeks earlier, but this time, he told Charlinda the whole story. Charlinda listened with a sneer in her eyes. Deep inside, Charlinda was a naughty and kinky little bad girl, just like Rusty suspected. There was a vague smirk on her lips through everything she was saying. She loved the idea that Rusty had been married. It made her feel like a filthy slut. When he was done explaining himself, she still wanted to pretend to be “the other woman” even though she knew that wasn’t really the case.

§

Funny how changed his perspective was on relationships.

Rusty really had no delusions about Charlinda.

He knew she would leave him.

Knowing it was almost comforting. It allowed him the joy of savoring every single moment they shared - because he harbored no delusions that she would stick around.

Nevertheless, despite his doubts, Rusty was still a romantic at heart and couldn’t help but swing their arms as they held hands walking to the park. They were going to do something Rusty had dreamed of doing with a girlfriend all his life, but he’d never gotten around to it.

Play Frisbee.

More accurately, play Aerobie.

Charlinda had never thrown a flying ring before, so Rusty gave her all the requisite warnings about Aerobie rings flying way farther than you’d ever imagine. They started only a dozen feet apart to practice and slowly moved further and further away until finally they were chucking it eighty feet to each other.

Rusty wondered if she would remember that afternoon.

Something strange was happening to him in this romance.

Something he never felt before. Going into it with no delusions, knowing it was going to end, somehow made him savor every minute more than ever. Something as simple as playing in the park became filled with countless details he wanted to savor. The smell of her skin mixed with lawn sprinkler rain. The flavor of trees on the breeze. The way she would jump up and down and clap for herself when she caught a throw she didn’t think she was going to make.

These were the moments that life was all about.

Everyone works jobs and stays healthy and makes friends and goes on dates and falls in love just so these exact moments in time can happen. This was the kind of memory he would cry about missing when he was 95 years old. This day, this instant, this beautiful afternoon with Charlinda, this was what life was for. All the other things we do in life is so we can experience these moments.

On the way home, Rusty chuckled hearing an advertisement playing on a family picnic radio.

“What’s so funny?” Charlinda asked.

“That line. Always freaks me out.”

“What line?”

“On the radio.”

“I didn’t hear it.”

“Oh, it was just one of those erection pills. You know their disclaimer always warns if an erection persists for more than 3 hours, go to the emergency room. But my question is, what are they going to do in the emergency room? Show you naked pictures of your grandfather? I mean how can doctors make a drug-induced erection go away?”

Charlinda, laughing at the naked picture comment said, “Uh, I never really thought of it that way. We’ve done it for more than 3 hours.”

“That’s different. I think it’s okay when it’s natural. When it’s artificially induced it’s a problem.”

When they got home, they ordered pizza, watched a movie and stayed in bed for more wonderful hours that would put an erection pill to shame.

§

Just as quickly as loveaffairs begin, they suddenly start to end.

You always know when.

She laughs a little too hard at another boys jokes.

She spends a little too long on the phone with a “friend” of hers.

She sounds a little different when she mentions his name.

The slipping away begins.

Rusty dropped Charlinda off at a photoshoot with Powder Duke and his girlfriend Eve. Although he had no proof, Rusty was still convinced Powder was the bastard who talked shit about him to Kacey.

The last thing Rusty wanted to do was allow Charlinda to get caught up in the dark web of those sinister souls. He knew Charlinda well. She was a moth to the flame. Charlinda was the kind of girl who would dance with darkness, just to see if she could escape it.

Rusty voiced his concerns.

He warned her.

Stay away from them.

Don’t befriend them.

Beyond that, what more could he do? He wasn’t her daddy. She was a grown woman. Well, of course, little girls are never “grown women” at the age of 20, but they all believe they are, and nothing can convince them otherwise.

Rusty warned her when they began living together - this time of her life in California was a turning point. She has to be very careful about her decisions. Whom she befriends. Where she hangs out. The jobs she accepts. How she spends her time. The beds in which she sleeps, alone with her thoughts at the end of the day. If she chooses wisely, decades from now, she will joyfully look back on these years as the moment in her life when everything began changing for the better. This is when she transformed her life. If she chooses poorly, she will remorsefully reflect on these days as the moment when she squandered her greatest opportunities. She will find herself burdened with regrets, knowing she threw away so much goodness, so much potential, that was laid before her.

Rusty was obligated to warn his girlfriend, but he had no choice other than allowing Charlinda to make her own mistakes.

The hardest part about watching someone jump in front of a train is seeing it coming from a mile away, while they never know it’s there.

Rusty always knew he and Charlinda wouldn’t last forever.

Always fortuitous, his instincts told him things might get messy before then. Of course she’ll start seeing another guy or something. After all, Rusty was “the other guy” compared to the boyfriend back in Minnesota. He knew Charlinda liked Powder, even though she denied it.

Cripe, he hated that asinine stagename so much.

The thing that made him the most angry was that anytime he saw powdered donuts, the name reminded him of Powder Duke. He used to love powdered donuts. But, now that the delicious snack made him think of that asshole, Rusty couldn’t even enjoy the damn donuts anymore.

Charlinda better not do what Rusty knew she would do.

Rusty tried not to worry about it.

All that mattered was that she was a lot of fun and a nice change of pace in his life and he was sincerely grateful for what they had, even though it wouldn’t last forever. Even though that dreaded tone in her voice was a little different when she got home from her shoot.

Isabeau whispered on the couch as Charlinda slept upstairs, “Don’t lose that perspective.”

Rusty asked, “You’re not mad at me, are you?”

“Mad?”

“If I’m supposed to find your mother and I know Charlinda isn’t the girl.”

Isabeau frowned and cocked her head. “Daddy, you never know where the course of your life will lead you. Wonderful things can happen and positive changes take place in your life even from the people you don’t start a family with. Even if she’s not our mother, being with her might lead you to our mother.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“Just remember what I said - don’t lose your perspective.”

“Oh, come on. I won’t. She’s only 20 years old. She can’t possibly be ready for the kind of things I want in my life.”

“What will you do about her and other guys she likes?”

“I don’t own her. She can do anything she wants.”

“Ironic that when you became a grownup, you got to have sex with a 20 year old model.”

Rusty stifled his laugh, trying to stay quiet. “Hmm. Good point.”

Isabeau paused a moment and stared at her lap before she warned, “It’s already over. You know that, don’t you? You didn’t even have sex yesterday.”

“Ha. Yeah. But it sure was a blast while it lasted. I just want to be nice to her and show her a good time and be something happy, joyful, positive, supportive and encouraging in her life. I expect nothing in return. So, I already found a greater reward than I ever dreamed. Foolish to start thinking I’m entitled to anything.”

“Desire is the issue. Not entitlement.”

Rusty scoffed. “What I desire is not relevant. What I desire is not possible.”

Isabeau quoted the old saying, “Only one woman in the world. One woman with many faces?”

“You got it. No delusions, my dear.”

“No delusions.”

“I do desire more, don’t I?”

Shrugging, Isabeau brushed a strand of hair from her face. “Do not berate yourself for desire. But be content. See this for what it is and be grateful you have no illusions or misconceptions.”

“True.”

“You had fun. So did she. Life goes on.”

“Life goes on. Thanks, my dear.”

“You are most welcome.”

§

Charlinda was still wearing the elaborate makeup from her photoshoot when she demanded Rusty ravage her. The fantasy of every man, to pull the model out of the magazine advertisement and do with her what he wills, just came true.

Snuggled in bed afterward, Charlinda said, “I love the way you look at me.”

“You’re radiant.”

“You make me feel like it.”

“Is that why you model?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean a lot of models have esteem issues. Did you not think too highly of yourself before you started?”

“Kind of.”

Rusty sighed. She was the classic ugly duckling and he knew it.

Charlinda joked, “I don’t mind. For every mean girl who used to knock me down, there are a dozen guys who want to knock me up.”

“Right.” Rusty smirked, not wanting to think about the other 11 guys. “Pretty clever, missy.”

“You like that?”

“I don’t like the other guys portion. But I like the part about trying to knock you up.”

“You want to knock me up?”

“No! No, no, no. I just want to go through the motions.” Rusty may have been falling for Charlinda, but he wasn’t ready to commit her to Isabeau and Oona. Not by a longshot. Charlinda was not mother material. His daughters deserved better.

Charlinda giggled and said, “You’re right, though. I wasn’t one of the popular girls.”

“So, let me guess. You grew up as one of the awkward girls. You were weird and different and you weren’t really pretty.”

“Yep.”

“Then you became a woman and you blossomed into someone gorgeous and you started getting all this attention from men. And even women started to treat you different. And you didn’t know how to handle that. And you still don’t. Because when everyone looks at you, all they see is a hot and sexy fashion model with long legs and a perfect smile. But inside, you still feel like that clumsy nerd girl who got picked on by the popular kids.”

Charlinda simpered and traced his lips. “And now I see why a guy like you gets laid by girls like me.”

Rusty giggled. Then stopped. “Hey. Hold on. What was that supposed to mean? A guy like me? What are you saying? That I shouldn’t be getting laid by a girl like you? Huh? Think you’re out of my league, Miss Pretentious?”

Charlinda merrily tossed her head, “No! No! I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry.”

“Then how did you mean it? Bitch.” Rusty dug a ticklish finger into her ribs.

Charlinda squealed. “No!”

“Come on! How did you mean it?”

Another dig. Another squeal.

“Cut it out!” Charlinda squirmed. “I just meant I never dated anyone so short. And your intelligence makes you really hot.”

“Short!? I’m not short! I’m like 5’7” or something. With shoes on, I’m like 5’9”.”

“Oh, you wear 2” heels?”

“Okay. Fine. But still, I’m 5’7” and that’s not short.”

“Short compared to the guys I usually date. They’ve all been over 6’0”.”

Rusty crinkled his nose and mimicked her, “They’ve all been over 6’0”. Nayh, nayh, nayh.”

“Ohh. Jealous?”

“You’re just prejudice against short guys.”

“You just said you weren’t short.”

“I’m not. But you said I was.”

“I did not! I just said I never dated anyone as short as you. You’re not short though.”

“Uh, huh. Nice backpedal.”

“I’m being honest.”

“But you’re still prejudice.”

“No. I wouldn’t call it prejudiced. It’s just a preference. I don’t want to lynch short guys or burn crosses on their lawns. I just don’t want to date them.”

“See, I’ve always been confused by women who have a height requirement for dating, like the dude is a ride at an amusement park.”

“It’s called a preference. You’re just ‘confused’ because you’re short.”

“I’m confused because I’m short? Thanks for clarifying the source of my confusion. If height determines one’s mental capacity, I feel sorry for midgets!”

Charlinda scoffed. “Height does not determine one’s mental capacity. You’re short, so of course it makes sense that you’d have an issue with the fact that there are women with height preferences. That’s what I was saying.”

“I knew what you were saying. I was being a smartass. My own height is irrelevant. I’m brunette. But if a girl said she only dates brunettes, that would confuse me too. I’d be disappointed in her. Although I’d conform to her preferences, they would still be petty and trivial, and therefore difficult for me to comprehend. I’ve dated multiple women between 5’8” and 6’0” tall. When you’re as awesome as I am, height is never an issue.” Rusty winked.

“I just usually like guys who are 5’10” and up.”

“Most girls do.”

“We just like tall men.”

“Well, let me ask you this - why is it that rejecting a person based on physical characteristics like height or weight or hairstyles is a preference and rejecting a person based on skin color is racism? How does that make sense? How are those things any different? If you say you like a guy to have brown eyes, that’s a preference. But if you say you like a guy to have white skin, it’s racist. If society demands that women are not allowed to reject a man based on his skin color, why does society find it acceptable to reject a man based on how tall he stands?”

Charlinda wriggled her nose. “I never looked at it that way.”

“It’s the same with everything. People judge each other like that all the time. People reject one another because of their race or their age or their financial status or their height or their weight or how much hair is on their head or whatever. That’s why most people are single - because they’re petty and shallow idiots. They don’t look at things that matter in a person. They don’t care about how kind or affectionate or compassionate or altruistic or sensitive or ambitious or determined or talented someone is. They just care about whether or not the dude is going bald or the chick has nice tits. This is why most morons deserve to be single. They don’t value anything worthwhile.”

“Isn’t that being a little unfair and idealistic? Physical attraction is important. And you know damn well you wouldn’t be so attracted to me if I didn’t look like this. If I was some fat chick, you wouldn’t have fucked me or let me move in.”

Chuckling because he knew he was a hypocrite, Rusty explained, “I never claimed I was perfect. You’re damn right. I am totally guilty of the same crap. I never said I didn’t share in those petty prejudices, the same as everybody else. You’re right. I do. I just have less than most people and I admit to being a prejudice asshole. I have no delusions about what a jerk I am. I don’t sugarcoat my ugliness by claiming my prejudices are a ‘preference’. That’s the difference. I admit I’m awful.”

“Well, what you said is true. I never really looked at height preferences and racism as being the same. But you’re right. Prejudice is prejudice. I’d never date a black guy though.”

“Really? Why not?” Rusty was surprised not only by the comment, but that she tacked it on as an afterthought.

“Because his dick is the same size and shape and color as a hunk of my shit. No way I’m putting that dick-turd in my mouth or pussy.”

Rusty stood there with his jaw hung open and said nothing for about ten seconds as Charlinda started laughing.

“Oh. My. God. I can’t believe you went there.”

“It’s true!” Charlinda laughed.

“Here I thought all you pasty white chicks banged black dudes in college.”

“Ew. Not me. I never went to college.”

“Fair enough.”

“Seriously, though, I never saw it that way. Height and race being the same kind of things, I mean. Like having a prejudice over physical characteristics. Skin color. Height. Weight. Sort of all similar.”

“Of course you never saw it that way. People never like to look at things that paint themselves in a bad light or make it uncomfortable or inconvenient for them. See, I fully admit it. Like you’re right - I’m not attracted to fat girls. That’s not a preference, it’s a prejudice.”

“Why don’t you like fat girls?”

“Why don’t you like short guys?”

“I asked you first.”

“I like people who take care of themselves. I think being overweight proves a person has very little self-respect.”

“That’s not true! What if the person has a medical problem or something?”

“Oh, come on. Out of all the overweight people in the world, what percentage do you think have legitimate medical conditions and which ones just never exercise and overeat disgusting fast food five times a week?”

“Okay. You have a point.”

Rusty muttered, “My intelligence makes me hot.”

“What?”

“You heard me. That’s what you said. My intelligence makes me hot. You think I didn’t catch that. Like you’re saying I’m too short to be attractive, but my smarts makes up for it.”

“No! You are very handsome. Trust me. You think a girl as hot as me would do a guy who wasn’t sexy?”

“Ah. Catering to the male ego?”

“Yeah. Is it working?”

“Oh, you!” Rusty tickled her again and this time they didn’t stop the ticklefight until they were both breathing heavy and nearly falling out of bed.

“Stop! Stop! Uncle! Truce!” Charlinda pleaded. “You stop and I’ll stop.”

“Right.”

“Trust me. Honest.”

Rusty guffawed, “Trust you? You?”

Ceasing their tickles, Charlinda threw her arms around his neck and smiled, “I know. I know. You’ll never trust me, because I cheated on my last boyfriend with you. Right? And you think I’ll do the same to you.”

Rusty denied it and shook his head. “My dear, ages ago, when I was younger and far more foolhardy, yes, you’re right, I would have thought exactly that. But now that I’m older and wiser, you know what I’ve learned?”

“What’s that?”

“I’ve come to the profound realization that no woman can ever be trusted! No matter what! So, yes, you’re right. I’ll never trust you. But my distrust has nothing to do with you cheating on your last boyfriend. I’ll never trust you, simply because, you have boobs.”

Charlinda gasped and pretended she was about to smack him.

“You’re just offended because you know it’s true. You’ve dated girls. Can you trust them?”

Charlinda was deflated. “Hrm. No. You’re right.”

“See? Can’t be trusted. And you’re right. No one is special, honey. The way you treated him is the same way you’ll treat me. I know that.”

“No, I won’t. I promise.”

Rusty wouldn’t say it, but he believed her.

There was a pained guilt in her voice. He knew her motives were entirely selfish. Charlinda really would stay loyal to Rusty. But she wasn’t going to do it because she loved him. She was going to be loyal because part of her hated herself for all the cheating and home wrecking she had done. Being devoted to Rusty was her way of granting herself some redemption. She knew she would cheat again. She knew she would break hearts. But not this time. Not to Rusty. He would be the rare exception. Just so she could feel some salvation from her sins.

Rusty imitated the Dread Pirate Roberts and quoted The Princess Bride, as they had just watched it two nights earlier, “The promise of a woman. What’s that worth? You’re very funny highness.”

“You’re such a dick.”

“And I’m all yours.”

§

Charlinda rolled her eyes at the camera.

“What are you doing?” Hands instinctively shot out in front of her face.

“Awww,” Rusty teased, “is she shy? You’re a freakin’ fashion model! How can you get shy in front of the camera!?”

“This is different! A video camera in your livingroom is not the same as a photoshoot. What are you doing?”

“I want to document the day.”

Beautiful eyes rolled in her head. “Document the day.”

“Yes. And I need to introduce your surprise. As I am a noble knight and you are my beloved queen, I am here to tell you that we are returning to the resting place of King Arthur himself.”

Charlinda stared at him like he was covered in nerd bukkake. “Oooookay. King Arthur? What are you talking about? You are such a geek.”

“Trust me.” Rusty kissed her cheek and switched off the camera.

Ten minutes later, Charlinda asked, “Where the heck are we going?” as she wheeled her luggage down the street.

“Trust me. It’s a surprise and I promise you’re going to love it.” Rusty answered, following behind her with his own suitcase.

“No. You’re going to kill me in an alley and stuff me in these suitcases. It’s been your sick plan all along.”

Rusty laughed at the sky. “Will you shut up? I’m not killing you. Not today, anyway.”

She glared.

He winked.

When they reached the subway station, Charlinda understood a little better why she just walked two blocks in the blazing sun, lugging a suitcase. When they transferred trains at Union Station, she still had no idea where they were going. When they took a bus to the Catalina Flyer, she was starting to get it. “Now we’re taking a boat!? What’s next, a helicopter? Hot air balloon?”

“I couldn’t afford the helicopter.” Rusty replied, quite seriously.

An hour later, as they approached the shores of Avalon, she finally understood. Grinning with a smile that beamed brighter than any she had ever made, she said, “An island!? You’re taking me out to an island!?”

Rusty simply giggled, delighted to see her so happy.

Leaning in close, so the other passengers couldn’t hear, she moaned, “I bet you’re thinking, ‘Oh, I am so getting laid tonight!’”

Rusty burst out laughing and stammered, “Um, well, I uh... Actually, no. I, uh, no, I wasn’t thinking that. But now that you mention it, I’d better be!”

“Oh, you will! You definitely will.”

“Nice.” Rusty played it cool. The kind of cool he fantasized about having when he was 14, but was too awkward back then to ever pull off.

§

Dinner that evening on Catalina Island was at a quaint outdoor cafe with Victorian gables and a white picket fence encircling a cobblestone patio. The word “delightful” was invented to describe just such places, when there were no other words to do them justice.

“Hello. My name is Todd. I will be your waiter for the evening. Can I start you out with something to drink?”

Charlinda and Rusty were awestruck.

“Wait... What?... Didn’t we see you... working at the antique shop this afternoon?” Rusty asked with his face distorted in confusion.

Charlinda nodded, happy that her boyfriend was going just as crazy as she was. “Yeah!”

Todd grinned, “Yes. My family owns the antique shop and I work here a few nights a week.”

“Oh.” Rusty snickered and Charlinda joined him, “Okay good. I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t going crazy.”

“No, sir. I’m the same guy.”

The three of them all seemed equally amused and when Todd left to get their drinks, Charlinda and Rusty were in hysterics.

“Damn. I thought we were in a Twilight Zone episode. Like we start going to all the shops and it’s like, ‘It’s the same guy! He works everywhere!’”

Charlinda elaborated, “I know! Me too. I thought I was losing it. Like he’s a clone.” She pantomimed holding a phone and said, “‘They’re all the same person! You have to get off the island now! CLICK!’”

Through his tears, Rusty added, “Oh, no! Call the telephone company. He shows up.”

“‘Hello, my name is Todd. I’m here to fix your phone.’”

“Noooooo!”

Dinner was wonderful.

Some meals are made all the more fabulous because of the setting or the company. Charlinda was the best company Rusty had known in years.

There are certain times in life, certain moments, that will always be remembered with melancholy soundtracks of 1970’s classic rock. Even if those memories happened in a decade that was nowhere near the 1970’s. Everyone has that night. The one that comes back to you when you hear Bob Seger running against the wind or Seals & Crofts telling you we may never pass this way again or The Eagles reminding you to let somebody love you before it’s too late. That dinner was one of those moments. That whole weekend was.

“People always think somewhere around your late 30’s to early 40’s is middle aged. But that’s kind of pessimistic, isn’t it?”

“What do you mean?” Charlinda asked her greenbeans.

“Well, the term ‘middle aged’ literally means you’re in the middle of your life. Right? So, if 40 is middle aged, that presumes you’ll die at 80. Screw that. Who wants to die that young? I prefer to think of 40 as ‘the prime of my youth’ and 60 as ‘middle aged’. And what about people who die when they are 20 years old? Technically, those people were middle aged when they were 10.”

Charlinda sniffled, nearly spitting out her mashed potatoes. “Oh, my gosh! That’s awful!”

“It’s true though! Die when you’re 20 and 10 was middle age.”

“You’re just worried about getting older. You mention age topics like that a lot.”

“No. I’m not worried about getting older. I can’t avoid it. Why worry about it? I guess I think about those topics a lot because ever since I was a child, I knew that staying youthful was all in your head. And now that I’m getting older, and I see people my age calling themselves ‘old’ I’m starting to see I was right all along.”

“I see what you mean. Your theory from childhood is coming true.”

“Exactly. It’s more than that, though. I think it’s important to contribute something to the world. Make it a better place. And I think age can be harmful to that.”

“How can age be harmful to accomplishing things?”

“Because I think when people start to perceive themselves as ‘old’, it makes them feel less useful. Like they don’t have anything to contribute anymore. My grandfather was like that shorty before he died - thinking he had so little relevance in life anymore. And when you’re young, you tend to think you will contribute much more than you do.” Rusty chuckled.

Charlinda didn’t get it. “Contribute more than you do?”

“Yeah. And I just get frustrated when I see younger generations clinging to that perpetual lie.”

“What lie?”

“That they are going to change the world.”

“You don’t think younger generations can change the world? That’s cynical, isn’t it?”

“Not at all. Cynical is thinking the world can’t be changed for the better. I know it can be, but in all of human history, it has never been changed by a single generation. Every generation thinks they are going to change the world and they never do.”

Charlinda noted, “And ‘change’ isn’t always good. Axis forces in World War II changed the world, but not in a very good way.”

Rusty was impressed. He never expected such an insightful observation from the likes of Charlinda. Maybe he had underestimated her. “True. And that’s what bothers me. Improving the world takes effort most people lack. When you get a little older, you realize that all your peers who had such passion, end up becoming just as complacent and passive as your parents and your grandparents before them. You come to understand that the only people who genuinely change the world are individuals, not entire generations. Individuals standing as beacons of light who outshine everyone around them. Those people are the ones who change the world. And some generations never produce any of those pioneers. I’m impressed with visionaries who put forth a concerted effort to make the world a better place. I’m not very keen on people who presume their mere presence has blessed the globe with an improvement. The world is not better just because you’re here. It’s better because of what you achieve during your life.”

Grinning over her empty plate, Charlinda noted, “You’re kinda hot when you talk all smart.”

Rusty chuckled and tickled her, realizing he was getting foolishly deep and philosophical in a place that didn’t merit such talk. This was a paradise in the Pacific. The only human behaviors to discuss in this place was delicious food, sleeping until noon, and passionate lovemaking.

Charlinda twirled her hair and spwoke in a wittle gwirly voice, “Can we go back to our room and fuck now?”

“Yes, dear. Especially if you’re going to keep talking like a preteen Girl Scout.”

“You’re sick.”

“You started it! I’m going to buy you a Catholic Schoolgirl outfit. Make you wear that. That’ll be hot!”

“You’re a perv.”

“So? I’m so getting laid tonight, remember?”

“Don’t be so sure!”

“Right.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I like your perverted mind.”

“I’m sorry for rambling on like that. Philosophy class is dismissed for the evening. On to sex education.”

“Hooray!”

“Check!”

§

Wrapped in nothing but sheets, the lovers stood upon their mountain balcony, overlooking the glittering lights of Avalon and her bay, dotted with moored yachts.

How did he do this, Rusty wondered.

How did he make it here?

To that beautiful island?

With that breathtaking young girl?

Rusty realized in that instant, this was the absolute happiest moment of his entire life. He had everything he ever wished for. Everything he ever hoped for. Living in California. A great job. A beautiful girlfriend. His youth. His health. And here he was, on a warm summer night, staying on an island in the middle of the Pacific ocean, at a rustic old mansion.

What more could any man ever want?

In that moment, in that bliss, Rusty began to wonder, was he wrong about Charlinda being temporary? Could this girl be something more? Could Charlinda be the mother of Isabeau and Oona?

Maybe “the one least likely” would prove to be The One.

§

Walking up the road back to their hotel, Charlinda brought up her ex-boyfriend again. “Did I ever tell you what he had tattooed across his stomach?”

“Tattooed across his stomach?”

“Yeah.”

“No. You never mentioned that.” Rusty didn’t really give a damn, but he didn’t want to be rude enough to say that. Why do people always insist on talking about their ex-lovers? Doesn’t matter if you’re male or female, no one wants to hear their lover talk about who they used to sleep with.

“It said ‘FAGGOT’ in huge capital letters.”

“What!? You’re lying.”

“I am not!”

“Get out! He did not. There’s no way.”

“I’m serious!”

“You are not. You’re making that up.”

“No. I swear it’s true.”

“Wasn’t... wait. But, was he gay? He was dating you! Why the hell would he do that?” Rusty panicked for a second. Great. Was Charlinda dating some HIV infected queer boy? Should Rusty be out getting an STD test?

“He is straight!”

Thank God. “Then why the hell would he... Oh, man, you’re just messing with me.”

“No, I’m not! I swear!”

“You’re telling me a totally straight, heterosexual boy got the word ‘FAGGOT’ tattooed across his stomach in giant letters? Why would he do that!? Come to think of it, why would anyone do that? I don’t even think a gay guy would do such a thing. That’s crazy!”

“I know.”

“You’re making this up. You just want me to believe you, then you’ll be like, ‘Ha, ha! There was no tattoo.’”

“No. I swear, I’m not making it up! You think you’re shocked, imagine how I felt!”

“Why did you keep dating him!? I mean, no offense, but if you had the phrase ‘BULL DYKE’ inked across your stomach when I first saw you naked, I would have seriously reconsidered our relationship.”

“Well, I’m not dating him anymore.”

“That’s not what I asked you.”

“I don’t know. He seemed nice at the time. He was a little clingy though. A lot clingy actually.”

Rusty nodded, “I knew that. I know your boyfriend a little too well. Let me guess, he drove you crazy because he loved you too much? When you were that awkward nerdy girl, boys wouldn’t even look at you. Then you became all hot and sexy, so you took advantage of that. You maybe dated a few sexy badboys who treated you like shit. Then you met your last boyfriend. And he loved you with all his heart and he treated you like a queen and he worshiped you and told you he loves you all the time and it was driving you fucking crazy. And you didn’t know what to do about it. Because here’s the guy you always wanted. He’s sweet. He’s handsome. He’s in love with you. But now that you have been given what you’ve always wished for, you realize you don’t really want it. How am I doing so far?”

Charlinda walked with her mouth hung open. “You’re freaking me the fuck out. How did you know all that?”

“People aren’t that complicated, baby. We all go through the same stuff. I can see it in you. Just little things. You start to pick up on behaviors in people. The way something is said. The look on your face. The words you stop yourself from saying. It all adds up if you just pay close attention.”

Rusty didn’t say any of that to impress her.

He was just trying to get her to pay attention to him in return.

§

Flopping on his bed back at home, Rusty chatted with Isabeau while Charlinda was on an audition for a commercial. “I certainly never expected this.”

Isabeau couldn’t help but grin, seeing her father so happy. The trip to Catalina had really changed his perspective. For the first time, he seemed to have a lot more hope in his girlfriend. “Yes, you did. A young girl sharing your Midwest roots, with whom you build an instant relationship? That is exactly what you always expected. Your instincts have been telling you that for ages.”

“True. Will it work?”

“Of course. It works wonderfully. All relationships are temporary, remember? So, you enjoy it while it lasts.”

Damnit. Did she have to say that?

§

Six weeks later, Charlinda and Rusty were still together. Things were going great. Naturally, that made him a bit insecure. She had started to become distant. He just kept waiting for her to leave him like they all do.

Stupid, he knew.

Oona berated him. “Daddy, stop it. You have no illusions. From the very start, you knew what this was about. You knew what you were getting into right from the beginning. You wanted her to be happy. You never expected anything to last. Right?”

“True.”

Isabeau added. “And it has lasted 2 months now! That’s longer than you expected.”

“True. I just worry that she’ll leave me.”

Oona wondered, “Why? Why worry about that? Why not simply enjoy your time with her? Losing her is inevitable. You know this.”

“Yeah.”

Isabeau repeated the same old thing that Rusty apparently needed to hear again and again, “Yes. You’ve always known. So, be happy and enjoy your time. Even if it’s already over and done.”

“But - ”

Oona interrupted, “ - Stop. Things will work out fine, daddy. Do not fret. Ease your mind. You know this road.”

He grinned at his daughters. “The universe is unfolding as it should?”

Simultaneously, they answered, “Indeed.”

§

Rusty and Charlinda spent two days picking out their new queen sized bed together. Firm enough for her. Soft enough for him. A good compromise. Sherisa would later chide Rusty for his gullibility, claiming Rusty should have simply gotten what he wanted and not compromised at all for Charlinda.

Damn, Sherisa was a horrible person.

No more sleeping in a twin or on a pair of mattresses shoved together on the floor. Rusty finally had a grown up bed for the first time in 36 years. Nothing but the best for his girl.

Charlinda was just happy that Rusty wasn’t embarrassing her by blaring “Ocean Size” by Jane’s Addiction, like he did when they were shopping for a new stereo.

In the furniture store, was the first time Charlinda mentioned they should find another girl to join them in it.

Rusty wasn’t sure how to react to that.

All men and women fantasize about a ménage à trois and Rusty knew Charlinda was into girls and had dated them before. Despite that, a boyfriend can’t help but be suspicious. Is she testing me to see how much I love her? If I say yes too quickly, it means I don’t really care about Charlinda? If I say no, it obviously means I’m gay?

Rusty played it cool and gave her lots of “if that would turn you on” and a bit of “anything to make you happy” and a little “are you fucking with me right now, because I would love to do that!”

Although they picked the bed out together, he didn’t tell her about the canopy. That he left as a surprise. When it finally arrived, he secretly put it up while she was in the other room researching modeling jobs on the computer.

“Baby? Come here. I have something I want to show you.”

“Oh, I think I’ve seen that.” Charlinda reached back in the chair and grabbed his crotch.

“No. Not that!”

“Oh, you don’t want to show me that?”

“I’ll show you that in a few minutes. I want to show you something else first.”

“What?”

“Come on.”

Charlinda gasped when she saw it. Candles. Music. The white cloudlike gauze encasing the bed in a soft firmament of heaven.

“Oh, Rusty! It’s beautiful.”

“Finally all done.”

“Well, I think it’s time we christen the new bed. Again.”

“Funny, I was thinking the exact same thing.”

§

“Oh, my God.” Charlinda was panting. “I don’t know... what it was... that made that so different... but I think... that was the best sex we’ve ever had!”

Rusty agreed. There was a rage to it. Anger. Animalistic. How much better they connected when tender lovemaking was replaced with beastly fury.

“I know.” Rusty was gasping for breath too. “I agree... that was... incredible.”

“How big are you? You have to be at least 7 or 8 inches.”

Rusty busted out laughing, certainly not expecting that to be her very next comment. “I, um, what - I don’t really know.”

“Oh, you liar! Come on! Every guy knows how big he is.”

“No. I do not!”

“Yes, you do. All of you measure it. Come on. How big is it?”

Laughing, Rusty lied. “We do not!”

“Yes, you do! I bet you measure it every other day, just to make sure it’s not getting any smaller.”

Chuckling harder, Rusty noted, “Well, I know I’m big enough because no girl has ever made fun of me.”

“It’s perfect. You think a girl would make fun of you?”

“No. What I mean is, I have some ex-girlfriends who really hated me. And if a girl hates a guy, that’s the first insult she’ll tell him - ‘Oh, you have a small dick!’ Even if it’s not true, girls will say it, just to be mean and make a man feel insecure. You know? Like just to fuck with a guy’s head and make him feel bad. Well, no girl has ever said that to me. No one. Not even the girls who totally hate me. So, I know I’m packing a pretty good size if no one ever mocks me.”

“God, you sure are. Not as big as the married guy I was with.”

WHAT!? Rusty was completely deflated. Why tell him that!?

“What!? Why would you tell me that?”

“He could make me squirt. No other guy has ever done that.”

“Gee, thanks. Build me up then knock me down.”

Charlinda laughed, though not with cruelty. “I’m sorry, baby. What can I say? He was huge.”

“Oookay. I really don’t need to be told how inadequate I am.”

“You’re not inadequate! You’re fantastic.”

“Right. Sure. I’m fantastic. Just not fantastic enough to make you squirt like Godzilla cock. Yeah. I get it.” Rusty was teasing. He truly didn’t care if he wasn’t the best she ever had. He may have loved her more than he was aware, but he didn’t care about her enough to allow his male ego to get bruised.

That was the first night Rusty realized Charlinda was the only lover he ever felt completely comfortable with in bed. Limbs entwined. Faces buried in napes. Sweaty skin sticking. Rusty usually had to roll away from his lovers. Claim his own side of the bed.

Charlinda was the first and only girl in his entire life who could sprawl all over him and Rusty was still able to sleep like an infant on a cloud.

That had to count for something.

§

“Did anything ever happen to you when you were a little boy?”

Rusty wasn’t sure what Charlinda meant. “Ever happen to me?”

“Yeah. You know what I mean. Like... bad things happen?”

“No. Not really. Thankfully, I had a pretty happy childhood.”

They were on a peaceful walk in the park at dusk. The summer air was still and the cool of the California sunset was falling across the sky like a silken sheet.

“Oh. That’s good.” Charlinda replied so softly he could barely hear her. As they sat upon a rock together, her eyes focused far into the past.

Suddenly, Rusty understood.

He felt like he was in a stage play and his next lines were inevitable. He had no choice but to say, “Why do you ask?”

And like a play he had rehearsed a thousand times, he knew what her answer would be. “Well, I was asking because there were some things that happened to me. Bad things. When I was a little girl. And I just thought after all our time together, maybe it was time to tell you about them. I just, feel like you deserve to know.”

Rusty felt squirrels running up the walls of his stomach.

He did not want to hear this at all. Of course, he couldn’t say that, because he’d sound like an insensitive jerk. So, he replied with, “Well, you don’t have to tell me. I mean, if you feel the need to tell me, I’ll listen. But at the same time, I never want you to feel pressured to reveal anything that makes you uncomfortable.”

“Thank you.” Charlinda squeezed his arm.

Compassionately, Rusty replied, “Yeah.”

Charlinda couldn’t be sure if his tone was intended as a statement of sympathy or a question to reveal more.

That was exactly what Rusty intended.

Rusty naively thought saying such a little speech would make her feel like she wasn’t obligated to speak, and therefore she wouldn’t have the need to share her dark past. In truth, saying what he did endeared Rusty to her all the more, and it only increased her desire to reveal her secrets.

He wanted her to know he was there to listen, no matter if she wanted to share everything or nothing.

She shared.

And her story was one a hundred million children have lived.

Stepfather.

Dark closets.

Sneaking in her bedroom.

Pulling down her panties.

Their little secret.

Kill her if she tells.

Now Rusty understood why she begged to be choked so hard.

And why he had to repeatedly decline her strap-on fantasies.

She loved to be abused and she needed to abuse men.

Rusty knew she was manipulative. He knew Charlinda was using him. There was no way he’d ever trust her. But somehow he knew this story was real. She had nothing to gain by lying about such things. This was her vulnerable truth. This was the black ooze leaking from cracks in her armor. This was the angry and frightened and tortured thing, made up of pieces of a girl, writhing inside the shell.

For some children, such abuse is merely an experience that happened to them. For girls like Charlinda, it defines who they become.

Years later, she confronted her real dad.

Why wasn’t he there for her?

Why didn’t he protect her?

Daddies are supposed to protect their little girls from monsters.

Her father cried.

Ashamed.

Humiliated.

How could such a failure ever look his daughter in the eye again?

Was it any wonder Charlinda would use Rusty?

Rusty was angry about women rejecting him for a few years?

So what?

That kind of rage and betrayal is nothing compared to what Charlinda had endured. Rusty was not a tortured soul. Not compared to her. He was ashamed of himself for being such a wimp.

He certainly couldn’t blame Charlinda for using men.

In her eyes, they deserved it.

And who could argue with the tormented little girl who made Charlinda do bad things to boys.

Maybe this was her motive for sharing such a tale.

Maybe this was her subconscious apology.

You’re a wonderful man, Rusty. Forgive me for using you. It’s not my fault. I can’t help myself. My daddies turned me into this.

Maybe all the shadows we experience are the seeds of light, which shall blossom the moment we show our bravery and kindness. Maybe our greatest fears are just frail moments that pray to be loved. Or maybe she was simply a little girl in pain, who wanted her boyfriend to hold her.

Rusty was clasping her hand the whole time she spoke, watching the fading light of sunset gold highlight her profile, and drip through her hair. He knew this was a turning point. For the first time in their loveaffair, he wasn’t sure if she was using him or not. Was this her sobstory to manipulate him more, or was this the real Charlinda, opening up to someone she might be able to love?

He couldn’t be sure.

When she was finished, he paused for a long time. Rusty almost told her that he’s known other girls who have told him something similar. That this isn’t the first time he’s heard a girl speak about such anguish. At first, he thought that would show some sympathy, but, then he realized such things would be awful to say. This wasn’t about him. This wasn’t about other girls. This was about Charlinda. No one else.

So, instead, he gently said, “There is nothing I can say to you to comfort that kind of pain. No one deserves to go through that. Especially not a child. I’m so sorry that those things happened to you. I’ve never experienced that kind of abuse in my life, so it’s not something I can even relate to and I’d be a jerk if I tried to pretend that I knew what you have had to deal with or how that has affected you. But, I do know it has to be difficult for you to talk about. So, thank you for opening up to me like that. I know that people who have survived that kind of experience of rape and abuse can feel a lot of embarrassment and shame and I just want you know that I think no less of you. I adore you. I always have. Always will.”

Those who impart wisdom are not always an oasis of tranquility living with ease among soft spoken phrases and compassion. Perhaps they too suffer hardships greater than your heart has endured. This is how they know the way to comfort your troubles and speak the words you need to hear.

Rusty looked deep in her eyes and made sure that his next words were sincere, “You... are one of the best things... that has ever happened... to me.” He knew that was a cliché, so he made sure to stare hard into her and carefully enunciate ever syllable so she knew the words weren’t empty flattery. Charlinda was crying, but not making a sound. “And I’m still honored to be your boyfriend. The fact you have experienced such darkness and still turned out to be such a good and caring person says a lot about your character. I’m very lucky to have someone like you in my life.” Pausing briefly, he added with a smirk, “One thing I have learned is that when I talk too much, I eventually say something stupid. So, since I think I’ve done pretty well up to this point, I’m going to shut up, before I say something really dumb.”

That made her laugh under her tears.

Taking his face in her palms, she kissed him.

Really kissed him.

For all the weeks of great sex and hot passion, this felt like their first kiss. Like the one that meant something. Like the one that changed things. The one that didn’t make them fall in love, but happened because they were already in love, even though neither one would ever dare say the words.

§

“Did you feel the earthquake last night?” Jim asked as he reviewed his fashion shoot images with Charlinda and Rusty. Standing in front of their apartment, Jim actually had slides they held up to the sun like kids with a Viewmaster.

Charlinda gasped. “Oh, my gosh! It freaked me out!” Jerking a thumb at Rusty, she added, “And this guy didn’t even care. He was all like, ‘Oh, it’s just an earthquake. Go back to bed.’”

Rusty chuckled, “Well, it wasn’t very big. Not even a 4.0.”

Rusty was downplaying it. In truth, it was the second or third most intense quake he ever felt.

“The whole bed was shaking!” Charlinda told her photographer.

“Really?” Jim said with inflated eyes.

“Yeah! And I remember thinking, I totally thought someone had broken in the apartment and was actually violently shaking the bed. When I jumped up, and there was no one there, I wasn’t sure if I should be more scared if there was someone else in the room or that there wasn’t.”

Jim and Rusty were both laughing at that point.

Rusty loved how often she made him laugh.

He wondered if she realized just how hilarious she was. She was one of those people with an instinctive gift for being hysterical, and those people usually don’t realize they have that gift.

Her telling of that story made Rusty just a little more crazy about his perfect girlfriend.

§

Rusty didn’t know how to handle things with Charlinda.

Here he was, 36 years old, and he had no idea what relationships were about.

He was great at dating. Being with someone for a few months, he was fantastic. Rusty knew about being charming, and seductive, and sweeping girls off their feet, and doing special things.

But with Charlinda, he had no idea how to behave.

What was he supposed to do, once those first weeks have passed?

Once the “newness” wears off, girls always leave.

The newness with Charlinda was wearing thin.

And Rusty didn’t know what to do about it.

He constantly felt like she was bored or restless or simply not happy. Over and over, he tried talking to her about it, and she would never open up. Rusty didn’t understand why real life wasn’t like the movies. Why didn’t women ever get mad at him? Why didn’t they ever scream at him and tell him why they were upset? Why didn’t they ever mention what made them angry? Instead, they always go silent and quietly drift away. In real life, women are vehemently passive-aggressive and simply expect all men to be mind readers. Rusty continually thought she was going to leave him. She just felt so distant and aloof.

Then he realized...

Wait...

Maybe this is normal. This is what relationships are like. They become a minefield of uncertainty.

Dating is all roses.

The minute a person starts to act aloof while dating, it’s all over.

But relationships are different.

Being aloof or wanting time alone is just a natural need. Doesn’t mean the person wants to end the romance. Right?

When dating, that “alone time” is automatic.

When living together, it takes effort.

Charlinda was away at a photoshoot and Isabeau followed Rusty out of the kitchen. “See? You are learning here.”

Carrying a bowl of chili, Rusty nodded, “Indeed, I am.”

From the couch, Oona asked, “What is Charlinda here to teach you?”

“I’m not sure. If I already knew the lesson, she wouldn’t be here anymore, would she?”

“True enough.”

Setting down the bowl, Rusty said, “So, the lessons will come in their due time. It’s all good.”

Isabeau volunteered, “This is a very special time. That much you know.”

Rusty nearly giggled as he thought about his life. “Hey, I’m living with a gorgeous fashion model who is 16 years my junior. I’m young. Successful. I have a great job. Yes. That’s special. Plus, she’s only the second girl I’ve ever lived with. I mean, that’s significant.”

Isabeau chuckled and spoke with phony melodrama, “And what have you learned about your destiny? What wisdom have you gained in your years?”

Thinking it over, Rusty said, “The knowledge that things will work out.”

“Indeed. No matter what ultimately happens, you’ll be fine.”

“Is this girl going to break my heart?”

“No.”

“No? Such a direct answer? No poetry? No long metaphors?”

Oona added, “No. You’ve learned the heartbreak lesson enough. This girl is not in your life to teach you that again.”

Giving a slight sigh, Rusty asked, “Why don’t I trust her?”

“Because you shouldn’t! You’ve never known a woman who has not disappointed you in one way or another. You are simply waiting for Charlinda to be like all the others. You know it’s inevitable.”

“Heck, that’s not very uplifting! Am I really so cynical?”

“Maybe you need to learn to trust.”

“But if she betrays me, I will simply be playing the fool!”

“When she betrays you. Not if.”

“Right. When.” Rusty nodded.

“No. If a woman asks you to trust her, and you a give a woman your trust, and she betrays you, that makes her the fool. Not you.”

Gazing momentarily out the window, Rusty wondered, “Is she worth loving?”

“Everyone is worth loving, daddy. The question is, do they have the wherewithal to appreciate it and love you back?”

“Well...”

Isabeau knew he already had the answer. She told her father, “Let me ask you this... You often doubt the devotion of others, right? But you know how worthy you are. You never question that, do you?... Many people question their own worth. You never do. You only question the capacity of others to appreciate your value. Right? That in itself speaks volumes for your character. Those who are not at your level will call it arrogant. But you know better. You know your own worth. And you will settle for nothing less than those who cherish it.”

“Thank you... Thank you...”

§

“I didn’t really appreciate the way you talked to me today.” Charlinda announced as they were getting into bed.

“Excuse me?” Rusty asked, adjusting the covers.

“When I put too much detergent in the washing machine and it started to overflow and you freaked out. You treated me like I was some kind of idiot. I didn’t appreciate that.”

Rusty scoffed. “Oh, no. No. I’m not doing this.”

“Doing what?”

“It’s 11p.m. I’ve been home from work for 5 hours and this is the first time you mention this? You had 5 hours to bring this up. Now you want to argue with me right before we go to sleep? No. I’m not doing this. That’s fucking ridiculous. You want to talk to me about this? It can wait until tomorrow.”

“Fine.”

Rusty wasn’t stupid.

He knew that was one of the worst possible responses he could have given to her. He just didn’t give a damn. Playing stupid emotional mindgames was something he never had patience for. When women tried to force him to play, he’d just take his ball and go home.

§

The cracks began to widen more at a Fourth of July party.

Susan and Brad were a young married couple living in the Inland Empire. Susan was one of the makeup artists Rusty worked with on his photography shoots and she invited him and Charlinda to her house for a barbeque.

Rusty figured this was the ideal opportunity for his new girlfriend to meet people. Make friends. She was new to town, after all. Barely knew anybody.

Charlinda spent the whole time sitting in the corner of the patio, talking on her cellphone to one of her male friends that Rusty never met.

Rusty played it cool at first.

Then ten minutes went by. Then fifteen.

When Rusty confronted her, she politely got off the phone.

“Hey. Aren’t you going to come get some food? Meet some people?”

“I don’t know anyone here.” Charlinda pouted.

“Well,” Rusty scratched the back of his head, “neither do I.”

“Yes you do. You know the host and her friends.”

“No. I only know the host and her husband. I’ve never met any of these other people. But I’m still talking with them.”

“Can you get me a hamburger?” Charlinda smiled, apparently ignoring everything else Rusty said.

He wasn’t about to get into a fight with her, so he smiled back and said, “Of course. What do you want on it?”

“Just relish.”

“Relish?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“A hamburger with relish. No mustard? Ketchup? Lettuce?”

“Nope. Just relish.”

“Cheese?”

“Then it would be a cheeseburger. I just want a hamburger.”

There’s something about people with weird food habits. In and of itself, that’s not a valid reason to break up with somebody, but it sure shows there’s something wrong with them. “Who puts just relish and nothing else on a hamburger?”

“I do.”

“Okay. No problem. I’ll get you one.”

By the time Rusty walked past the swimming pool to the grill on the other side of the patio, Charlinda was right back on her damn cellphone again.

Rusty looked around.

There were easily twenty other people at the party.

No one else was on their phone. Not one person. Everyone else was being sociable and talking to people.

Charlinda hung up again as Rusty came near her with the food. Again he asked her to socialize. Again she preferred to sit in the corner alone.

When he spotted her back on the phone for a third time, Rusty had introduced himself to a group of people. Susan asked Rusty if there was something wrong with Charlinda. Was everything okay? Why was she sitting in the corner all by herself on the phone?

Rusty made some comment about her being shy.

He wasn’t sure what to say really.

Embarrassing to bring a girlfriend to a party and have her spend the whole time talking to another boy on the phone.

What the hell is that all about?

By the time a third guest asked him if Charlinda was okay, Rusty was feeling really humiliated. More and more people were showing up at the party and absolutely no one else was ignoring all the other guests. Everyone was being sociable.

Everyone except Charlinda. She never got off her damn phone.

Not once.

Only Charlinda was being a rude wallflower.

People kept asking questions.

What was wrong with that girl?

Was Rusty making her sit there?

Wouldn’t he allow her to talk to anybody?

How could she date such an oppressive boyfriend?

Why was she staying on the phone?

Did she have some kind of emergency?

Who is she?

Did she come here with someone?

Why isn’t she talking to anybody?

Finally, Rusty just decided to leave. He couldn’t spend all evening explaining the rude actions of his anti-social girlfriend. And what more could he do? Start screaming at her in front of three dozen people? Then she wouldn’t look like the douchebag anymore. Rusty would be the asshole.

No. He couldn’t yell at her.

But at least he could take her home.

After all, who wants to be seen with a girl like that?

§

Slowly, her rudeness increased.

In the next few weeks, Charlinda became even more distant. Cold. Removed.

Making herself lunch as Rusty walked up to the bathroom, she once asked, “If I stopped having sex with you, would you still let me live here?”

Rusty stopped in his tracks.

“What!? What kind of a question is that?” The next sentence anyone would think was - Do you want to stop having sex with me? But Rusty didn’t dare ask that aloud.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

“What? What is what you thought?”

“You won’t answer the question.” Charlinda snapped.

“Are you serious? Can you stop having sex with me and still live here?”

“No. That’s your answer. I need to keep having sex with you to keep living here. Right?”

“What? You... I... I don’t even know how to answer that.”

“No. Because you don’t have the balls to admit it.”

“What the fuck? Admit what!? Listen, Charlinda, you’re my girlfriend. So, yes, I do expect us to keep having sex. And if we suddenly stop having sex, then you’re not my girlfriend anymore. Right? Sexual intimacy is kind of a requirement for a romantic relationship. If you’re not my girlfriend, you’d be nothing but a roommate. You think I’m just going to share all my food and let a roommate live with me for free?”

“Whatever.”

Rusty was far more interested in taking a leak than continuing this moronic conversation. So, he walked away and kept heading for the bathroom.

He couldn’t help but think one of her braindead new friends put her up to asking that question. Something about the way Charlinda said it, suggested she hadn’t thought to ask such an asinine question herself. Someone put her up to it.

Ask him if you need to keep having sex with him.

See what he says.

Who put that stupid cross-examination in her head? Was it that chick who was dating Powder Duke? Was it the mystery “friend” she keeps talking to on the phone that she never seemed to want Rusty to meet? Whomever it was, Rusty was sure asking this question wasn’t her idea. She was just repeating something she was told to ask.

Whatever.

§

Charlinda was invited to a birthday party for Eve, the evil girlfriend of the equally evil Powder Duke. Charlinda went alone. Rusty wasn’t invited.

That said it all.

Rusty had to pick her drunk ass up from the party at 1 o’clock in the morning. She had a photoshoot at 7a.m. with the biggest client of her career, and she was out getting trashed at a party.

How professional.

His respect for Charlinda plummeted that night.

Funny how Rusty had taken her to every party he was invited to attend that summer and the minute Charlinda gets invited to one, he is not welcome to accompany her and she goes alone. He never complained. He never said a word. He just knew it was one of many signs that she was done with him.

By that point, Charlinda wouldn’t even touch Rusty when they rode his motorcycle. She gripped the passenger handle instead.

Rusty tried asking her what was wrong.

Did he fuck up?

Was she mad at him?

Why was she pulling away?

She would claim it was just stress over finding jobs.

Then finally, she stopped answering altogether.

So, Rusty stopped asking.

He was stunned that this girl who was once the most polite and respectful girlfriend he ever knew was now giving the silent treatment to the man who was keeping her from being homeless on the streets of Los Angeles.

Rusty would awake at 3 in the morning to find the apartment empty. In a panic, he’d call her cellphone and she would be out for a “walk” because she couldn’t sleep.

Who the hell goes for walks at 3a.m.!?

Get a warm glass of milk like a normal person.

Naturally, she ended up walking to the only bad and sketchy part of the neighborhood in a three mile radius. Most of Rusty’s neighborhood was surrounded by million dollar homes and manicured lawns. Charlinda walked in the one and only direction that lead to police tape and chalk lines. How befitting. The girl subconsciously gravitates to the worst possible decision without even knowing it.

Rusty snooped on her phone one evening.

Sure enough, she was making and receiving one and two hour calls to other boys on those walks.

Finally, she stopped going on walks to make her calls and just shut herself in the spare bedroom. Through the door, Rusty could strain to hear her hushed voice talk about guys asking her “when they were going to start fucking”?

Rusty wasn’t even hurt.

All this was what he expected to happen.

Endings aren’t sad when you know they are coming, but it is a little hard to swallow when you hoped it wouldn’t happen for a few more months.

Rusty stumbled into a profile on the Internet of an old friend named Samantha. She had gotten pregnant with a guy she had only been dating for eight months. They were leaving Los Angeles and moving to Florida together.

For some reason, that made Rusty cry.

He cried like he hadn’t wept in ages.

Just seeing the smiles of Samantha made him lose it.

Not Charlinda.

Not her slow rejection of him.

That didn’t crush him like this.

Like Samantha.

An old friend who was living her life. Being in love. Starting a family. The thing Rusty might never have.

All he could think about was Isabeau and Oona.

The daughters he might ultimately fail.

The worst part of all was how trivial he felt. After all, nursing wounds of self-pity never garners sympathy. And rightfully so.

§

Finally, after two weeks of Charlinda being constantly belligerent and rude, Rusty couldn’t take it anymore. He felt like a sissy. How pathetic to allow her to keep treating him like a doormat for two whole weeks. Surely, no one else would ever allow themselves to be mistreated for so long. At the time, two weeks seemed like an eternity.

Later, Rusty would realize most people stay in bad relationships for years. Maybe he wasn’t as full of self-pity as he thought. In fact, maybe his sense of self-respect was bordering on megalomania.

“How long are we going to keep doing this?”

“Keep doing what?” Charlinda asked, mesmerized by her social media profile and barely paying attention to Rusty.

“This. This thing with you ignoring me and pretending like nothing is wrong.”

“I don’t know.”

Rusty couldn’t believe that was her answer. She honestly didn’t care. Did she really believe she could just ignore him, not speak to him, stop touching him, and he’d continue to support her, rent free? Was she really that stupid? Did she think biting the hand that feeds her would have no consequences?

Scoffing at her ignorance, Rusty said, “Well, I’m not doing this anymore. If this is the way you’re going to treat me, it’s over. We’re not dating anymore. We’re not a couple. I’m not your boyfriend. It’s over.”

“Okay.”

Rusty waited for Charlinda to say something more. She didn’t.

“Okay?” Rusty repeated. “That’s all you have to say?”

“What else do you want me to say?”

“That’s exactly the problem.” Rusty mumbled more to himself than to her.

Suddenly, Rusty realized that instead of feeling hurt or depressed by her apathy, he felt relieved. This was the end. This was the day he always knew was coming. He could finally get rid of her. Finally life could go back to the way it had been. He’d be all alone and wouldn’t have to put up with a freeloader who treated him like crap everyday.

And deep down, as awful as she had been the past two weeks, he was so grateful for all the love she had shown him for the eight weeks prior. Leaning over her, he tenderly kissed her head, “Thank you. Thank you for everything.”

“I have no idea what to say to that.”

“I know you don’t. You could try, ‘You’re welcome.’”

Snidely and dripping with sarcasm, she said, “You’re welcome.”

Rusty left the room and she stayed on the computer.

And so, on a Thursday night in August, at the age of 36, Rusty lost the last girlfriend he would ever have. At the time, he didn’t know she was the last. Had he known, maybe he would have held on longer.

Charlinda really couldn’t have cared less that Rusty left her.

Later that evening, Charlinda went out with one of her friends.

She never came home.

Rusty finally reached her on her cellphone the next afternoon when he was still at work. “Where the hell have you been?”

“With a friend.”

“Damnit. You know, Charlinda, just because I broke up with you doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. Don’t go staying out all night and never call me. That was really shitty of you.”

“I’m sorry.”

He was shocked that she actually apologized.

Rusty finally realized the difference between a broken heart in his twenties and being a grownup. In his twenties, he’d cry like a girl and listen to The Cure for weeks on end - probably the Pornography album too. At the age of 36, he listened to Frank Sinatra for a day or two and never shed a tear.

§

Rusty confronted Charlinda the next evening.

“We need to decide when you’re going to move out.”

“Why do you want me to move out?” Charlinda whined like a teenager asking her dad why she couldn’t wear a miniskirt.

Rusty was stunned.

Did she actually ask that question?

“Are you kidding me? Why do I want you to move out? Um, because you’re not paying rent and you’re not my girlfriend. You think I’d just let you live here and support you indefinitely?”

As usual, Charlinda didn’t respond.

Rusty snapped, “But more importantly, this whole living situation is really awkward for both of us now. I would think you’d want to avoid that.”

Charlinda shrugged, “I’m not uncomfortable at all.”

Ten seconds after her first infuriating comment and she just made it worse. She wasn’t uncomfortable living like a freeloader with a guy she was no longer dating?

Why did that surprise him?

This girl truly had no morals. No ethics. No honor.

Did she really think the world just owed her a living for nothing?

“Well, I’m not a total asshole,” Rusty explained. “I’m not just going to throw you out on the street. Worst case, if you can’t find a place, I’ll buy you a ticket back to Minnesota.”

Charlinda laughed in his face, like he was a geek hitting on her in a bar. “I am not going back to Minnesota!”

“Well, whatever. You’re not staying here either. My point is, I will make sure you have someplace to go.”

“Whatever.” Again, her voice dripped with a weird combination of apathy and entitlement.

Rusty calmly informed her, “So, you have until Monday.”

“Monday!?” Charlinda screamed. It was the first time she had raised her voice and the first time in weeks she had shown any emotion. “This Monday!?”

“Yes.”

“But it’s Thursday! That’s only like 3 days!”

“I know.” Rusty spoke calm and warmly, like he was telling her they were ordering pizza.

“How do you expect me to find a new place in 3 days?”

“You have plenty of friends you talk to all the time on the phone. Besides, like I said, if you don’t find a place, I will get you plane ticket back to your mother in Minnesota. That’s what you were planning on doing before you met me anyway. I don’t see why going back there is a problem. I’m offering to pay for you to do exactly what you would have done if we never met. I won’t toss you on the street. You won’t be homeless. I would never do that to you.”

“I told you, I am not going back to Minnesota!”

“Whatever.” Rusty basked in the opportunity to throw that word back in her face.

There was no denying it anymore. She never showed a single emotion over the breakup. But the moment she thought she might be sent back to Minnesota, she flipped out.

Rusty had to face the truth. The only reason Charlinda ever started dating him was because she wanted to live in Los Angeles and he was the only sucker who would give her a place to stay.

She used him.

And he let her.

Once she began to go out meet more people and she started to seduce more boys, Rusty always knew she would leave him. He knew damn well it was only a matter of time before she found her next pushover. Her next gullible dupe.

They were just lovers in love. A little bit, but never enough.

§

In bed that night, Rusty was amused. He imagined that Charlinda joined him under the covers just to torture him, but it wasn’t working. Slipping her body next to his, knowing he couldn’t touch her anymore, didn’t fill him with sorrow, but revulsion.

She had paraded around the house in her underwear, showing off her hickeys from the night before, and saying, “It’s so nice to be single in LA.”

Rusty knew she had been with Powder and his girlfriend.

That didn’t make Rusty jealous at all.

He was disgusted and genuinely felt sorry for her. The girl had no idea she was boasting about slipping down a dark, dark path. This would lead to her ruin, and Charlinda naïvely thought it was something to brag about.

Rusty had warned her about those people weeks ago.

They were dark souls. Bad news.

Charlinda didn’t listen, of course.

Girls never listen when you warn them to stay away from the cave of shadows, to beware the forest of gloom.

No. They will always march right in.

Always.

Perhaps because all girls are partially made of darkness.

Neglecting Rusty and being disrespectful for those past weeks made his armor of apathy freeze solid around his heart. Rusty felt nothing.

“Now you know the answer.” Rusty said in the dark.

“To what?” Charlinda asked.

“When we first started dating, I told you girls leave me and they never give me a reason why. You asked me why they would do that. I told you I don’t know. Well, now you know the answer. Now you’ve become one of them. I still don’t have the answer. But you do.”

In that room where love had died, Charlinda didn’t say a word.

§

Isabeau peeked in the bathroom as her dad finished his shower. “How you holding up?”

Much like venting his sorrows and doubts, he lost his trepidations about his daughters sharing places with him like the bathroom. After all, a puritanical attitude about nudity seems rather infantile when speaking with ageless spirit-beings. Rusty shook his head. “Not well. We’re arguing like crazy and we never did before. Never. I’m not used to this. I’m too mellow.”

“Ha! That’s a lie! You’re a totally enraged soul. Remember?”

“Well, I guess I do have a bit of a temper.” Rusty smirked.

“Dad...”

“Okay. Okay. Fine. I am a pretty furious person.”

Isabeau, satisfied at his admission, told her father, “You must control it more.”

Thinking how furious he was with her ongoing silent-treatment, Rusty stuck up for himself, saying, “Hey, I think I’ve done a damn good job.”

Isabeau agreed, “You have. But you must do more.”

“Yes. Yes. I know.”

“You snapped tonight.”

Rusty stayed surprisingly calm despite her drilling him. “I know. I fear my words far more than my actions.”

Isabeau noted, “You can be cruel.”

“Very.”

“So, what now?”

“Now, I told Charlinda she had until Monday to get out. If she had nowhere to go, I’d get her a ticket back to Minnesota. She really hates - ”

“ - No, she doesn’t.”

“She really thinks I’m an asshole. Same thing as hating me.”

“Eh...”

Rusty took that as agreement. “Yeah. I thought so. Anyway, apparently, I was right about her bad decisions. I heard it through the grapevine that she slept with Powder and Eve last night... So begins her journey down the dark path.”

Rusty gripped the sinktop, upset that he could no longer protect Charlinda from herself.

“Ew.”

“Yeah. They are gross. Vile little drug addicts.”

“You can’t blame yourself for her bad choices. You tried to warn her. Not your fault that she didn’t listen.”

“I was her seraphim. I tried to tell her. But she never saw what I could be to her.”

“More than you know.” Isabeau nearly whispered.

“Taking a seraphim for granted in a city of angels is not a wise decision.”

“Seraph.” Isabeau corrected.

“Excuse me?”

“Seraph. Seraph is singular. Seraphim is plural. In this context, you should be saying seraph.”

Rusty squinted as he readied his toothbrush. “You sure?”

“Trust me.”

“Sorry. Seraph. Seraphim sounds better though.”

Isabeau just pursed her lips in consternation.

Rusty started brushing and talked between spits. “I pray she - ”

“ - She won’t be okay. But she will learn... And in time, she will be fine.”

“I wonder if we’ll be friends again.” Rusty wasn’t sure why he said that when he already knew the answer. Perhaps he was just hoping Isabeau would tell him he was wrong.

“Do you?”

“... No. Not really.”

“You’ve known many lost souls. And you’ve lost many souls.”

“Indeed.”

“Have any of them ever known they were lost?”

“Not a one. I just worry about her.”

“Don’t.” Isabeau folder her arms, “You are not her personal savior. You are not obligated to rescue her. She has to save herself. You already did all you could. You did more than anyone ever has. You set her upon the path. You showed her the light. You gave her the way.”

Rusty nodded. “I know. But she ignored the path.”

“That’s her choice. The rest is up to her.”

“Yeah. I just wish I was better at saving them.”

“You’re better than you realize.”

“I hope that’s true.”

Isabeau kissed his cheek, “Remember dad, the lost souls will always deny that you saved them, and once you lead them back to the light, they will always judge you for walking in the shadows.”

“It’s a thankless job.” Rusty smirked.

“But somebody has to do it.”

“Thanks, kid.”

Weeks before they broke up, Rusty once told Charlinda that when she looks back on her life, she would realize that he was one of the best things that happened to her in California, and one day, she’ll remember their days together as some of the best moments of her life.

Rusty didn’t need to look back at those days.

He already knew.

He would love her even more after she was gone.

§

“When I asked you to show Charlinda around, I meant around Los Angeles, not around your dick.” Sherisa berated Rusty.

“Ohhhh! Really? Is that what you meant? You really need to be more specific next time. See, I totally thought you meant my dick.”

“Uh, no.”

“Okay. Well, I’ll be sure to ask from now on. Dick or city?”

“She was playing you the whole time. You know that, right? What were you thinking?”

Rusty crinkled his nose at her voice in his phone. “Come on! I was living with a drop-dead-gorgeous, bedhopping, little minx, fashion-model. I had an absolutely wonderful time! She was fabulous! Are you kidding me? What was I thinking? I was thinking, ‘This is gonna be awesome!’ And it was! I had a blast! What on Earth do I have to complain about? It was fan-freakin’-tastic! A whirlwind summer-romance full of fire and passion that moved incredibly fast and burned itself out in a flash. How fun! That rocked! This was far from a heartbreaking experience. It was rapturous!”

“You know, she talked to her boyfriend totally different when you weren’t around.”

“What do you mean?” Rusty didn’t expect to hear that.

“You should have heard her. She was really sweet to him everytime they talked. Only when you were here was she acting all annoyed with him and stuff. Jacob noticed it too. She was all snotty and mean to him, but only when she knew you were in the room. Anytime you weren’t here, she treated her boyfriend like gold.”

Rusty was dumbfounded.

Sherisa just admitted that she and her husband knew Charlinda was manipulating him, yet Sherisa never warned Rusty? Now she has the gall to deride Rusty because he fell for it!?

What kind of a friend is that!?

“What the hell, Sherisa? How can you sit there and blame me for being tricked by Charlinda when you admit that you knew it all along and you didn’t say anything to me!?”

“I figured you were smarter than that.”

“What!? What are you talking about!? I’m not psychic. How the hell do you expect me to know that she’s treating her boyfriend differently when I’m not around!? You think I have spy cameras in your house, so I could see how she’s acting when I wasn’t there?”

Rusty was furious. Friends are supposed to protect each other from things like that. Look out for each other. Have each others back. For all the times he complained about Sherisa, this was the last straw. How dare she? That is not friendship.

“I didn’t want to get in the middle of that.”

“Um, you introduced us. That kind of automatically puts you in the middle of it.”

Sherisa was a great friend at one time.

This was really making him realize she wasn’t anymore. For the first time, he recognized that Sherisa wasn’t just bitchy. She was actually a terrible person.

Rusty didn’t care that Sherisa didn’t warn him about Charlinda.

What bothered Rusty was that Sherisa knowingly allowed him to be manipulated and now she’s acting like he did something wrong.

Sherisa told Rusty, “She was just using you. And you let her.”

“So? What’s wrong with that? Everyone uses each other.”

“That’s not true! My husband and I love each other. We’re not using each other.”

“I never said using people means you don’t love them. But you are using each other.”

Sherisa scoffed, offended. “My husband doesn’t use me.”

“Yes, he does. And you use him. You want and expect certain things from him. He wants and expects certain things from you. If you stop giving each other the things you need, you’ll get divorced.”

“That’s not true.”

“Yes it is! You were the one telling me that you were thinking of divorcing him when he was playing videogames all the time.”

“That’s because he was being neglectful as a husband and a father.”

“Exactly. That is my point. You are using him. You use him to be a good father and a good husband. The moment he ceases to fulfill those needs, you would be willing to get rid of him. There’s nothing wrong with that. I’m just saying that we all use each other.”

“That’s not using someone! My God! I can’t believe I’m even having this conversation. Love is different.”

“How? How is it different? Would you love him if he was beating you, and cheating on you, and became a heroin addict? Would you still let him be a father if he was abusing your kids? No. You don’t love your husband unconditionally. If you started living under those conditions, your love would end. You only love him because he complies with certain conditions. Because he provides you with things you need. You use each other for mutual companionship. Right? Why did you confess that you were going to leave him when he was playing videogames too much? Because he was not giving you what you need. He was ignoring you. He was ignoring the kids. You are using him for a certain level of attention and companionship; a level which he was failing to provide. We all use each other. Friends. Business associates. Married couples. Lovers. Hell, even your kids are using you. Once your daughters get old enough to be on their own, they will move out. Why? Because you will no longer be providing them with what they need in life.”

Sherisa didn’t much like hearing any of that.

“Whatever. Now I know why you’re single.”

Rusty chuckled. He knew she was upset by what he just told her. Because she didn’t have any way to contradict him, she tried to insult him instead. Very childish response. The kind of thing a kindergartner would do. Psychologically, she was very predictable and her juvenile retort didn’t surprise him at all.

Their conversation didn’t last much longer.

Shortly afterward, Rusty lost touch with her completely.

They had been friends for over a decade, but Rusty knew she wasn’t really worth keeping around anymore. She was too negative. Too full of herself and too down on everything. Rusty would be the first to admit that he had a dark side too, but he never belittled the joy of others. That was one thing about Sherisa that Rusty couldn’t stomach; her bitter jealousy when friends and acquaintances found success and joy.

Charlinda brought him immense joy.

Had Sherisa been a good friend, she would have been happy for what Rusty and Charlinda shared. Instead Sherisa belittled Rusty and spoke to him with contempt for getting involved with the very girl she introduced him to.

Who needs friends like that?

§

Charlinda stopped over on Monday night when Rusty was in bed. Nearly asleep, he heard the door open, she rummaged around the livingroom, then was gone again.

“What the hell?” Rusty sat up.

Getting out of bed, he went downstairs. No sign of her.

Suddenly, he noticed her phone charger was missing.

Seriously? That was the only reason she showed up? She didn’t even say anything to Rusty? At least her actions reinforced that leaving her was the right decision.

He told her to be gone that night!

Not only was she not moved out, but she hadn’t called him for three days. He wasn’t her free storage facility. She never called or took the time to sit down and have a conversation about leaving her things or needing more time.

The next day, he changed the locks.

Afterward, he left her a polite message on her voicemail, informing her that her things were packed and waiting for her. She was welcome to come pick them up anytime she wanted.

If she ever had a change of heart and been polite or apologetic anywhere along the line, Rusty would have been more lenient.

Hell, he wouldn’t have broken up with her in the first place if she had only tried to stay with him! One word. That was all he needed. If she had shown the slightest inclination that she missed him, or she wanted him back, he would have been all hers.

She never said a word.

Instead of trying to stay with him, Charlinda was clearly relieved that Rusty did the breaking up for her. He knew. He could tell. She wanted to leave him. She just didn’t have the nerve to do it. Rusty did the exact same thing once, when he had the same cowardice and feared breaking up with a girl a decade earlier.

Smirking to himself, he realized, no matter how much she grew to hate him, Charlinda never said he had a small dick.

His winning streak still stood.

§

Eve showed up with Charlinda to pick up her things.

Rusty didn’t carry a single box.

Poor girl. He warned her. Living with Eve and Powder?

Charlinda was going to regret that.

Rusty never said a word as the girls filled the car.

He warned Charlinda those creatures were trouble. Now she’d have to learn that lesson the hard way.

As Charlinda walked out his door for the last time, carrying the final box, he thought, but didn’t say, “My Little Lost Soul, devils like you need angels like me. We keep the universe in balance. But you do not have the power to corrupt me with your shadows. And I do not have the power to save you with my light.”

“Goodbye, Rusty.”

Charlinda didn’t even look at him as she said the words.

The door closed behind her.

Rusty never saw her or spoke to her again.

§

Rusty knew that romance would be the pinnacle of his life.

Somehow, he felt it.

Charlinda wouldn’t be the last girl he ever touched, but looking back on this life, he had an awful feeling that no subsequent lover would ever compare. That one brief summer would be the highlight of his entire life of dating. He would never be happier than he had been with Charlinda.

Even though he knew the romance was built on lies.

Even though he knew it wouldn’t last.

Even though their time together was only a few short weeks.

He knew he would never find a better girlfriend.

Never.

He was only 36 years old.

But Charlinda was the plateau.

When he became an old man who looked back on “the good old days”, no memories of any girlfriend would shine more golden than those of Charlinda Hiller.

We all bear the burden of a singular oblivion. An isolation like no other. Strange that in all the languages of mankind, there is no word to name that ultimate hollowness we all share. Perhaps the word has never been invented because we fear to speak of it so easily. More comforting instead to describe it in a poetry that we share with gentle nods and soft hands upon shoulders. Knowing we are all brothers and sisters to that emptiness, that any of us would give our cargo to others to shoulder for even a meaningless and vapid instant of connecting with another, no matter how brief or worthless.

For the comfort of that companionship, for staving off that oblivion, that was why Rusty would always adore Charlinda in ways even she couldn’t understand.

Rusty had not one regret and didn’t take an instant of it for granted. She had a noble heart buried within that lost soul, and Rusty had every faith she would eventually mature into a considerate and gracious woman. As condescending as she would deem that sentiment, he felt it with loving sincerity, and not one drop of belittlement.

Charlinda wasn’t that great.

She was mean. She was spiteful. She treated him like dirt.

By her actions, his life was still enriched, for he was learning to move past being judgmental to accept her with her flaws. What a glorious lesson to be taught! Can you imagine? Rusty was given a chance to advance his thinking and evolve his spirit, because of all their relationship was teaching him about himself. Wondrous!

Sometimes, we learn the most about integrity, character and devotion by the respect we show not to others, but to ourselves.

How could Rusty be anything other than grateful for being blessed with knowing such a soul?

Because for a short time, she treated him like a king. For a short time, no other girl in his life had ever shown him more love, respect, tenderness or adoration.

Her transformation was impressive. To go from being the kindest girlfriend of his life to the bitchiest was remarkable. Charlinda managed to color both ends of the spectrum.

Despite how heartless and neglectful she became, deep down inside, he knew Charlinda was the best he’d ever have.

Thus he betrayed every hope he ever possessed, for perhaps if he told her, if he had said those three words, things may have unfolded differently. But never would he afford himself that luxury. Never would he stoke the flame of that failure. Instead would he always tell himself her betrayal was inevitable. Blame her. Never dare to question himself. For to question himself he may discover the true horror that perhaps she honestly loved him and the disintegration of their loveaffair was entirely his doing.

What if, just what if she wasn’t using him?

Never would he admit to those pains. For in truth, Rusty cherished her more than any girlfriend he had ever known.

And not once did he ever admit to her how he truly felt.

Months later, Rusty learned Charlinda had broken down in tears and was crying to her friends the night they broke up.

Charlinda never cried in front of Rusty.

Was she lying to her friends, just to play the victim?

Or did she hide her true love from Rusty, just as he hid his love from her? Were they both too scared to admit their feelings?

For the rest of his life, Rusty pretended their love was one-sided. To consider the possibility that she may have loved him back, hurt too much. So, he always told himself that she never did. And even though he’d never admit it to anyone, he never stopped wondering, if he admitted he loved her, just once, might that have convinced her to stay?

Only her pillow ever heard him speak the truth.

“I love you, Charlinda... I’ll always love you.”

He didn’t mean it with all his heart. But some of his heart did.

And in the lonely dark of his room, the drama of it felt good.

Chapter Nine

“I changed my mind.” Veronica told Rusty over the phone. “I was talking to my friends and they said I was crazy to pass up an opportunity like this.”

Veronica and Rusty had been online friends for over a decade.

Since he was doing well financially, he decided to invite her to come visit him. They had never met before.

When he first encountered Veronica, all those years ago, he had a slight crush on her. She was ten years younger than him and a beautiful brunette goth girl with deep brown eyes and dripping with a milky tan of olive Greek skin. But over time, their relationship had become very brotherly/sisterly and he wasn’t attracted to her anymore. Besides, she never once reciprocated any interest in him. As the saying goes, you can’t get blood out of a turnip.

“What does that mean?” Veronica asked.

“It means why waste your time with something that’s never going to happen?”

“Ah, I’ll have to remember that one.”

“So, you’re serious? You really want to come?”

“Yeah. Totally. I think it’d be fun!”

Rusty had actually planned out an entire itinerary for them a few weeks earlier, when he had presumed she would accept his initial offer. “Hell, yeah, it’ll be fun. There is so much we can see and do when you’re here!”

The truth was, Rusty was lonely and he wanted some company.

Charlinda had left him a year ago and he’d been alone ever since.

Flying a friend to California was the ideal solution.

He could have a great visit, then just when he was getting tired of entertaining her, she would leave. Perfect.

§

Once they met, Rusty didn’t remotely have a crush on Veronica.

She was a little heavier in person than she looked in photos.

Her smoking cigarettes was really vile too.

Nevertheless, their friendship was lovely and her company truly was a pleasure. Rusty was grateful just to have someone to talk to everyday. As much as he valued his time alone, he didn’t realize how much he missed the company of other people until he had a houseguest. Sure, he spoke to people in his office, but this was different.

They went to dinner together. Had long conversations about love and life. He took her to do all the typical touristy things; Hollywood Boulevard, Venice Beach, Santa Monica Pier, Disneyland, The Getty. After two or three days, Veronica was falling in love with Los Angeles just as Rusty had.

During breakfast, on an outdoor patio, at a cozy restaurant, nestled in the woods of the Santa Monica mountains, Veronica confessed, “I have to admit, I almost didn’t come to see you.”

“I know. You turned me down and your friends convinced you to come.” Rusty nodded, unsure why she’d think he had forgotten.

“No, no,” Veronica sipped some orange juice. “I mean after I decided to come, I almost canceled.”

That was news to him. “Why?”

“Because of something a friend of mine told me. He had been to Los Angeles and he told me it was dirty and hot and scary. He said it was all ghettos and thugs and trash and graffiti everywhere.”

Rusty laughed. “How would he know? Has he ever been here?”

“Yes! He has! That’s why I was kind of freaked out. But, now, I finally understand why you love it here so much. This is the most beautiful city I’ve ever seen. I don’t understand why my friend said all that awful stuff.”

Finishing a bite of French toast, Rusty explained, “Let me ask you something. That friend who told you LA was awful; is he an optimistic person?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean his attitude in general. I bet he’s kind of negative and cynical and down on things a lot. Right?”

Veronica mulled it over for a second or two, waving a wand of bacon, “Yeah. Now that you mention it. He is pretty down on most things. How did you know?”

“Because, my dear,” Rusty smiled, “Life is what you make of it. I don’t think your friend was lying to you. He was telling you the truth. But, we gravitate towards the things we want in life. His version of Los Angeles really was dirty and scary and dangerous, because that was the side of the city he chose to experience. He probably stayed in a bad neighborhood and hung out with equally cynical people. He’s a negative person, so that is what he sees. I have shown you my Los Angeles. My version of Los Angeles is bright and fun and beautiful and serene because that’s the side of the city which I have chosen to experience. This city can be a nightmare or a dream-come-true. All depends on how you decide to live your life.”

Veronica still didn’t want to date Rusty, but if he had said that to her late at night, on a couch, when she was a little drunk, she would have kissed him.

§

Relaxing after a hard day of tourist leisure, Rusty and Veronica were back in his livingroom, discussing love affairs.

Rusty told her it was easy to find girls who liked him and were interested in him, but it was tough to find a girl who would stick around.

Veronica looked at him, genuinely confused; as though baffled by his inability to notice the obvious. Very matter-of-factually, she merely said, “Well, Rusty, you’re not... excessively normal.”

Rusty laughed and told her, he needed that on a t-shirt:

I’M NOT EXCESSIVELY NORMAL!

Veronica laughed along, but stuck by her statement. “It’s true! You know that. The way you see things. Your outlook on life. Your philosophies. Your attitude. Your values. Your approach to things. Look, I mean, I’ve known you for 10 years and you’re nothing like anyone else I’ve ever met.”

“Well, thanks.” Rusty blushed.

“You know that’s true. Every friend in your life tells you that. I’m sure it’s hard for most girls to really connect with you. Like they find you really fascinating, but they have a hard time staying close to you, because you just don’t think like everyone else. Besides, you’ve had a lot of relationships. It’s not like you’re some awkward weirdo who has never had a girlfriend.”

“Well, yeah, that’s true.”

Rusty answered dreamily. His voice spoke the words, but his mind was far off in the clouds. He couldn’t believe what she had just told him.

Was she right?

Was the “reason” truly so simple?

Maybe Veronica was on to something.

There is something about being “different” - when someone says it about himself, it sounds pretentious and arrogant and is therefore met with skepticism and incredulity. When someone says so about another, it lends legitimacy to the remark. She didn’t intend those statements as compliments anyway - just as self-evident truths.

Yet, it was a moment when things really changed for Rusty.

Maybe she was right.

Maybe he just needed her outside perspective.

Was it really so simple?

Could it be that his personality was simply too odd for women to build lasting connections with?

Has that been the answer all along?

He wasn’t sure.

But such a simple explanation sure made a lot of sense.

One thing he did know - he was tired of thinking about it.

No matter how magnanimous one tries to be, there comes a time when overanalyzing your lovelife simply becomes pathetic. Seriously, if a man was still writing “why can’t I find a good girl?” journal entries at the age of 45, it was time to concede to becoming a monk.

§

Laying in bed the night Veronica went back to New York, a contemplative Rusty couldn’t get his recent romances out of his head.

Older women were clearly a mistake.

For awhile there, after so many relationships with young girls going so badly, he thought it was time to change. Date older women. Rusty had the delusion that as a woman got older she’d be more mature and responsible and emotionally stable and comfortable with herself. He thought she’d open up more sexually and be more brave and exciting. He thought she’d have her act together.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

Man, he was completely off-base with those assumptions.

Instead, Rusty discovered as women got older they became set in their ways. They became less confident and more repressed sexually. They became far more neurotic and uptight and unwilling to experiment. They became jaded and developed tons of hang ups and rules and expectations. They became cynical and venomous and lacked morality and decorum far worse than young girls.

Although he dated countless women and had an unembarrassing quantity of them in his bed, he only had three officially committed “girlfriends” in his life. They were all under 25.

After years of focusing on dating women over 30, he ended up with “Official Girlfriend Number 4” - Charlinda. That darling little vixen was 16 years younger than him - the largest age-difference of anyone he’d ever dated.

Being with her was more fun than he had experienced in years! Finally, he was back in a relationship that went somewhere! A relationship that meant something! She moved in with him and all summer she was vibrant and alive and bold and daring and had a sense of adventure and vigor and life inside of her. Their loveaffair was full of laughter and playfulness and sensuality and passion and connection. She was an absolute blast! Rusty finally remembered what he had been missing. This was why he loved young girls in the first place!

The most rewarding and fulfilling romances of his life had all been with girls under 25. They had the greatest laughs. They had the deepest conversations. They had most fun in bed. They had the best adventures. They shared the strongest connections. They dreamed the most vivid hopes. Their songs were waterslides and cottoncandy and they danced like no others.

Yes, Rusty knew young girls could be mean and vindictive and irresponsible.

Who cares?

The older women proved they can be just as rude and impolite and inconsiderate as any teenager! Not one of them showed anymore kindness than a young girl. In fact, older chicks were far meaner, because they’ve evolved far more devious skills. Very disheartening. Because emotionally, you expect it from a young girl and can forgive her for being juvenile. It’s far more disappointing when such behavior manifests in a woman old enough to know better.

So what were his choices? To be with an occasionally bitchy and snotty young girl who is fun and carefree and upbeat? Or to hook up with a tiresome and snarky older woman who is dull and neurotic and pessimistic?

No contest.

Who would anyone rather be around?

The worst part is the “damaged goods” factor of older women. Most have “trust issues” with men because they’ve been hurt and heartbroken and lied to all their lives. When a decent man comes along, they still behave with apprehension and never loosen up. Young girls? They don’t have any of those hangups. They still believe in love and have faith in romance and shooting stars. Treat a young girl well and she’ll be devoted to your heart for life, even after you break up. Because no heart walks away from the firsts.

Everyone reading this is old enough to have learned that one.

Time and time again, Rusty gave friends and loved ones the same old advice about relationships - they only exist to enhance our lives. Regardless of the relationship - friendship, professional, romantic, intellectual, spiritual - it doesn’t matter. If the relationship is not a benefit to your life, if it is not enriching your life, you don’t need it. Granted, there are always exceptions. If a loved one has a terminal illness, that situation is obviously not enriching your life; it’s making you miserable. But you certainly don’t leave their side because of it. There are obvious exceptions to the rule. But, for the most part, relationships must always enrich our lives. Period. Otherwise, get rid of them.

Women over 30 have permitted themselves to become such heartbroken harpies, they never have anything enriching to offer. They have forgotten when they were born, they were all princesses.

When faced with the honest reality of who and what he was, calling him a “boy” might be one of the most accurate descriptions any girl has ever pinned upon Rusty. He had never grown up. He didn’t act his age. He didn’t look his age. And one smile from a pretty girl could still make him feel like a kid in junior high.

Some people go through life and discover they aren’t getting any younger. Truth of the matter is, “growing up” is being a failure at living. After all, shouldn’t everyone remain childlike and young-at-heart all lifelong? Isn’t that the advice all the oldest and wisest souls bestow upon us?

Never grow up. Never grow old. Hold on to your innocence.

Life is short as hell. Why would Rusty want to waste one second of his finite time upon this Earth with a grown woman?

They say youth is wasted on the young.

One of his greatest blessings was being the exception to that rule.

The most beautiful music in the world is the song of living. The melody is playing all your life, if you only listen. It is to that tune we flow in the most graceful waltz. Take my hand. The floor is ours.

The women are sitting this one out.

Bring on the dancing girls.

§

“generalization:

Noun: a principle or statement based on specific instances but applied generally: the argument sinks to generalizations”

It’s very sad to me that in all of the years that I have known you, you haven’t actually grown beyond this attitude. I am glad to say, however, that I have certainly proven you wrong on all points. Not exactly sure why I bothered to read this... it was exactly what I expected. It has nothing to do with whether or not I liked it, or my age, simply that your experiences cannot become the rule for everyone else. That tricky arrogance I keep mentioning. You are aware that your opinions are not fact right? They will always only be opinions.

I like men who never evolve. It makes them so easy to spot. *smooch*

- Annie

Rusty stared at his computer, smirking at the reaction Annie had to the blog he had written about the thoughts swimming in his head the night before. He hadn’t seen this girl Annie but twice in his life and the most recent time was more than 9 years ago! Funny how she was no more than an acquaintance, yet presumed to know him so well. Funnier still how she had just reinforced all of his points and she didn’t even recognize the irony. Why can people never see?

Rusty always felt there was a fine line between “confidence” and “arrogance” and he noted that those with confidence are always seen as arrogant by people who have no faith in themselves. Only those who never accomplish anything were the ones who deemed Rusty as arrogant.

But he wasn’t about to say that.

Such a reply would be rude.

Cracking his knuckles for dramatic effect, like he was in some old detective movie, he crafted a more congenial response.

You may be over 30 now, but when we were lovers, you were in your early 20’s. In the decade we have known each other, you have never been anything but cherished and adored and eternally held a special place in my heart. In your opinion, I may be arrogant and unevolved. That’s fine. I have no desire or incentive to alter your perception of me. But regardless of your disdain, I have always thought of you as one of the greatest loves and magical blessings in my life. You’ll forever be a princess to me. That’s not an opinion. That’s a fact.

Smooch on that, baby. ;-*

Kill them with kindness.

Just as he predicted, Annie never responded.

Of course not.

Chapter Ten

Marilyn Sweeny was 13 years old when she asked Rusty out.

“You’re taking me to the movies next week.”

“I am?”

“Marilyn!” Her mother scolded, “That’s not polite.”

Rusty had met them working on photography for a movie, just after he moved to Hollywood. He had become good friends with Marilyn’s mother, Estella, as she was coping with a messy divorce. All divorces are described as “messy” or “amicable” and this was definitely of the messy variety. Rusty had known their family for 3 years now and had become close enough to them that he babysat Marilyn and her younger siblings many times while their mother took meetings with a family lawyer.

Heck, Rusty even found Estella the lawyer.

Watching the rodeo at the Burbank Equestrian Center as a guest of the Sweeny table, Rusty grinned at Estella, “No, it’s okay. I don’t mind.”

“Well, she needs to ask you to take her to the movies. Not tell you.” She glared at her daughter.

Rusty chuckled. He was flattered that Marilyn wanted to hang out with him. After all, how many 13 year old girls want to be seen in public with a guy nearly 40? “No, really. That’s cool. I’ll take you. I don’t mind.”

§

Living on a cul-de-sac of fancy homes, the movie theatre was only a mile down the road from the Sweeny house, so Rusty and Marilyn walked to a 7:00p.m. showing on a warm summer night.

“I hope I never get divorced like my mom and dad.” Marilyn said as they walked past LaCanada hedgerows singing with crickets.

“I know what you mean.” Rusty noted.

“Failed relationships suck.”

Rusty smirked, bemused that a 13 year old was waxing philosophical on romance. But he was sure to turn a cheek and keep his grin to himself. He didn’t want Marilyn to think he was mocking her. He didn’t want the poor girl turning cynical at 13 either, so Rusty replied, “Doesn’t everyone have ‘failed relationships’ in their lives? If we focus on all the reasons a relationship didn’t last, we are doing that relationship a terrible injustice. In fact, even the term ‘failed relationship’ is a horrible concept. Really. What an awful thing to say about someone.”

“Well, it is a failure if you divorce or break up.” Marilyn noted.

“No. See, I disagree. Why? Why do you call that a failure? Why do people enter every romantic relationship under the presumption that it should last a lifetime? Then when it doesn’t last that long, we call it a ‘failed relationship’ as though the validity of all the time we invested was a foolhardy waste. How horrible! I’ve never had a ‘failed relationship’ in my life. Every last girl I’ve dated has been a decent human being. I am so grateful for that. None of them ever screwed me over and went totally psycho by roasting my pet rabbit or anything. I can’t imagine any of them being that evil toward anybody. They all have good hearts.”

“You have a pet rabbit?”

“I was speaking metaphorically, silly.”

“Oh.” Replaying what Rusty just explained, Marilyn asked, “Wait. Hold on. You’ve never had a break up?”

“Of course I’ve had relationships end. But I don’t perceive an ending as a failure. It’s weird. No one expects people to marry their very first girlfriend or boyfriend. Yet, at the same time, people call it a failure when a relationship ends. How does that make sense?”

“I guess.”

“See, deep inside, people expect relationships to end. But they start them all with the hope it might last forever. That’s just odd. I don’t see my relationships that ended as bad things. Every love affair I’ve ever had were all positive and rewarding and enriching. I’m grateful and blessed for them all. Each of them ran their course and ended in their due time. None of them were ‘failures’ in any way. Sure, some may have ended prematurely compared to my emotional attachment to them, but they were all wonderful while they lasted.”

“Well, that’s an interesting way to look at it.”

“There’s no such thing as a mistake in relationships.” Rusty observed as they crossed the next intersection on the tree-shrouded sidestreets. “There is no such thing as a ‘failed’ relationship or one which is a waste of time. I always hate it when people say that. All relationships shape who we are. That can’t be a failure. You know?”

“That’s true.” Marilyn grinned, grateful he was teaching her something unexpected.

“Just a question of choice. Which do I choose? Do I presume that every romance which ended was a ‘failure’ in my life? If that is the case, it means everyone is a ‘failure’ unless they marry their first love and never date another human being so long as they live.”

“I think marrying your first love sounds romantic.”

“Do you? I’m not so sure. I used to think so too. Now I have my doubts. That sounds like a failure to me! Think about it. Failing to love more souls. Failing to connect with more people. Failing to have a diverse experience of intimacy while upon this earth.”

“Hm. Well, now that you put it that way.”

“Look at it this way... Do you want to meet a bunch of different hot boys and makeout with them? Or just be stuck with one? Forever?”

Marilyn laughed. “Okay. Yeah, you’re right.”

“So there you go. Which do I choose? To call my love-affairs ‘failures’? Or to call them ‘blessings’? Do I focus on all the negative things and the reasons it didn’t last longer? Or do I feel grateful for all the good and how enriching each girl had been to my life?”

“Focusing on the negative only makes you more alone?”

Rusty grinned, pleased that she understood. “Totally. Like, if I look at a girl and say, ‘Oh, no. She does this which reminds me of that other girl in the past. I don’t want to give this girl a chance, because that drove me crazy.’ If you assume a romance will last forever, that attitude might be justifiable. If you realize all relationships are temporary, then such an attitude can hold us back from many great experiences.”

Marilyn smiled. She wished Rusty would have tried to kiss her in that moment. She wouldn’t have let him, but she wished he’d try.

He didn’t try, of course. She was only 13.

But she wished. Hard.

She noticed that on their entire journey to the theatre and back home, Rusty always walked next to the road.

Every young girl knows how romantic that is.

Gentlemen always have the lady walk on the inside.

Everyone knows that.

Marilyn would have fallen in love with Rusty a little that night if she was a better person. Unfortunately for Rusty, fate destined her to grow up into a very different kind of girl.

§

Rusty went for a walk when he got home that night.

He couldn’t stop thinking about Marilyn.

How unfair. Why are people so corruptible? Why couldn’t he find a woman his own age with all the charm of young girl like her?

It just wasn’t fair.

“I still believe in her.” Rusty said, strolling past a parkbench glowing beneath a streetlamp.

Isabeau grinned a pained smile, “And she in you. You know she’s looking just as hard as you are.”

“I know. But none have come close to filling those shoes. Therein lies my greatest trepidation.”

Isabeau played with a stick, dragged along the path, leaving a thin wake of dirt. “How so?”

Rusty fumbled for the right words. “If no girl has ever come close to meeting my expectations, then might I simply have my expectations set too high?”

Isabeau nodded. “You would love to find a sweet girl. One who has never had sex without a condom. Never been molested or raped or abused. One who has never had a drink in her life. One who has never smoked. Never done any drugs. Maybe one who doesn’t even like caffeine! One who is very healthy and athletic. One who is fun and active and loves to dance. Has no kids. Isn’t a religious freak. Hopefully, an ignostic apatheist like yourself. You want all of that. Right?”

Rusty was embarrassed. When she put it that way, he did sound like a demanding jerk. “Yes.”

Squirming, Rusty felt compelled to add, “I just want to be clear on the sexual abuse thing. That makes me sound awful. I just don’t want to be with someone who has experienced that because I can’t relate to it. I worry that I wouldn’t know how to be understanding enough or compassionate enough.”

“Or are you judging her for not fighting off her attacker?”

Rusty paused, a knot curled in his stomach and dropped below his feet.

Isabeau grinned, “Your silence proves I’m right. Yep. You’re a horrible person.”

“No! I’m not! I don’t think that!”

“On some level you do.” Isabeau snickered, “But that doesn’t mean you’re awful. Don’t you think survivors of abuse beat themselves up with the same questions? That kind of ‘what if’ haunts them too. You’re not a monster for having those thoughts. I admire you for almost having the guts to admit it.”

“Cute.”

“I’m serious. Admitting shadows isn’t easy. Especially for you.”

“I guess.”

“You try so hard to be noble. When you are less-than-admirable, you are pained to confess. And it seems that all you seek is asking too much. That no girl could ever live up to all of that. Tall order. Right?”

“Exactly.”

“Well, daddy, you fit all of those traits. That is exactly who you are. Every single one. You expect nothing that you don’t offer yourself. You are that person. So, no. You’re not being hypocritical. You’re not being unfair or demanding. Unfair is when you demand things you don’t offer in your own personality. You’re only asking for a girl to reciprocate that which you offer. It’s not unrealistic to want a woman who is your equal. In fact, nothing could be more reasonable or fair!”

“But I’ve never met anyone else like me! Never! Not once, Isabeau! Makes me wonder if even that small handful of traits simply doesn’t exist in another soul. I may be the only one in all the world like this.”

“Which is why you’re single, goofball! Cyclical argument.”

“But I’ve never met anyone who was even close!”

“Of course you have! Plenty of girls came close to being right for you. That is why certain girls became so important - because they were ‘so close’ to being ‘the right girl’. However, none were right. So, each of those romances ended. All in due time.”

“Yes. I think I see what you mean.”

“You expect a girl to be on your level. To hold all your same ideals and values. You need your equal. No more. No less. That doesn’t make you too demanding. That makes you normal. Just so happens that your demands on yourself are nearly unparallelled. You aren’t unfair. You’re just hard to compete with.”

§

For years, Rusty had been vowing to “get back into shape” like a lot of men and women his age. He wasn’t grotesquely fat or anything, but he knew he was carrying a few more pounds than he ever had before.

One afternoon, he had absolutely nothing to do.

He was feeling bright. Alert.

This was the day!

There was a beautiful park at the end of his street. It was time to go jogging. Yes. That was it! Jogging!

He didn’t know how fast or far he could run. He just figured he’d move at a brisk pace, until he got tired.

Rusty only made it about half a mile before he was ready to keel over and die.

That was it.

That was his deciding moment.

He refused to be one of those slovenly jackasses who can’t run more than half-a-mile. That was pathetic! He wasn’t even 40 years old for cripe sake! Under 40! The man wasn’t 100!

How could he not run half-a-mile?

Humiliating.

After that, Rusty began to jog every other day. Like clockwork. Never missed a workout. His goal was to make it further everytime. Didn’t matter if it was 5 feet farther or 500 feet farther. As long as his distance increased every single time he ran, he was happy.

And sure enough, that’s exactly what happened.

Some days was only 5 feet.

Some days was 500 feet.

But he stuck to it and eventually he was running for 3 miles at a time.

Marilyn may have only been fifteen, but she was starting to pack on a few too many curves herself. Rusty thought Marilyn was perfect as she was, but her mother suggested Rusty take Marilyn to the school track near their house and get Marilyn in shape too.

Rusty and Marilyn loved it.

They had another excuse to hang out.

Now that precocious Marilyn was 15 years old, she was getting even more enjoyable to talk to. Smarter. More questioning. Curious about the world. Filled with ideals. Buzzing with questions. A time when she was a wonderful conversational companion and Rusty could talk to her as a peer. An adult. He didn’t need to oversimplify things.

Marilyn, in turn, respected him for the way he saw her.

Her parents and siblings still treated her as a child.

Rusty treated her like a friend.

That meant the world to her.

“Do I believe in ghosts?” Rusty chuckled as they were stretching. “Um, well, let’s just say I definitely keep my mind open to possibilities.”

Marilyn agreed, “See, I think supernatural stuff can totally be real. Like, there’s just a lot we don’t know. You know?”

“Oh, trust me, I know. I don’t believe in the supernatural. ‘Supernatural’ implies something that exists outside of nature. That’s impossible. By definition, everything that exists in the real world has to be a natural phenomenon. However, that doesn’t mean I doubt the existence of ghosts or spirits or psychic phenomenon. I just think those are real things which are part of the natural world.”

“Yeah! Me too! See, you’re so much better at phrasing things than I am.”

“Well, I’ve also been talking for 25 years longer than you. At this point, I should be better at it.” Rusty winked.

Marilyn giggled from behind a wonderful little squint that Rusty absolutely adored. “That’s a good point!”

“But with ghosts and things, what I have a problem with are people who insist that because there is no scientific explanation for something, it can’t be real. That is not science. That is ignorance justifying itself behind the cloak of science.”

“Just because they can’t explain it.”

“Right. Like people who claim that ESP doesn’t exist, because they have seen no scientific proof to support it, are just as ignorant as religious zealots who claimed old women were witches, because they had seen crops went bad. The zealotry of science and religion are equally insane - believing or disbelieving things, just because you perceive a lack, or an abundance, of your own definition of proof. In psychological terms, that is called a self-reinforcing delusion. You believe what you believe, because you believe it. The argument is circular.”

“What about God? You believe in God?” Marilyn asked. Rusty wasn’t sure if she was sizing him up or just at that age when she started asking these questions. Not that it mattered either way, he just wasn’t sure which angle she was coming from.

As they neared the track on a warm summer evening, Rusty rolled his eyes. “Uh, oh. Religious, huh?”

Marilyn grinned the heartwarming smile that got her on television. “Yeah. I have to be. I’m from Texas. You get banished from the state or sent to Austin if you’re not. What, you don’t believe in God?”

Rusty laughed at her joke about banishment to Austin.

Isabeau was right about Rusty; her father saw himself as an ignostic apatheist, but he didn’t feel like explaining those terms. Instead, he smirked and thought about a more clever answer. After all, everyone knows you need to answer religious questions carefully. No matter what you believe, no matter how you answer, the Do you believe in God? question has started wars for thousands of years. Even an ignostic knew that. A simple “yes” or “no” was too easy. He replied with, “Let me ask you something. Do you believe in faeries?”

Marilyn spat out a lungful of air. “Psh! No. Of course not. Do I look like I’m 5 years old?”

“I know. That’s crazy, right? Stupid question. No one believes in that stuff.”

“Duh. Obviously.”

“Do you believe in angels?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“So, you are telling me you don’t believe in doll-sized, invisible, winged spirits living in the woods, but you do believe in human-sized, invisible, winged spirits living in the clouds?”

Marilyn punched his shoulder. “Oh, that’s not fair. You totally set me up there!”

“I’m just making a point. Faeries. Angels. You don’t honestly think these are different creatures, do you? They’re all just different names for the same things.”

With that one simple idea, Marilyn had been given a lot to think about on their run that night.

§

Rusty was slipping into lonely again.

He truly had no friends. No one ever called him. No one ever asked him to go hang out with them. No one in his life even remembered his birthday. Even his own mother forgot some years.

There was an online friend he knew who said the same things. She was a former lover in fact. One with whom he had departed on good terms. Complained of the identical loneliness. For a moment, Rusty thought he may have found a compatriot. So, he asked her to call him.

She never did.

Another girl he used to date, many years earlier, posted a bulletin about being alone and isolated and wondered if anyone cared.

He immediately replied. Rusty sent her a long letter and told her how important she had always been to him and how valuable she was to his life.

He asked her to call.

She never did either.

Never acknowledged his remarks.

She never even said, “Thank you.”

Rusty seemed to be friends with “The Boy Who Cried Wolf” or, more accurately, the girls who cry wolf. These people must not truly be yearning for any human connection, if they ignore his sincere offers of companionship.

The truth was, even in their loneliest moments, no one wanted Rusty around. They preferred being alone than talking to Rusty.

Personally, he was a bit too... what’s the word he was looking for?

He was a bit lonely, but not really desperate.

Isolated?

No. He was isolated, but that wasn’t quite the right word either...

...Forsaken!

Yes.

That’s the word! He often simply felt forsaken by everyone.

Life had taught him, change was inevitable. There are times of social interaction and connections and there are times of reclusive and quiet solitude.

There was no denying he was lonely, but he was not complaining about it. This wasn’t a slow descent into homicidal mania. Rusty just needed to wait it out. In due time, he knew this exile shall pass.

Hopefully.

Typically, such times are essential for personal development and insight. As he had said for years...

Wisdom comes not with age, but with the contemplation of experience.

We all need time alone with our thoughts.

We don’t evolve as people simply because of our experiences.

We need time to think about those experiences. To absorb them. To learn from them. To be quiet and alone in a room with our ideas. If we don’t take the time to ponder what has befallen our lives, we gain no wisdom whatsoever.

When the universe provides us that chance, ’tis wise to appreciate and embrace such moments. Savor the emptiness.

He was just a bit insulted to see people whine about their lack of companionship, only to ignore him completely when he offered his.

Then again, Rusty did have odd friends.

Hence the reason he really had none.

Acquaintances, more like.

That was an awful realization. To discover “friends” had become nothing more than distant “acquaintances” was like a nightmare he’d have in junior high. Now he was living it.

Rusty had the distinct feeling he’s the sort of person who would be pleasantly surprised by who shows up at his funeral.

With all sincerity, he knew there would be no one in attendance.

During those rare instances when friends had been attentive and affectionate, he typically got some pretty astonishing compliments. He seemed to have a positive impact upon people far beyond what he would ever expect.

Yeah, sure, he had those two or three ex-lovers who thought he was a total asshole and scumsucking dickhead. One of them was actually right about that too! He was a total fuckwad of a bastard to her. Regrettably.

But the other girls were just being emotional.

His point was, he had known a lot of great people in his life and developed friendships beyond what they even appeared to be.

Kateri once told Rusty, she had the feeling she was never meant to “settle down” and be with one guy in her life. That it was her destiny to touch the lives of many people and move on. At the time, Rusty vehemently disagreed with her. Mainly because he wanted to be with her himself!

To make matters worse, she implied Rusty might be the same; His desire to be reunited with a soulmate was never his true calling.

Wait. Was she calling him a player?! A womanizer?

Huh? What?

Him? Mr. Romantic?

She thought he’d be one to hop from one romance to another? How awful! No way! Impossible! Not Rusty!

Never!

Problem was, to this day, Kateri truly knew Rusty better than anyone else ever had in his life. So, he couldn’t just ignore her intuition. Rusty was forced to consider her foresight might be accurate. As a result, that conversation haunted him for many years.

In retrospect, life proved she was right about both of them.

Katri married a guy and it was a disaster. She defied the destiny her instincts had her believing in, and the results were catastrophic.

As the saying goes - “To thine own self be true.”

Himself? Rusty was constantly seeking that “great relationship” and was always slightly unhappy. Once he considered his hearts true desire was “touching the lives of many people and moving on” he gained an enlightenment he never had before. What Rusty thought was completely impossible defined him more precisely than he ever dreamed.

Ironic he had to get married before being willing to entertain that aspect of himself.

And what about Isabeau and Oona?

He needed a wife for them.

Then again, maybe not.

Maybe he is only meant to meet their mother and start a family with her, not stay with her forever.

Damn.

He never looked at it that way.

He had presumed “mother” equals “wife” (or at least “devoted”) but maybe he was wrong about the romance lasting. Maybe the mother of Isabeau and Oona never has to stay by his side at all.

Amazing how long it can take to consider the obvious.

Serendipity is an odd thing.

He did miss conversations with Kateri.

Perhaps that was part of the “connection” with Kateri which mattered most to him.

They could talk for twelve hours, non-stop.

That’s just incredible.

He hadn’t experienced those sorts of conversations in years. Those conversations meant far more to him than mere time. He had weekend getaways with girlfriends wherein they certainly talked longer and spent more time together.

But talking to Kateri for two hours typically had more depth and meaning and emotional impact on him than a whole weekend spent with a girlfriend.

He couldn’t believe it had been 15 years since she died.

From the mere 6 years of knowing her, between the ages of 16 and 22, they shared more deep and meaningful conversations than he had with anyone from 22 to 37.

Why couldn’t he let her go?

Stop thinking about her?

The problem with caring about people is not knowing how to stop caring, long after you should have quit.

Of course, a lot of his problem goes back to his weird social disconnect. He’d said it for years:

Rusty was too strange and weird to have mainstream and conservative friends. They all think he’s some bizarre freak. Yet, at the same time, Rusty was too plain and conservative to fit with the whole punk and alternative crowd. He fell somewhere inbetween. A limbo land. Never really belonging anywhere.

Too normal to be weird.

Too weird to be normal.

But that was okay with him.

Rusty didn’t mind being a loner. Honestly, it suited him.

He used to complain that he had to make all the effort to maintain friendships. If he stopped calling people, Rusty would never hear from anyone again.

For 99% of his friendships, that held true.

But this was a blessing, not a curse.

Because if Rusty wanted to stop hanging out with a person or cease talking to them, he had all the power. Easy to control. He never had to worry about someone straggling or hanging around.

Rusty was not the type of person to ever earn a stalker.

That’s kind of cool.

As life went on, he learned more and more how perception and perspective and attitude can truly alter things from being sad disappointments to uplifting inspirations. Rather amazing...

Alas, this is how it goes.

Perhaps he never fully “integrates” with anyone, but that’s okay.

He’d been involved in such a wide and vast array of social circles and groups of people in his life. Often, he’d noticed how those groups formed tightly knit cliques and bonds of friendship.

However, he never seemed to become a part of them.

Rusty was always “on the fringe” and “the outside looking in”.

He fit kind of well with the medieval recreation group, the Society for Creative Anachronism, in his late teens and early twenties. But even there, at his second Pennsic War, a big camping event in Pennsylvania, he felt outcast.

His time spent clubbing at Altar House during his college years was great. He fit with those friends for a short period of time. Maybe for a mere year or two, before the club closed.

There weren’t really anymore times he could think of.

In 37 years of being alive, and he could think of two brief spans of a year or two where he felt like he fit in and really connected with people.

Not a very impressive track record.

For years, he was sad about never fitting in. Not finding his tribe.

No matter what new social circles he entered into, his presence was never synchronous with the group. For years that troubled him. Now, he found this oddly appealing.

It’s kind of neat to always be the odd man out.

This is who he was.

This is what he was.

Instead of questioning and trying to change things, he finally could see that accepting and embracing this path was a wiser course of action. Maybe he was never destined for great things. Maybe he was just dreaming Isabeau and Oona. Maybe there is no fate or destiny. Maybe there are just beautiful moments of time that we get to live for no reason whatsoever. Maybe the universe gives no reward or punishment. Maybe this is all we ever have, and for our brief time, being alone isn’t so bad after all.

§

Before Charlinda, Rusty had spent 7 years without sleeping with anybody.

Now?

He was back up to one year again.

There was no one to miss anymore.

No one to yearn for.

Isabeau asked, “What about our mom?”

“She’s only a dream. I still haven’t found her.”

“I thought you believed in dreams.”

Rusty smiled so softly, his daughter felt all the love in his heart. “Wholeheartedly, my love. Wholeheartedly. But she’s still only a dream.”

Isabeau nodded. “Hopefully, she’ll become reality soon.”

§

Earlier that day, Rusty had mailed a copy of all his old home videos of Kateri to her daughter, Katterlina. Katterlina had just turned 18 and Rusty wanted to make sure Katterlina had all of the only known videos of her mother. Her name always made Rusty smile. Only Kateri could come up with a name as weird and beautiful as “Katterlina”. Sounded like some comic book heroine. He hated the two “K” names though. Made it confusing to people if he ever mentioned them - “Wait. Was ‘Kateri’ the girl you were in love with or was that the daughter?”

Rusty hoped a good deed like sending those videos, might help change things.

Just like Isabeau said, hopefully things will change soon.

He never expected to hear from Katterlina.

And he never did.

§

“Can I say something that will offend you?”

“No.” Rusty was making dinner as he scoffed at Isabeau.

“Okay. I’m going to say it anyway.”

“I figure you would.”

“Sounds to me like a classic case of you falling in love with the idea of Kateri, but not with her.”

“That’s not offensive. Just ignorant for you to presume that would be enlightening. Of course I fell in love with the idea of her. That’s not a revelation.”

“Why are you so hung up on her then?”

Rusty paused and looked over the stove as if it were a mountain vista. “Maybe because I feel so short changed. I mean, I spent a majority of my life looking for someone to love me. When I finally found the first girl who was willing to say those words to me, it was on the goddamn telephone. She never hung out with me. Never spent any time with me outside of school. I never saw her. Never went on a date. Never even got together as friends. Our entire relationship consisted of nothing but passing notes in class and phonecalls. That’s the kind of juvenile crap that was supposed to happen in gradeschool, not in highschool.”

“That’s why you like young girls so much?”

“Of course! Doesn’t take a genius psychologist to understand that. I was robbed of the one thing I wanted most in all the world during the short window of time of my life when I needed it more desperately than ever. Of course I’m going to spend a lifetime trying to recapture that missed opportunity and do it right. All my relationships are the result of me trying to relive the happiness I think I was cheated out of having.”

Oona, who had been sitting silently at the kitchen table, spoke up and asked, “So why don’t you hate her?”

“Excuse me?” Rusty replied.

Funny how opposite his twin daughters were. Isabeau in her black lace and obsidian lipstick and brooding punkrock aura and Oona in summerdress airiness - yet Isabeau always seemed gentler and wiser while Oona always had a fire in her heart.

Oona explained, “If you know Kateri didn’t really love you and she left you with these psychological scars, shouldn’t you detest her for that? Why do you still hold her in such high esteem?”

“Two reasons.” Rusty replied.

“So, you have reasons. Meaning you thought about it before. You tried to hate her.”

Rusty was not ashamed to admit it and nodded easily, “Oh, absolutely. I wanted to. You’re right. But there are two reasons I can’t hate her. First of all, she was just a teenager too. She was clueless. She had no fucking idea what she was doing. She wasn’t doing all of this to be vindictive or manipulative. She was just as emotional and confused as I was. Sure, I put her on a pedestal back then. When we were both 16 years old, I thought she could do no wrong. She was an angel with all the right answers. But now I know that was a load of crap. She was a scared and confused little girl. She didn’t have anymore enlightenment than I did. I can’t condemn her ignorance when I was equally as clueless.”

Isabeau in her gentler tone, then asked, “And the other reason?”

“Because my heartache is not her responsibility. If I’m upset or hurt or damaged, it’s because of my choices. My decisions. I’m the one who put these expectations on her. I’m the one who developed these feelings. She didn’t force me to fall in love with her. I did that of my own volition. I can’t hate her for that. I need to take responsibility for my own emotions.”

Oona seemed frustrated and wriggled her butt in the chair.

She wanted to blame Kateri for everything. Not her dad.

Isabeau looked far more pleased that her dad was so aware of who he was and his place in the world.

Rusty added, “If I get all Freudian, I think my childhood has a lot to do with me being so clingy.”

“What do you mean?” Isabeau wondered.

“I mean my family was so emotionally aloof. They were never mean or cruel or abusive in any way. But they were never very loving or warm or affectionate either. I think that’s why I get so attached to girls. I have these needs for human connection and this yearning for bonding with people because I’ve never really had that need fulfilled. As a result, I remain very aloof and guarded when I meet people. Yet, once someone shows me the slightest kindness, I get very clingy and emotionally attached. I keep my distance and don’t care about people at all. But if a girl says hello and smiles at me three times, I’m suddenly ready to marry her. It’s pathetic. But I always follow that same pattern. And it’s not just girls, but friendships too. As soon as a person shows the tiniest sign of friendship, I’m ready to be blood brothers. I had a lot of friends from childhood to my mid-twenties. But it seems like the moment I hit the age of 25 and had to work for a living and take care of an apartment, I didn’t know how to maintain real friendships anymore. I don’t know what happened.”

“Well, at least you recognize this problem. That’s a good start. Now how do you think you can fix it?”

Shrugging in absolute confusion, Rusty confessed, “That’s the whole problem. I don’t think my situation is unique. Maybe there is no fix. I think most people are in the exact same boat, only we never talk about it. How do you fix a personal problem when it’s actually a sociological problem and we’re all making the same mistakes?”

“Have you every heard of Emotional Deprivation Disorder?”

Rusty shook his head, “No.” Chuckling, he added, “But the name itself is pretty self-explanatory. You think that’s what I have?”

“Could be. People who are constantly abandoned and rejected and never shown any sense of being loved or valued can end up being really angry and depressed and disconnected and even arrogant.”

“Or it could be that I’ve just spent a lifetime meeting horrible people who never really gave a shit about me. I don’t think that constitutes a disorder or a flaw in my emotional development. I think my emotional maturity is very normal considering my experiences with so many jerks.”

“Could be that too.”

“So, Miss Armchair Psychologist, what is the cure for Emotional Deprivation Disorder?”

“Well, it’s called Affirmation Therapy. Where a client is shown genuine love and affection, so they can feel whole again.”

Laughing, Rusty said, “Ohhhh, great. Well, no shit, Sherlock. I’ve been saying that for years. So, what you’re basically telling me is that I self-diagnosed my own disorder and the remedy for it, decades ago. If one sweet girl came into my life and she actually had a heart, and was a human being filled with love and kindness, instead of these succubus women roiling with selfishness and lies, her mere angelic presence might heal me and restore my faith in humanity?”

“Something like that.”

“Thanks. That’s not remotely helpful.”

Isabeau giggled, “I’m sorry, dad.”

Joking, Rusty added, “I’m telling you, you’re making think adoption is a better and better option.”

“Ohhh! Harsh.”

Rusty smirked.

Oona smacked him.

Isabeau was trying to be encouraging. “Finding decent people can be hard, but you will. Someday. Just takes time.”

Rusty was exasperated. Or perhaps to say he grew “tired of reliable disappointment” is a better phrase. “I will? When? Let’s not kid ourselves with attempts to predict the future. You know how many times I’ve tried that. I think my time is done. I don’t think things are ever going to change again. There’s only one girl in the world and I keeping meeting the same chick over and over.”

“Yeah, but you just - ”

Rusty interrupted and began his tirade. “ - I was ignored by that Dorothy chick after offering to help her with her new bicycle, that Jenn chick who contacted me online, that Stephanie girl I liked, that goth chick Sandy, that 42 year old Cheri I was dating, that model Bethany who whined about not having friends and ignored me when I offered to hang out with her, that little jerk Jenn DuBois who did the same thing, that loser Annette Gottleib who just stopped replying to emails, that Jewish model in Burbank who promised to have lunch with me and flaked, that girl Meghan Sanderson who promised the same, that tattooed chick Maria Clayton in Jersey who professed having this huge crush on me then just stopped returning calls or answering messages, and what about that redhead Stacie DeLaine who agreed to have dinner with me, then she flaked too. The beautiful Middle Eastern girl who accepted my invite to Disneyland, then blew off the whole thing. Remember that motorcycle girl Christine Cooley who went on and on about feeling this big connection with me, until she found out I was under 6’2”, so she just tossed me aside. The list goes on. How many more do I need to mention?”

Isabeau braided Oona’s hair and said, “I know. Girls just ignore you.”

“Isabeau, I don’t even mention these girls in my journals anymore. You know that? There was once a time when the name of every heartbreak was relevant and earth-shattering. These days, the disappointments all come and go so quickly, they’re not even worth bringing up. I meet them. We hit it off. They ignore me. Meet. Get along. Ignore me. Meet. Make plans. Ignore me. Over and over again. I don’t even bother to keep my schedule open anymore, because I know girls will cancel on me on the last minute. You know that? I actually set up dates and end up looking forward to my alternate plan more than the date, because I expect the date to cancel on me. How pathetic is that? Everyone ignores me. It’s not like I don’t try!”

Oona added, “I know. Like that black model from New York who visited Los Angeles and shot pictures with you, then just ignored you, that girl who you met at Marilyn’s birthday party who chatted with you online for like 2 years, then blew you off, that girl Ginny who lead you on for another 2 years before she moved back to Texas, and what about that girl Becka who was friends with your roommate Allison and flirted with you everytime she came over, then stopped talking to you once your roommate moved out. Then that chick named Dawn who lived on the East Coast and claimed to love you, but refused to visit, then abandoned her daughter and moved to another state to live with some douchebag for a year before he cheated on her. How about that girl Jennifer you were friends with for years, who stood you up half a dozen times before you stopped talking to her? Then that Julie girl did the same thing - she hung out with you for like 3 years and then just stopped returning your calls and she never told you why. Then you found out she was being a big slut with everyone but you. What about that petite blonde girl you met at the masquerade ball who went on one date with you for sushi and said you should ‘take a step back’ - whatever that means. And remember that girl who flirted with you online, then kissed out outside of the nightclub, and then never hung out with you again. How about that tall, blonde fitness chick you met at Sherisa’s party who kissed you when you walked her to her car, then never returned a phonecall. Or what about that goth girl, what was her name, the one who was into roller derby? Charlotte or Collette or some ‘C’ name? She was the one who asked you out, remember? And then she made excuses and you never heard from her again either. Then of course there was that Elizabeth chick who claimed The Cure wrote that song Letter to Elise about her. She invited you to that party with her and you had a great time, then she never hung out with you again because she said she didn’t have time to give you her friendship. That bellydancer girl you photographed said the same thing too. Remember? What was her name? Ella or something?”

Rusty stared at Oona, blood from the metaphorical knife in his chest oozing all over the floor. “Thanks. Want to twist that blade in a little deeper? I think you missed a few organs. Is reminding me of more rejections supposed to make me feel better?”

Oona bit her lip. “Oh. Sorry. I’m just pointing out that I know you try. I understand why you’re such a hermit, daddy. I won’t chide you like all those acquaintances who tell you to ‘get out more’ because everytime you do, people just screw you over and abandon you.”

Rusty made a feeble attempt to reverse the situation. “I’ve rejected girls too though. I’m not desperate or anything.”

“When?”

“I turned down that Sally chick. The one who said she never goes more than 90 days without sex. Because she scared me into thinking she was a diseased whore at that point. And what about those two different girls at the club? That one who was making out with me on the couch and the one who just brazenly kissed me as she was leaving. I didn’t hook up with them. I have some scruples.”

Isabeau was stunned. “Daddy! Are you serious? Those two girls were 21 years ago, dad. 21 years! What is the most recent time you rejected a girl? And Sally was almost 5 years ago!”

Rusty chortled and wrung his hands. Scrubbing his face with his palms, he tried to rub away the frustration. “Well, I... Um.”

Not knowing how to answer, Rusty just changed the topic, “Okay. You’re right.”

“Can’t believe you brought up those girls. 21 years. Dad, really?”

“Okay! Okay! You’re right. Stupid examples. I just think the worst part of all is that people always act like my isolation is my fault. No one ever shows me any compassion for all that rejection. No matter how many concrete examples I provide about being ignored or abandoned or bitchy girls outright lying to me, everyone acts as though I’m merely exaggerating.”

Isabeau agreed. “Yeah. They think it’s all stemming from self-pity instead of factual events.”

“Now you’re just bringing me down. Why did I choose this life? Why do I pick these women?”

Isabeau noted, “Maybe there are no other kind.”

“Cynical view coming from young girls who are supposed to be encouraging me.”

Oona shrugged, “We’re just being honest. Maybe our mom is a selfish bitch like all these other floosies.”

“Floosies?” Rusty snickered, “What is this, 1947?”

“I’m just saying, don’t presume our mom will be any better.”

“How comforting.”

Isabeau thwacked Oona, “No! Oona is being a brat. Our mom will be a decent woman. You’ll see.”

“You two better be kinder to boys when you grow up.”

“Yes, father.”

“Yes, daddy.”

“Forever in flux.” Rusty noted.

The reply didn’t make a lick of sense. But Isabeau understood him, because she was so much a part of him. He was speaking of the fact that he had faith things would change. People change. He was expressing his way of still having hope.

Even though he denied it only moments ago.

Isabeau wriggled on the chair as she sat next to Oona. “King of the Shifting Sands. Ruler of a realm forever changing. Where no subject can recognize their king.”

Rust clarified, “But my lament is beyond that. I don’t mind those who leave. It’s the ones who don’t even try! The girls who never even give me a chance. The ones who reject me before I even get the opportunity to show them who I am! So many of those girls you mentioned, Oona, they are all like that.”

Oona replied, “Daddy, you have chosen this. Remember? You want to be alone, so you can understand this. So you can know yourself better.”

“I know! I agree. I have chosen this. But why? What am I thinking? And what about you two? I need to find her for you both!”

Isabeau started a second braid. “We have to do this in the time that Fate is giving to us. You need to be alone now so you can find your heart again. Only you’re not taking the time to figure any of that out! People tell you to get out more, and you get out too much. Be alone for a bit. You met new people just this weekend! You even met Virginia Davis from the old Walt Disney movies! How cool was that?”

“Very cool. But I’m not dating her. She’s like 95 years old.”

“Very funny.” Oona guffawed.

“Come on, dad. Be honest. What is this really about?”

Rusty puzzled. “How so?”

Isabeau clarified. “Sex? Companionship? Relationship? What do you truly want?”

“Your mom, obviously.”

Oona wondered, “Did you ever open up to Charlinda?”

Rusty chuckled. “No way.”

Isabeau added, “Why not?”

Rusty nodded. “I see your point. Sex and companionship. That’s all I truly want. I just want someone to come along with me when I ride my bike. Someone to take to dinner. Someone to sleep with. That’s all. I’m not into the whole ‘relationship’ thing.”

“Kinda hard to get married and have kids without that, huh?”

Rusty felt like a fool for saying something so unthinking.

He had no clue what he was doing anymore.

§

“Hello?”

“Hey, handsome!”

“Hello. Who is this?”

“Ugh. Doesn’t your cellphone show you who’s calling?”

“Oh, hey, Marilyn. No, this isn’t my cell. You’re calling my land line and I don’t have Caller ID.”

“Oh, even better. Who has a land line anymore?”

“I do. So when the power goes out, all you jokers on your cordless phones and cellphones won’t be able to charge your stuff and I’ll be calling all my relatives so they don’t send out SWAT teams looking for me.”

“Whatevs.”

“God, I hate that word.”

“Whatevs?”

“Yeah. The word is ‘whatever’. You too lazy to pronounce the last syllable?”

“Why do I bother calling you?”

“Because I’m devastatingly handsome?”

“Ew. Gross. I’m like 17 and you’re old.”

“Excuse me!? You just called me handsome! Jackass. And I’m not old! I’m younger than your mom.”

“Not by much.”

“You love me and you know it.”

“Not like that.”

“I’m sorry. You’re too young. I forgot. Maybe once you hit puberty you’ll start liking boys.”

“Excuse me! I hit puberty a long time ago!”

“You’re still in high school. Nothing in your life happened ‘a long time ago’.”

“Says you. Because you’re old.”

“Bitchpie.”

“Dick.”

“Jane.”

“God, your jokes are lame. You are so annoying.”

“So what’s up?”

“What’s up?”

“Yeah. Why did you call?”

“No reason. I just wanted to talk. Now I’m not so sure that was a good idea.”

“Aw. Afraid of a little friendly banter?”

“Afraid I’m going to put my foot up your ass.”

Rusty chuckled. “Nice. Well, I’m not into that kind of thing. Call me when your fantasies are a little less deviant.”

“Sicko. You’re a pervert.”

“I’m a pervert? You’re the one talking about my ass, not me.”

“Whatevs!”

“Oh, I hate you.”

Marilyn laughed. Rusty imagined she popped her gum and was wearing a poodle skirt. She wasn’t. He just imagined it.

Through her laughter, Marilyn added, “You make my cheeks hurt everytime we hang out, because you make me laugh the whole time.”

“Hey, what are you doing on next Saturday?” Rusty asked.

“I don’t know. Nothing. Why?”

“Well, since you turn seventeen that Tuesday, soooo... I was thinking I’d take you to Disneyland on Saturday. As a birthday gift. If you want to go. And if your mom is cool with that.”

“Seriously!?”

“Yeah. Seriously.”

“I loves me some Disneyland!”

“Everyone loves them some Disneyland.”

“Yeah, I’d love to go! Thank you! You’re awesome!”

“Awesome, huh? A minute ago I was old, a pervert and a dick.”

“Well, now you’re awesome.”

“Ah, wimmin’ is fickle, as Popeye used to say.”

§

Disneyland was joy incarnate.

Three years had passed since their walk to the movies. Rusty had seen Marilyn countless times since then. Attending parties. Swimming in their family pool. Babysitting her siblings. As his friendship with Marilyn’s mother grew, so too did his friendship with Marilyn.

At Disneyland, that was the first time in the 7 years he had known Marilyn, that they spent significant time alone together. Sure, a movie here, a night of jogging there, but this was the only time it had just been the two of them alone for hours. Few days in his life had ever been happier. Rusty and Marilyn spent the hours laughing and smiling and holding hands and having silly conversations and deep conversations and screaming on the Matterhorn and giggling in the darkrides and exploring island caves and riding Mark Twain riverboats and making faces at each other in Autopia racecars and hugging in the Haunted Mansion and having dinner next to ragtime bands.

“Oh, my God, stop that!” Marilyn ran from him as he tickled her spine. “That totally turns us girls on.”

“Us girls?”

“Yeah. Don’t you know anything about girls?”

“Of course! But I never heard that before. You’re making that up.”

“I am not! My girlfriends and I were talking about that just the other day. It totally gets us hot when a guy scratches down our spine or lightly touches a cheek or anything like that.”

“Oh, reeeeeally?”

Rusty waited until she couldn’t run away. Sitting next to her, she squirmed on the Jungle Cruise as he clawed at her back.

She clung tight to his arm as they walked the streets of New Orleans Square. Embraced him close during fireworks at the end of the night.

Rusty savored every second.

This was different than the day he spent with Charlinda.

This was a tenderness and innocence he had only dreamed of.

He was no fool. He knew exactly why he felt that way.

This was Kateri.

This was the first love he never got to kiss.

This was all those days and times he dreamed of Kateri.

All those days he never got to share with Kateri.

All the missed hours.

All the regrets of what never came to pass.

Rusty was no fool and the psychology was simple.

For the gift Marilyn gave him, the glorious gift of that perfect day, he loved her all the more.

“I should spend the night with you and we can go to that comic book convention tomorrow.” Marilyn noted.

“Spend the night?”

“Yeah. My mom wouldn’t mind.”

“But she dropped you off this morning. I just presumed she was picking you up tonight.”

“No. I thought I was going home with you.”

“Going home with me!?” Rusty couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He wanted that more than anything.

“Yeah. My mom thought that was the plan.”

Why didn’t Estella mention it? “But you never told me that! I didn’t bring an extra helmet!”

Marilyn’s eyes flared in shock. “Why not?”

“Because I didn’t know you wanted to come over! Oh my gosh! This sucks! You should have said something!”

“Well, that sucks.”

“I totally would love to do that! Oh, man! You should have told me! Why would you think I’d bring an extra helmet?”

“I don’t know.” Marilyn pouted.

“Well, next time. Okay?”

“Okay. Yeah! We’ll do this again!”

“Totally. And we’ll plan things a little better.”

As always happens in life, there was never a “next time”.

§

Rusty was taking a leisurely motorcycle ride in the mountains, as he paused at the side of the road, he asked Isabeau, “Why do I constantly do this to myself?”

“That is a question you always ask and never answer.”

“Thanks. Until I learn the answer, I may never stop.”

Isabeau traced her foot in the gravel beside the road. “Dad, you know exactly what you want. You know exactly the kind of woman you need. But you stopped believing. You lost all faith and hope. You ceased to think she exists at all.”

Rusty gave an agreeable slump in his shoulder.

“So, you became lost,” Isabeau continued, “You thought your ‘dream girl’ was an impossibility. So, you started to get interested in all these women who embody one or two desirable traits, but all lack the ‘full package’ behind them. None of them are worthy of you.”

“That sounds arrogant.”

“That is arrogant,” Isabeau agreed. “But it’s also a very accurate reflection of who you are. Daddy, this is all you have ever wanted in life. Ever! For as long as you can remember. All you wanted was a girlfriend. Even back when you were 4 years old. Am I right? Nothing else mattered to you. The sun rises and sets over the woman you love. You are downright uxorious.”

“True.” Rusty conceded, a little humiliated by how sissified his daughter made him sound. She didn’t mean to paint him in such a light, but he sure left like he was being interrogated in it.

“Name one woman in your life who was ever worthy of your capacity for affection. Name one.”

“Worthy of my capacity for affection?” Rusty nearly gagged. “That sounds so conceited, Isabeau! As if I were somehow more capable of love than they were?”

“But you are! That’s my point. You always love them. They are the ones who reject you! Even with Charlinda. Sure, technically you broke up with her, but you never wanted to. You only did it because she treated you like crap and you have some self-respect. But you do have a greater capacity for love. Because you never want to quit these romances. They do. They always quit you. Never the other way around.”

Her words hung smokerings in the air, beautiful yet poisonous. Rusty stared at them and noted, “I never saw it that way.”

“So, I ask again, name one girl who was ever worthy of your capacity for affection.”

“Just one?” Rusty asked, slightly embarrassed.

“Just one. You want the woman who is looking for you. Your equal. Have you ever found that?”

Rusty had no answer.

His daughter poked his chest, “You can’t associate yourself with negative people and expect a positive life.”

§

The ride to Riverside took forever, but it was well worth the journey. Estella invited Rusty to join the family at a double-feature drive-in movie.

As Marilyn and Rusty sat in lawnchairs together, in front of her mom and stepfather, Rusty couldn’t resist scratching his fingers down her spine. Marilyn squirmed and gave him the dirtiest and happiest stare of daggers and teen lust.

During intermission, Rusty was drafted to escort Marilyn and her stepsister to the concession stand. Rusty knew Estella and her new husband sent him away with Marilyn in order to savor a little time alone together, even if only for a few moments.

“How long have you known Marilyn?” The stepsister asked.

Rusty shrugged and said, “Oh, what, about 7 years now? Right? Seven years?”

“Yeah.” Marilyn confirmed. Looking at her stepsister, she said, “Rusty is awesome. He’s like my BFF.”

“Aw. That’s sweet.”

“Well, you are!”

“Thanks. You’re mine too.”

As they weaved around row after row of lawnchairs and parked cars, Marilyn flirted, “You should come over and spend the night.”

“Spend the night?”

“Yeah. You don’t want to ride your motorcycle all the way back up to LA. We have a trampoline!” Marilyn laughed. Her stepsister giggled along. They hung onto each other, obviously sharing an inside joke.

“Ooookay. A trampoline?” Rusty responded, “That was random. And what does that have to do with spending the night?”

“We sleep on it. You can look up at the stars.”

“Oh, that’s cool!”

“And I sleep naked.” Marilyn volunteered, which threw her stepsister into even more uproarious laughing.

Rusty had no idea what to say.

While she gave him visuals to fulfill his every male fantasy, sleeping naked on trampolines with underage girls meant he was risking the next night sleeping in a jailcell with a bull queer named Bubba. And Rusty had a very nice ass. Rusty didn’t want Bubba anywhere near that tight butt of his.

“Um... I... don’t know if that’s such a good idea. You want me... to sleep with you... on a trampoline... while you’re naked?”

Marilyn laughed even harder, then with an akimbo challenge said, “Why not? You scared?”

“I’m not scared.” Rusty lied. “I’ve slept with plenty of naked girls.”

“Not on trampolines, I bet.”

“Well, no. Never on a trampoline. Very true. You got me there.”

Marilyn’s stepsister finally spoke, “My dad said you two make a cute couple.”

“What?” Rusty was stunned. Was she joking?

“Yeah,” Marilyn backed her up. “Well, no, he said we look like we are dating and we look really cute together. Like we should be dating.”

Rusty grinned and threw his arm around her shoulders, “Well, maybe someday, my dear. When sleeping with you naked on the trampoline won’t land me in prison.”

At the end of the evening, after that second movie had finished, when they hugged goodbye, neither one of them wanted to let go.

Rusty knew they were both dreaming of stars and trampolines.

§

Next week, Estella and her husband went out of town, so Marilyn was staying with a family friend up on Chevy Chase. Rusty and Marilyn made plans to go have sushi. Excited about their dinner plans, Marilyn had never been on a motorcycle before.

“I’m scared.”

“No. No. Don’t be a scared.” Rusty said like a child.

Marilyn laughed, as he hoped she would.

Rusty continued, “I promise you I’ll ride very, very prudent and conservative. I’ll keep you totally safe.”

Once again, he didn’t dare mention scaring the living crap out of poor Kacey and learning a valuable lesson.

“Okay. I trust you.”

True to his word, Rusty took a leisurely drive down Glenoaks and across the Valley. Marilyn held on tighter than she needed to, but Rusty didn’t mind. He stuck to surface streets, savoring every moment she clung to him.

§

“Wow. This is amazing.” Marilyn stared in wonder.

Rusty had taken her to his favorite sushi restaurant - a quaint little enclave hidden down an alleyway next to a florist shop. Like something straight out of a movie, a jog off a hectic main road, a walk through a tiny parking lot, and it looks like you’re entering some private warehouse where gangsters whack people. But instead, an alcove opens around the corner of the building and there is a gorgeous cobblestone patio, replete with a trellis canopy of plants and corners dotted with fountains. An oasis of tranquility, you can barely hear the traffic anymore.

“You like it?”

Marilyn hugged him, “Yes! It’s beautiful. It reminds me of you.”

“Of me?”

“Yeah. You think it will be one way when you see the outside, but everything on the inside is a wonderful surprise.”

“Aw.” Rusty pulled her close and kissed the top of her head with his chin.

§

“Ow.” Marilyn put a napkin up to her mouth, eyes winced tight. “Bit my cheek.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Can I kiss it and make it better?” Rusty offered, taking a mischievous sip of water.

“No!” Marilyn giggled.

Still trying to recover from her blushing and hide the awkward silence, as her hand shot towards her face to cover the forkful of food that nearly dropped out of her mouth. Marilyn commented, “So, anywaaaay. I hate that when you’re on a date and you do something embarrassing -”

“ - Oh, wait. What? Are you saying we on a date right now? So this is a date? We’re dating?”

Marilyn stammered. “I... uh...”

“Well, that’s what you just said. When you’re on a date. So this is a date. Right?”

Marilyn looked mortified and hopeful all at once. After a brief pause, she resumed chewing and mumbled from the corner of her mouth, “You are like the King of Awkward, you know that?”

Rusty grinned, noticing that she never said, “No.”

When they had paid the bill and walked back to his motorcycle, Rusty protectively held Marilyn’s hand as they crossed the seven deadly lanes of traffic.

Marilyn never let go.

Once they safely reached the other side, for the next block and a half, until they reached the bike, she held on tight. Rusty thinks that may have been the moment when he really fell in love with her.

§

“You cleaned up.” Marilyn teased.

“Excuse me?”

Peering around his apartment for the first time, Marilyn observed, “No bachelor keeps his place this nice. You cleaned up before you brought me here.”

“I did not!” Rusty lied. “Besides, you’re 17. What do you know about bachelor apartments? You just got done playing with dolls and having sleepovers.”

Ignoring his comment, she spotted the bed, “Oh. My. God. You are never getting laid with a bed like that.”

“Excuse me!?”

“Where’s your wife?”

“My wife?”

“That’s what women are going to say! You have a canopy! No single man has a canopy bed. You’re either gay or married. Take that down. Woman sees that, she’s leaving.”

“I got that for my girlfriend! When she was living with me, I put up a canopy.”

“Where is she now?”

“We broke up.”

“Exactly. So take down the canopy.”

“I like it! That’s not going to drive women away. That’s to seduce the ladies.” Rusty joked in his best Barry White baritone.

“Oh, please.” Marilyn rolled her shoulder as she walked back downstairs.

The two spent the rest of the evening flirting and playing and wrestling around on his couch. Marilyn teased him about how he had been looking longingly into her eyes at dinner. Rusty denied it, even though they both knew he didn’t mean it.

Marilyn pinned him down, one small brush of her thigh against his. Just a tease. Just enough for them to both feel the chill of lust trickle down their throats, but innocent enough to pretend like nothing happened.

When the night was over and he had returned her safe and sound to her family friend, they couldn’t stop holding each other and looking in each others eyes. Neither one of them wanted to let go. Under the yellow glow of that ornate driveway lamp, shrouded in the warm July dark of Los Angeles mountain homes, this was the moment they had both fantasized about for weeks.

Alone.

Holding each other.

Their lips so close.

“You are such a teenage boy.” Marilyn smiled. In that moment, he felt like her equal. A date to a homecoming dance. Returning from prom. He wasn’t an older man. They were both young as the night was black.

“I am?” Rusty blushed.

“Yeah.”

Rusty simpered in the warmth of thinking about all the years he’d spent in that moment. After all this time, she had him feeling exactly like a kid all over again. Those first dates. Those first kisses. The butterflies in his stomach and the shyness under the streetlights on a warm summer night. Bashful grins. Happy laughter. Holding hands. How he savored those moments when everything felt like John Hughes movie.

They drew in closer.

Marilyn, in a panic, blurted out, “Don’t be creepy.”

Rusty’s heart sank and he pulled back. “What? What’s that supposed to mean?”

Marilyn shut her eyes and shook her head with regret. “Nothing.”

What was she thinking?

Marilyn wanted him to kiss her so bad. More than anything, she wished Rusty would do it anyway. As he moved close again and brushed his cheek against hers, she turned her head away.

She wanted him to think she didn’t want this.

But she did.

Could he read her mind?

Could he tell how much she wanted to feel his lips against hers?

Why doesn’t he just grab her and do it?

Like in the movies?

Just do it, Rusty!

Her heart dropped as he started to pull away.

Don’t be creepy?

What an idiot!

Why did she say that to him?

Kissing him wouldn’t have been creepy.

Kissing him was what she was hoping would happen that night!

“I should go.” He whispered.

“Okay. I love you, Rusty.”

She had never said that before. Not so seriously. Not looking into his eyes like that. There next to that dark mountain street, he finally heard her say what he had always dreamed to hear.

“I love you too, Marilyn.”

They held hands, then fingertips, far longer than friends do.

Rusty rode away, happier than he had been in months.

§

“I worry that she’s going to just screw me over.”

Isabeau stood by the doorway as Rusty finished brushing his teeth. “She loves you. She said it like 3 times the night you went out. She called you a teenage boy.”

“But...”

“You’ve known her 7 years! Since she was 10 years old! She is sincere. She adores you. Fear not.”

“True...”

Isabeau reassured Rusty as he closed his eyes and found himself drifting to slumber. “You are walking the true path. All will be fine. Sleep. Rest.”

§

AnnachieG(Rusty): hey you.

gangstaMonroe(Marilyn): Hey ya

AnnachieG(Rusty): hey! been tryin’ 2 reach U 2 work out plans 2 hang out.

gangstaMonroe(Marilyn): Oh ye idk I might be hangin with doug. I hv a lot of things to work out with him!

AnnachieG(Rusty): like what? nuclear physics?

gangstaMonroe(Marilyn): I’ll try but u know I’m kinda with him but there are some really serious things that we are dealing with! And u think I’m being dramatic and it is stupid high school stuff but this is not like that at all!

Who the hell was Doug? She had never mentioned this guy before and now she’s talking about him as if Rusty knows exactly who he is.

AnnachieG(Rusty): i would NEVER think that of U. have i ever treated U that way? U know how much i respect U and your feelings. i’ve never talked down 2 U.

gangstaMonroe(Marilyn): Haha nono I kno but I’m in sum shit rite now

AnnachieG(Rusty): well, now i’m getting concerned. can U talk on the phone?

gangstaMonroe(Marilyn): Unfortunately not!

AnnachieG(Rusty): augh! R U with someone U can’t talk around?

gangstaMonroe(Marilyn): Yeah srry! Its not me in truble so much as him. Srry I wuld talk to u in front o my friend except she doesn’t know what’s going on and she knows doug so it wuld b bad if she found out!

AnnachieG(Rusty): no problem. we can chat now and talk when U get home. i understand totally.

gangstaMonroe(Marilyn): Ye well everything is really stressful but it is totally gunna b worth while

AnnachieG(Rusty): oookay. i have no idea what that means. but ok. U can just explain later. we don’t have 2 talk about it now.

gangstaMonroe(Marilyn): Well um he is engaged and well two nights ago we got a little... Intimate and we have been talking about dating for about a month before that! Um well he and his fiancee hv been taking a break but I still feel like shit but yeah...

AnnachieG(Rusty): engaged? how old is he?

gangstaMonroe(Marilyn): 24

AnnachieG(Rusty): MARILYN!

gangstaMonroe(Marilyn): RUSTY!!!

AnnachieG(Rusty): that is jailtime. what R U thinking!? U realize the kind of trouble he can get in?

gangstaMonroe(Marilyn): Well I’m thinking I don’t give a damn how old he is!! What do u think when u date girlz that r virtually half ur age???

AnnachieG(Rusty): but i never crossed the line into getting “intimate” with anyone underage. that’s the issue. that’s the dangerous part.

gangstaMonroe(Marilyn): Yes I understand u r older not saying that 24 isent older aswell but well u don’t know him! And how old are you?

Rusty was stunned. He thought Marilyn was a really smart girl, but now he had doubts. Did she even understand what Rusty was talking about? Did she realize by having sex with a 24 year old man, she was endangering him with jailtime? Don’t these stupid underage girls realize that statutory rape is a real thing? It’s not something that was just invented for television and movies. Don’t these dumb girls know that men truly get convicted for this crime? Even when Rusty came right out and said that, it seemed Marilyn was just too ignorant to understand the severity of what she was risking.

gangstaMonroe(Marilyn): Besides I’m only 2 yrs out of his “date age range” and u date ppl WAY outa urs!!

AnnachieG(Rusty): like who?

gangstaMonroe(Marilyn): Anyone under half ur age + 7

AnnachieG(Rusty): (rolls eyes) that’s just silly. there are no “rules” like that. except - “don’t have sexual relationships that can land you in prision.” that’s the one i work to follow. ;-) sweety, U know how important U R 2 me. i just want U 2 B careful. that’s all i’m saying.

gangstaMonroe(Marilyn): No its just! The first time I ever met him I had dreamed of being his gf! And it isent like he is super gorgeous or anything he is just amazing! He barely said two words to me and yet I could feel he was just right for me! It was weird!

What was Rusty doing? Why was he warning her? What was the point of telling her she was jailbait when she was clearly too dumb to understand the gravity of what that means? He didn’t give a crap about this Doug person. Heck, Marilyn never even mentioned this guy before. Rusty decided to just tell Marilyn what she wanted to hear. Why waste his time trying to protect her from her own idiocy?

AnnachieG(Rusty): now i see why U got so defensive. that’s cool. how did U meet him?

gangstaMonroe(Marilyn): He um... Is my ex-girlfriends brother

AnnachieG(Rusty): ex-girlfriend?

AnnachieG(Rusty): “girl who was a friend” or “girlfriend”

gangstaMonroe(Marilyn): Yeah I never told u this cuz I was afraid ud tell my mom but I dated this grl named renee

AnnachieG(Rusty): i figured U had. U joked about it 2 much.

gangstaMonroe(Marilyn): Well anyway it is her bro so ye its pretty fucked up

Rusty was laughing at his computer screen. How hilarious that this ignorant teenage girl acts as though these petty and irrelevant high school dramas are always a cataclysmic event. Girls playing at bisexuality and young boys cheating on their fiancé are the most trite and insignificant of acts. Yet, to Marilyn, these meaningless things represented earth-shattering shifts in the very foundations of reality.

Or perhaps that dismissal was simply another manifestation of his rage. Rusty knew such things were earth-shattering, but if the events didn’t involve him, why acknowledge their importance?

AnnachieG(Rusty): U and i are very similar, U know. that’s why i would never belittle your feelings.

gangstaMonroe(Marilyn): I’m very close with him

AnnachieG(Rusty): i met my first love when i was 16. she killed herself when she was 22. i still think of her everyday of my life. so, i won’t ever write off your feelings as “high school bullshit”

gangstaMonroe(Marilyn): Well thank you! It doesn’t matter how old he is because of how I feel! :-)

AnnachieG(Rusty): i told U that the night we went 2 dinner. age doesn’t matter. not at all.

gangstaMonroe(Marilyn): Ye I kno

AnnachieG(Rusty): i didn’t freak out on U because of his age. i freaked out on U because U R underage and that means he could get in HUGE trouble. dating underage girls is fine. sex with them is not. once U R 18, i will never say anything about the age of a guy U R sleeping with. see the difference?

gangstaMonroe(Marilyn): Yea but I don’t expect anyone but u to know. I mean I’m not gunna make it a habit of sleeping with guys over 18! He is prob the only one I wuld ever consider!!

AnnachieG(Rusty): did U think i want more than friendship? so u R avoiding me?

gangstaMonroe(Marilyn): Nonono I’m just rawr ya know!! Too many things to wrry bout! But I will try!!

AnnachieG(Rusty): ok. good. just checking. i didn’t want U 2 b like, “OMG, rusty wants me booty! i can’t C him!”

gangstaMonroe(Marilyn): Haha no Its just ya know 60 percent of what ppl say when their joking comes from a real place so u just worry me once and a while

AnnachieG(Rusty): how do U think i feel!? U are “joking” with me a lot too! it’s been very mutual, my dear.

gangstaMonroe(Marilyn): Sigh yes I know but I am marilyn! I joke with everyone and everything! And though I think about what I am saying I realize that I only say those things cuz I’m retarted!!!! I wuld never do anything! Which also makes me a tease!! But I’m ok with that...

Rusty was so humiliated that he didn’t even allow himself to accept what she had just said.

She was a tease?

Of course she was!

The girl was 17 years old. She didn’t know how to be anything else but a tease! Was he really that stupid, that foolhardy, that blinded by his own pathetic loneliness that Rusty actually started to believe she was attracted to him?

Of course she wasn’t.

He was a test. She was his experiment. That’s what all young girls do. Test their sexuality by seeing how far she can push things with a grown man before he either breaks down in tears or rapes her.

Manipulative little whore.

She was a tease.

Just a tease.

And he was just a gullible old fool who refused to see it.

An old fool.

That was the first time Rusty ever used the word “old” to describe himself. But how could he deny it anymore? What else was he? He suddenly saw himself turning into one of those 65 year old men who give their live savings away to some 19 year old girl on the Internet who claims she wants to marry him.

Rusty always pitied those men as miserable suckers.

Gullible old morons.

For the first time, Rusty knew, he was in true danger of becoming one of those men someday.

Or was it the first time?

Maybe he was always this ignorant.

AnnachieG(Rusty): we are much alike and know each other too well, my dear.

gangstaMonroe(Marilyn): Yes we do! Too well for comfort some times! I do wanna hang but we gotta be careful! Not only would that be bad but I’m kinda in a relationship!

AnnachieG(Rusty): ok. no problem. i would never want ANYTHING 2 happen between us that U would regret or feel guilty about.

gangstaMonroe(Marilyn): Ok good! I don’t regret things in life but that is because I do things that I won’t regret! I had to explain this to doug too! Becuz he thought I would regret it! Its true there is a spark with you but I said I was teasing because I am still kidding when I know I will not at this time or anytime soon act on these feelings! My feelings are not strong enough for that

AnnachieG(Rusty): cool. i know. we’re totally on the same page here.

gangstaMonroe(Marilyn): Yes me too which is why I am talking about it before anything happened you know? plus I think if we haden’t had this convo and sumthing happened doug would hv killed u!

Stupid bitch. Why do girls always claim their boyfriend will “kill” a guy? Did she know how many fistfights Rusty had been in? Little sissy boys today go through life never having thrown a punch. Doug was probably another of her little theatre actor pansyboys.

And why did the little cuntrag suddenly act like Rusty was at fault? Marilyn was the one who wouldn’t stop holding Rusty’s hand. Marilyn was the one grinding her crotch against Rusty on his couch. Marilyn was the one saying she loved Rusty. Marilyn was the one who didn’t deny she was on a date with Rusty and never, ever, mentioned this “Doug” character before.

Now the bitch is acting like Rusty was somehow inappropriate?

She instigated everything!

She admitted to being a tease!

But now she expects Rusty to be scared of some stupid little bastard “killing” him?

Marilyn just admitted this Doug scumbag is cheating on his fiance. Did Marilyn honestly think Rusty would be intimidated by some 24 year old little boy who is betraying the woman he promised to marry? Doug had no claim to Marilyn and she was a fucking idiot for thinking a boy who cheats on his future wife would have any devotion to her slutty homewrecking ass.

AnnachieG(Rusty): aw. another friend on the east coast just said: “well it’s people like you who make this world a little less bland and a lot more intresting"

AnnachieG(Rusty): ....helloooo?

AnnachieG(Rusty): where’d ya go?

Auto response from gangstaMonroe(Marilyn): Your IM has been sent to my mobile device. When I receive it, I will be able to reply. Thanks for your IM! Want your IMs forwarded to your phone? Click here

§

Rusty pulled up to the house on a lovely tree-lined street in Culver City. The neighborhood was painted with stick-fetching collies and yoga-pants trophy wives pushing strollers. Whether that description sounds cynical or lovely says a great deal about a person. Rusty thought it was lovely, but he didn’t always.

Walking up the cobblestone path to the porch, he rang the bell.

A moment later, an older woman, but young enough that her grey hairs were only peppering the blonde, opened the door.

“Hello,” Rusty smiled. “I’m Rusty. I’m here to pick up Marilyn.”

“Oh, Rusty! Yes. Come on in! I’m Belinda.” The woman held out her hand as she swung the door open.

Belinda had been Marilyn’s stagemother for years and Marilyn spent the weekend with her. Through numerous movies and guest appearances, she looked after Marilyn. She was also a stagemother to a few popstar girls from Disney over the decades.

Marilyn and Rusty finally had plans to spend the night together.

Estella was fine with it.

They would go out to dinner, then hang out the next day, and go to the beach or a museum or something. Then he’d take her back home.

Rusty thought he was stopping over to pick Marilyn up and leave. Instead, Belinda made them wait forever.

The woman was very bizarre.

Apparently she was babysitting a young boy whom she said would be very upset if Marilyn left without saying goodbye.

“Oh. Okay. No problem.” Rusty smiled, “Where is he?”

“Oh, he’s taking a nap.”

Rusty was confused. “So, you need to wake him up?”

“Oh, no. I can’t wake him.”

Marilyn explained, “We just have to wait until he gets up.”

This was insane.

Rusty puzzled, “So, we can’t leave because a little boy who is taking a nap needs to say goodbye to you, but no one can wake him up?” Rusty turned his frown into a grin. “Okay. That’s really kind of weird, but okay.”

When people are that psychotic, Rusty didn’t believe they deserved courtesy or diplomacy. Tell them to their faces that they are behaving like psychopaths.

The little boy didn’t wake up for another 45 minutes.

Rusty was furious. He couldn’t get over how rude this was.

Very strange to boot.

The whole situation made Rusty slightly uncomfortable for reasons he couldn’t explain.

When they finally got back to Rusty’s apartment, before they even got in the door, Marilyn started to talk about just watching a movie really quick, then going to hang out with Renee and Doug.

What?

They had been planning this for over a week.

For months, they had been talking about it. Marilyn joking about sneaking off the couch and climbing into bed with him. Now they finally had a chance to spend real time together and she suddenly announces she’s not staying?

When they had mounted the motorcycle, Marilyn had commented about looking forward to seeing the beach with Rusty tomorrow. Now, the moment they arrive at his apartment she has suddenly changed her mind? Why? Clearly he couldn’t have said anything to upset her. They didn’t say a word while riding on the motorcycle!

So, why the sudden change of plans?

What happened?

Rusty suddenly had a horrible flashback to Kacey.

Bitches using him.

Lying. Making things up.

What is it with women who always lie about their plans?

This was just getting worse and worse.

As least Kacey broke plans when she was still in Florida.

Now the girls are waiting to do it on his front steps!

But what was her motive?

Inside his apartment, Rusty tried to make the best of it.

He didn’t complain. Didn’t freak out. He played it cool.

Whatever she wanted to do was fine with him.

He wasn’t going to give her the chance to accuse him of any wrongdoing the way Kacey did. Marilyn wanted to lie to him and screw him over, he’d pretend like he didn’t mind at all.

Showing her some funny videos on the Internet, she suddenly said to him, “You do know the age of consent in California is 16 right?”

“The what?”

“Are you sure you’re 39?”

“Whoa. Back up. I’m only 37.”

“Close enough.”

“You’re the one who just told me I’m such a teenage boy.”

“The age of consent is how old a person can be before they can legally have sex.”

“You mean 18.”

“No. Most states it’s 16.”

“It is not!”

“I’m serious!”

“It’s 18 like all over the country.”

“No. Trust me. I’m a teenager. I look this stuff up. It’s different in different states, but in most of them, you can fuck a 16 year old and not go to jail.”

“You’re making that up. Just because you like that 24 year old.”

Marilyn shoved Rusty aside with her shoulder and found the California government website.

Pulling up the law, she pointed.

“Look.”

She was right. According to California State Law, he could have sex with Marilyn Sweeny. Totally legal. Totally moral. Totally not creepy. Rusty looked up the regulation, right there on a legitimate .GOV website.

§

California State Code § 97-3-65. Statutory rape; enhanced penalty for forcible sexual intercourse or statutory rape by administering certain substances.

(1) The crime of statutory rape is committed when:

(a) Any person seventeen (17) years of age or older has sexual intercourse with a child who:

(i) Is at least fourteen (14) but under sixteen (16) years of age;

§

Marilyn leaned over him, deliberately pushing her breasts up against his shoulder as she pointed at the screen, her cheek brushing closer to his than it needed to be. “See? Sixteen. I’m seventeen. I’m not jailbait. So, you should have spent the night with me last year, when you were at my house for my 16th birthday party.” Her lips brushed his ear, “Because I wanted to let you fuck me into a coma with all my girlfriends watching us. But you left.”

Tossing up her hands, she stepped back, “Then you should have brought me home to your place on my 17th birthday this year, after you took me to Disneyland. But you didn’t. You blew that one too. Because you forgot that fucking helmet.” Squinting and crossing her arms, she said, “I invited you to spend the night with me after the drive-in movie, and I told you I sleep naked out on the trampoline. And you didn’t come over that night either. You went home! Alone! Then you took me out to dinner, and I had my chest pressed into your back and my legs wrapped around you on that motorcycle for an hour, and I was so wet I thought I’d slip off the seat, and I hoped you’d finally take me back to your place and sleep with me. Instead, you rode me back to my friends and dropped me off! And you didn’t even kiss me in the driveway!”

“I... Well...” Rusty stammered.

Marilyn’s smirk was not remotely cheerful. “So now, I’ve been 17 years old for two whole weeks, and I’m going to spend the night in your apartment, and I’m going to take a shower right now, and after I take off my clothes and I close that shower door, you better fucking come in there after me. Because I’m getting tired of throwing myself at you, and this is the last time.”

Marilyn stomped out of the room without another word.

The bathroom door slammed shut.

Rusty was sitting there in shock.

She’d never spoken to him like that before. No girl ever had.

Sixteen?

He had no idea.

He looked at the website again.

Marilyn was alone in the shower for less than a minute before she heard the rumble of the sliding door open behind her.

Her smile was beaming. “Hiya, handsome. Wash my back?”

§

Marilyn was still wrapped around his body at sunrise. Buried deep beneath the soft warmth of quilts and sheets, her skin melted into his. Rusty traced a finger from her curled blonde hair to her massive breasts and down under the covers.

He had loved this girl for so long and he never knew it until now, just how deep that love had grown. For seven years he had watched this girl grow up from a 10 year old child to the 17 year old young lover in his bed. This was how love should be, he thought. This was how he always dreamed it would unfold. Innocence. Tenderness. Friendship.

Perhaps the universe was giving him his second chance.

Kateri had died too young.

Now, at last, the universe was making it up to him.

The universe owed him this, damnit.

The universe stole away the first girl he ever truly loved. He never even got to kiss her. Now, here was Marilyn. Just as young. Just as beautiful. Every inch of her flesh quivered beneath his lips. Looking deep into her eyes as their bodies flowed wet into each other. Whispering “I love you” as they shuddered midnight passions behind closed doors. Dying little deaths over and over until they slept entangled in heat and all the flames snuffed in lust hot wax. Sweat and dreaming in the sweet breath of each other.

Years of his life had built to this moment.

At long last, he had found his young girl of purity and delight.

§

Rusty awoke alone.

Dreams of Marilyn melted on his sheets. He could still smell her perfume that had never been in his bed.

Marilyn really had come over.

She really had taken a shower.

But she never begged Rusty to join her.

He didn’t climb in the stall with her.

She never showed him that website.

They never made love.

She didn’t even spend the night.

Instead, they watched a movie and she left right after it was over.

Marilyn decided to call her friend Renee and spend the night with her instead. Laying in bed alone that night, Rusty knew, at that very moment, Marilyn was having sex with Renee’s brother, Doug. Again.

Rusty realized that if he had endured this ten years ago, he would have been crying over her. But now, it didn’t even occur to him to shed a tear. Funny, isn’t it?

Rusty never saw Marilyn again.

She never called.

Never answered his emails.

She ignored him from that night on.

And once again, like all the rest, he never found out why.

§

“Daddy, this is a time to trust your heart. Your time will come. This is not your time. You know this. You thought you’d kiss her last night.”

Rusty looked at his daughter. Sleeping with an underage girl was beyond stupid. Rusty wouldn’t dare ruin his life like that. Sure, his subconscious made him dream it, but Rusty would never do that for real. Heck, even his dream had to show him an imaginary law first! (Rusty had to look it up when awake in the real world and he was right - statute of limitations was 18 years old in California.)

But after 7 years of friendship, he was admittedly feeling something for Marilyn. He wouldn’t mind an innocent kiss. Rusty nodded, “Totally.”

And a year from now, when Marilyn was old enough to be with him, maybe they could have something more than friendship and an innocent kiss. After all, they were only 20 years apart. Plenty of loving Hollywood couples had even bigger age differences. Heck, Charlie Chaplin was married for over 30 years to a girl who was 18 when he was 52. Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall were 25 years apart and theirs was one of the greatest romances in Tinsel Town.

“That isn’t your heart’s instinct. Not yet. Not now.”

“Can I screw up my destiny? Or, what I should ask is - am I going to screw it up?”

Isabeau reflected, “Always in motion is the future. This you know.”

“True, little Buddha.”

“Yoda, actually. That was his line.”

“Yeah, I know.” How did Isabeau know about movie quotes?

Isabeau let the shadow of a grin appear beneath the skin. “Do you honestly want to be with Marilyn?”

“Honestly? I don’t know what to say. Want to be with? As a lover? Not yet. As a girlfriend in a committed relationship? No. As a wife? Not yet.”

“So what is the problem?”

“This isn’t about Marilyn at all, is it?”

“Companionship. Same old issue.”

“Yes. I see. If I had another person to be with tonight...”

“Totally. You wouldn’t be bummed over Marilyn at all.”

Rusty rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palms and a sigh. “Companionship.”

“Your true missing piece of the puzzle. The real source of your loneliness.”

“Time to start dating again, isn’t it?”

Isabeau paused and Rusty imagined her on prairiefields, staring at an approaching thunderstorm. “No. This is bigger. Something else is happening. Something important.”

“What? I don’t understand. I’m only getting glimpses.”

“Always in motion.”

“You keep saying that. How do I know?” Rusty asked.

“The course of the river is always there. Where the twig shall flow is forever changing.”

§

There was more to this.

That was why Rusty was so upset.

Weeks after the weird night with Marilyn, he still kept rehashing the conversations and her behavior in his head. It was bizarre. Nothing she did made any sense.

Even when they arrived at his apartment, Marilyn spoke about seeing him the next day and going to dinner, because she was staying the night.

Five minutes later, she was talking to her mom on her cellphone and her mother was talking about her stepfather picking her up.

Why?

How did plans go from spending the night and having dinner the next day, to getting picked up in an hour?

Was it some kind of “code” they had established?

Why was her mother offering to have Marilyn picked up, when the plan had always been for her to spend the night? Was this part of their secret agenda?

If I call you when I get there, it means I’m uncomfortable with him and someone needs to come get me.

Maybe that was exactly the kind of game they were playing.

Something strange was going on.

Why did she do that?

Why did she pretend she was staying with him, then get up and leave? The whole thing made no sense.

Something else was happening here, something that made him uneasy and mistrusting, but Rusty had no idea what it could be.

§

One of the most inadvisable things anyone can ever do is to look up their former lovers on the Internet.

Just let it go.

Everyone knows this. No one does it.

Rusty didn’t know why he was doing it with Charlinda.

How many reasons were there?

Did he miss her?

Did he wish her well and want to know she was fine?

Did he wish her ill and want to gloat?

Did he want to torture himself?

Looking at her social networking profile, she had deleted every trace of the couple she shacked up with after she moved out. Powder and Eve were nowhere to be seen. Although, Charlinda did have a comment about being careful who you make friends with in Los Angeles.

That made him gloat.

Rusty warned her to stay away from them.

He told her they were trouble.

What did she do?

She moved in with them.

The polar opposite of what he advised her to do.

Now? Not a trace of them in sight.

Coupled with her recent cryptic posts about “not finding good friends” and “being careful who you trust in Los Angeles” made it pretty obvious that Charlinda fell into the darkness he tried to protect her from. She got burned. Badly.

Just like he had warned her.

Too bad.

Yeah, Rusty definitely gloated a bit.

He felt sorry for her too.

Admittedly, more gloating than pity. He couldn’t help it.

She had been doing far more modeling.

He was happy for her to, at long last, find success in her career.

She was a great model. She deserved more work. Good for her.

She was even in a music video? How cool. This he had to see!

§

Rusty was laying on his couch. More than two hours had passed, and he was still freaking out. “Honestly, I’m not even that upset that she was naked. I just miss her and I’ve been alone ever since and to see her nude body again, just kind of upset me.”

“You didn’t think you’d ever see it again.” Isabeau sat on the floor across from him.

Rusty felt silly having this conversation. He had just called Veronica back in New York and vented his frustrations to her and now he was reliving the same consternation with Isabeau.

But isn’t that what we all do when we’re upset?

Have the identical conversation with all our friends until someone gives us a glimmer of hope; an insight we weren’t able to reach on our own?

Rusty agreed with Isabeau, just as he had when Veronica said the same thing. No. He wasn’t ready to see Charlinda naked again. And he certainly didn’t expect to see her breasts in a music video on his computer screen. “Well, no. No, I didn’t. And it also makes me worry because when we were together, she always vowed that she’d never do any nude work. Never. The simple fact that she has started and she’s running around naked in music videos means she’s selling out against her own morals. I don’t think it’s wrong or immoral. But I know she never wanted to go down that road. Don’t you see? If she started down that path, that means she’s getting desperate. You know she’s only doing it because she needs the money.”

“That’s not true. People change their minds. She was a sexually experimental girl. She wanted to bring other women into your bed and sodomize you with a strap-on. Changing her mind and deciding that she wanted to bear her breasts in public is pretty mild in comparison.”

“I don’t know. I still think she’d never do it unless she had no choice. And I guess that makes me feel guilty. Like I should have tried harder to hold onto her.”

Isabeau groaned and shook her head. “Don’t do that to yourself. Don’t keep her on such a pedestal. You know better. Did it ever occur to you that she may have claimed to be so against nudity just to be more appealing to your puritanical dreamgirl fantasies? She was a deviant freak and you loved it. Don’t act like she was a nun. And stop the ‘nice guy martyrdom’ crap. You were never a nice guy with her anyway! Daddy, she slept with 17 people before she was 20 years old. You were just someone she used. She admitted it. The girl came right out and said it. Yet you still miss her? You realize at her rate, she averages 5 new lovers per year? That means she has likely been with at least 6 guys since she was with you. So you saw her naked again? Big deal. Join the club. You weren’t the first. You won’t be the last.”

“That’s pretty harsh.”

“No! It’s not! Daddy, your heart is precious! You always sit there and claim you know your own worth. Bull! Why, if you know your own value, do you constantly give your heart to those girls who don’t value it? I’m not being harsh! I’m telling you that you are priceless and you never respect your own value!”

“Yes. I do. I do see my value. But, you’re right, I do constantly give myself to those who do not appreciate me.”

Isabeau clicked her cheek. It occurred to Rusty that if life were a movie, this scene should be black and white and she should be lighting a cigarette. “No one has ever had the backbone to be real with you. Ever.”

“Ironic statement coming from someone who isn’t corporeal.”

“Cute. What manifests as ‘real’ in your life has far more to do with your dreams than the reality of anyone else.”

“Yeah. True.”

“Charlinda didn’t talk to you. Marilyn abandoned you. People repeat the same predictable patterns over and over again. You act like it doesn’t bother you. But that’s bullcrap. The truth is, it does hurt you. You just happen to be strong enough to cope with it very well. But pretending you are ‘fine’ with it is a lie. Stop lying to yourself. Those lies are the source of this heartache.”

“I’m not over Charlinda, am I?”

Isabeau rolled her head sideways and squinted ever so slightly. “Do you ever get over anyone?”

Rusty was tempted to think about it, based on her tone. But he didn’t. Instead he quickly answered, “Yes. Definitely. There are people for whom I’ve lost all romantic attraction. Typically because I discover they are actually rather horrible human beings.”

“I never asked that. I asked do you get over them?”

“No. I guess I never do. Yet, when Charlinda admits she was using me, I still miss her. Why?”

Shrugging, Isabeau says, “Daddy, emotions are not absolutes. Yes, you and Charlinda used each other. But that does not mean you didn’t have good time. Doesn’t mean you didn’t care about each other. Remember, she was the only girl you ever slept with, wrapped in each others arms. You could sleep with her all night like that. You’ve never done that with anyone else. Ever. Some people couldn’t care less about that kind of thing, but for a romantic like you, that means something.”

“Hrm.” Rusty wasn’t sure if she was patronizing him. The softness behind her eyes made him realize she wasn’t.

“Oh, daddy. You’re just lonely. You’re vulnerable. This was just bad timing. Marilyn abandoned you. She pretended to like you, and lead you on, then when you returned her affections, she acted like you were some creep. Something you never ever thought she would do. She fucked you over. Marilyn was an awful person. Then you see your ex-girlfriend naked in some erotic music video. Terrible timing. That would upset anybody.”

“Yeah. If Marilyn had been my girlfriend for the past month, that video of Charlinda wouldn’t have phased me.”

“Not remotely.”

“Yeah.”

Isabeau climbed up on the couch next to her father. “You’re lonesome. And you were just shown naked images of an ex-lover you will always love. You were just shown what you are missing. Sex. Love. Intimacy. Companionship. Who wouldn’t be upset by that? If that video had shown Charlinda in a business suit, would you have been upset?”

“No.”

“No. The fact it was sexual upset you.”

“Of course.”

“And why? Because you yearn for some sexual intimacy in your life and you were just shown the last person you had it with.”

Rusty nodded and sighed. With a rub of his face, he realized he needed a shave. “I get it.”

“You don’t miss Charlinda, dad. She was snotty and mean and spiteful and cold at the end. You miss the companionship. You miss the intimacy. It’s not Charlinda. It’s not her at all. These emotions you’re feeling have nothing to do with Charlinda. This has to do with what she gave your life. The kindness she showed you in the beginning. The affection. The joy. If those needs were being fulfilled by another girl right now, this video with Charlinda wouldn’t have bothered you at all.”

“What about her!? She always vowed she’d never start doing nudity! She’s - ”

“ - Daddy! Stop! You can’t save every lost soul you meet, especially ones that don’t want to be saved. You were there for her. You did everything you could! You tried over and over to talk with her. She left you. She used you. She sleeps around all the time. 17 lovers at the age of 20! Remember? That is her life. That is how she wants to live. She didn’t want your protection. She didn’t want your devotion. These are her choices. Her choices. You didn’t make her this way. You aren’t responsible for how she chooses to live her life.”

“Yeah. Okay. Okay. You’re right. I get it. I knew she’d take bad paths without me. I tried to help her and warn her.”

“Listen, you did all you could to be a positive influence in her life. You aren’t liable for her and it’s not your responsibility to save her nor is it your place to judge her.”

“I know. I just wanted to protect her. I just - ”

Isabeau threw a pillow. “ - Jeezus, dad! She wasn’t even very nice to you! Remember her never greeting you at the door but once? Remember her staying online when you asked to talk to her? Remember her being on her cellphone at the park and at the 4th of July barbeque you took her to? Remember her not inviting you to the birthday party for Eve? Remember her being drunk before the Gothic Wear shoot you helped to get for her? Remember her taking ‘walks’ at 3:00am? Remember her not coming home the night you broke up with her? Remember her showing off her bruises in her underwear and saying ‘it’s great to be single in LA’ just to spite you? Remember her coming over at midnight after you broke up, just to get her cellphone charger and never saying hello? Remember her hiding a bottle of alcohol under the cabinets by the kitchen sink? Need I go on?”

“Is there more?” Rusty said behind shut eyes as he rubbed his face harder.

“Remember she almost never kissed you? Ever.”

“Okay.”

“Remember that she didn’t even react when you ended your relationship, but she got upset when you told her she had to leave your apartment? Remember how you realized in that moment that she only cared about staying in Los Angeles and she never cared about you?”

“Okay. Okay! I get it.”

“She. Is. Not. Your. Responsibility. She’s doing just fine without you. And you? You are far better off without her. Try putting all your care and attention into a girl who will reciprocate it.”

“Try... Wow... Say that again.”

“Try putting all your care and attention into a girl who will reciprocate it.”

Rusty stared at his daughter like she was a Delphic oracle. “Sweetheart, you are so right.”

“Then and only then will you truly value yourself and appreciate your own self-worth as much as you claim you already do.”

“I was celibate for seven years! Before Charlinda it was 7 years! I just don’t ever want to go through that again.”

“Really?” Isabeau was doubtful.

“Yes, really!”

“You are picky and introverted. What do you expect?”

“What?”

Isabeau rolled a single shoulder. “Dad, go talk to girls. Go to some clubs. Go to the beach. Join some dating websites. Make some effort! You need to make 1000% effort to meet people and talk to girls. Otherwise, you simply have no right to complain. Got it? Introverted and picky. Otherwise, shut up and quit complaining. Remember, the girl you’re looking for is not easy to find. That means you need to search harder than anyone! And you don’t search at all! You just go to work and stay at home. Get rejected more than ever.”

“True. Okay. You’re right.”

“And no anger!”

“Huh?” Rusty knew exactly what she meant, but he didn’t want to think she saw it so clearly. He wasn’t picky and introverted, after all. Not like she kept repeating. He was picky and misanthropic.

“No more anger. No more rage. People pick up on that, you know. People will let you down. They will lie. They will flake. They will ignore you. This will not change. But you can change the way you react to it. Use it as a positive catalyst to propel you into the next effort. For every girl who fucks you over, you are one step closer to someone who will appreciate you. Be happy! Not misanthropic.”

There goes that mindreading again.

“Got it.”

“But you must make the effort. The work is all on you. You are the one that you must rely upon. This was given to you as a solo mission. Understood?”

“Right. I got it. You said all this. You’re being redundant.”

“Sorry. I just want to drive it home.”

“But I keep seeing Charlinda in that video and - ”

“ - Now who is being redundant? Replace her. Move on. She did. She’s done with you. She’s been done with you for over a year. She deletes your comments. Ignores your emails. She’s not your concern anymore. Find. Someone. New. Period.”

“Got it. No more holding back. Pull out all the stops.”

Isabeau grinned approval. “Joy. Effort. That’s all. Those two things. All you need. Be happy and actually work at being extroverted and sociable. You have never done that before. Not to the degree that you should.”

“True. I can’t be an angry and bitter hermit, then wonder why I’m alone.”

“Bingo, Sherlock. Because that would be stupid. And you’re a bright fella.”

“Okay. That’s the plan. Joy and effort.”

“Unrelenting. Joy and effort.”

“So be it.”

“As for Charlinda, remember - it’s her life. Her choice. She didn’t want you to protect her. And there’s nothing you can do to prevent her from walking away. That is her decision.”

“Right you are. As usual.”

Despite his enthusiasm in the moment, the resolution of “joy and effort” never happened. By the time he went to bed, and awoke the next day, and spent hours at work, and came home, the edicts of the night before were all but forgotten.

§

As hurt as Rusty had been by Marilyn, he found out her abandonment was far worse than he had ever imagined. Weeks later, he discovered that apparently Marilyn told Estella that he was hitting on her and making her uneasy.

That’s why Marilyn stopped talking to him.

“I don’t know how to tell you this, but, you can’t have that kind of relationship with my daughter. You understand she’s just a 17 year old girl? She’s still a child. You’re a grown man.” Estella explained to Rusty over the phone.

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “What!? What are you talking about? Why would you think I... I... No, I don’t want to date Marilyn. I’m not... That’s not something I have ever been... I’m sorry. I just don’t even know how to respond to that. Why would you even say that to me? What have I ever said or done that would give you that impression? Why would you feel the need to say that to me?” Rusty stammered.

Estella went on to explain how Marilyn said Rusty was flirting with her and saying things that made her uncomfortable.

Estella said that Marilyn felt weirded out.

That she was uncomfortable around him.

“I was really pissed at you. I was ready to rip your throat out. But my husband calmed me down and reminded me that maybe it was a misunderstanding. Kids can sometimes take things the wrong way.”

Rusty was furious.

Marilyn was the one who started flirting with him! He never said or did anything inappropriate and he only reciprocated her flirtations after months of ignoring her advances.

Now he was the creep!?

He felt his heartrate rise and his eyes began to itch.

Rusty explained to Estella, “Well, yeah, I think there has definitely been some miscommunication. I’m not saying Marilyn was lying. Yes, I admit I said some flirtatious things, but I’m not stupid. I never said anything to her that I wouldn’t have been willing to say in front of you. And I only said those things because she was flirting with me first. I was the one who felt kind of uncomfortable when she started it. At first, I just tried to ignore it. I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. She’s a teenager. That’s the way teenagers are. But she kept pushing it, and pushing it, so I started flirting back. And I admit, maybe that was a mistake. I never should have done that. But I don’t think I ever said or did anything that crossed the line of decency. It was all very innocent.”

Rusty went on to tell Estella the story about going out to sushi and asking Marilyn if they were dating.

Estella laughed and said, “Yeah, I can totally picture you saying something like that.”

“And that’s my point. I won’t deny flirting with her. Yes, I did. But I never thought it was wrong or creepy or inappropriate. All of it was very mild. I never tried to kiss her or get her to sleep with me.”

“I know. I asked her.”

“You asked her!?”

“Yes. Of course. What did you expect a mother to do? I asked her. But she told me you never did anything like that.”

“Of course I didn’t! I’m not stupid. I have some morals, you know! High ones at that, if I do say so myself.”

“I know. You have some of the best morals of anyone I know. That’s why I gave you the benefit of the doubt instead of hiring a hitman.”

“Very funny.”

Although, Rusty suspected she wasn’t joking.

He would put nothing past a Texan corrupted by Hollywood.

“Estella, there’s a huge difference between ‘attraction’ and ‘interest’ in someone. Marilyn is a beautiful young girl and someone whom I do find very attractive. But she’s not someone I’ve ever been interested in. Big difference. I have never, and would never, hit on Marilyn, or any other underage girl. That’s just wrong.”

Oddly, Estella also said she was asking the stagemother if Rusty seemed “weird” in any way. Meaning what? Was that why they made him wait for 45 minutes before they left? Did they plan that ahead of time? Did they think, if he was a statutory rapist, he’d get angry over having to wait so long to bring her home?

Why did Estella let Rusty hang out with Marilyn in the first place, if Estella suspected he was intending something inappropriate?

The whole thing was a test.

The whole thing was a setup.

What else could it have been?

Something still felt wrong.

Something was still a lie.

Rusty couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but it felt like he was being played for a fool.

He never trusted Estella or Marilyn again after that.

Rusty may have had a naughty dream or two about Marilyn, but in real life, he never dared to cross that line. He wasn’t a moron. He’d fantasize about her, be he wasn’t going to try sleeping with an underage girl and destroy his life.

Deep inside, Rusty knew Marilyn wasn’t a sweet girl. She was a typical Los Angeles celebrity teen. She fucks 24 year old guys, and smokes pot, and has lesbian sex with her “friend” Renee.

Not his kind of girl at all.

He was telling himself she was far more innocent and pure than she actually was. Sure, maybe she was the portrait of chastity when she was 12 years old, but like most of the dregs of humanity, she corrupted herself long ago. All his fantasies about her were just that - fantasies. He was never facing reality.

Now he had no choice.

Marilyn was awful.

Rusty was starting to never trust any girls anymore. They all tell lies the moment it suits them.

The thing that freaked him out the most was that he never knew she was so uncomfortable. She never said a word to him. All the horrible things she said to her mother were done behind his back. Now he comes to find out her mother was practically ready to hire mobsters to castrate him for things he was not only innocent of doing, but for crimes he never knew he was accused of committing.

Based on everything Marilyn said and did, he had no idea she was so upset with him.

Lying chicks like that terrified him.

Who knows what deceitful things they might say?

Who knows what they are capable of doing?

Who knows what else she said that wasn’t true at all?

Rusty sat on the edge of the bikepath, eating ice cream, and asked Isabeau, “What if she changes her story and claims I tried to rape her or something?”

Isabeau twirled back her eyes faster than marbles in a labyrinth. “Daaaad, what possible motive could she have for that?”

“What motive did she have to stop speaking to me? She totally ignored my apology! And she made up lies about hitting on her! That’s scary stuff!”

Isabeau snickered, apparently not taking this remotely as seriously as her father. “You forget one vital detail.”

“Which is?”

“You did nothing wrong.” Isabeau shrugged off the sentence, as though her response explained everything. And it did. Kind of. “You flirted. That’s all. You never even tried to kiss her or touch her or sleep with her. You were home alone with a flirtatious underage girl who point-blank asked you to sleep naked with her and when she was nude in your shower, you still didn’t try anything inappropriate. You did nothing like that. And if, God forbid, she ever tried to lie and claim you did such things, you have the truth on your side.”

“Yeah. I guess.”

“You honestly think she’s going to risk perjury for no reason?”

“No. Of course not. But I bet she’s too stupid to know what perjury is.”

“Probably,” Isabeau shrugged, “but someone smarter than her would explain it to her.”

“True.”

“Have you learned a lesson?”

Rusty wasn’t in the mood for lessons. He was still too heartbroken. “I built 7 years of trust with her. Seven years damnit! I’m very apprehensive at this point. Hard to get over this. You know? Why would Marilyn ignore my apology? What possible motive could she have for - ”

“ - Not caring.”

“Huh?”

Isabeau explained, “You’re so convinced that she’s ignoring you out of a cruel spite. Did you ever consider maybe she simply doesn’t care at all? Maybe she simply doesn’t think you’re worth acknowledging. Hanlon’s razor, remember?”

“I know. I know. Never attribute to malice that which is adequately explained by stupidity.”

“Exactly. You hadn’t thought of that.”

“Well... I... No. I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Think about it. She’s not being mean. Just forgetful and neglectful. She feels nothing for you. Utter apathy. I bet she hardly even thinks about you. She’s not ignoring you to be rude. She’s ignoring you because you never even cross her mind.”

§

Rusty thought a lot about the things his most recent relationships taught him.

He’d been thinking about the idea that he must “make an effort or shut up” about being with girls.

He’d been thinking about the power of the mind and self-fulfilling prophecy and the oddness of serendipity and coincidence.

He’d been thinking about the “greatest barrier to knowledge is presuming we know something” in regard to his “relationship realizations” and how he likely had far more to learn.

He’d been thinking about not being “excessively normal” and how he may be on the verge of great personal discovery... or verging on utterly self-delusional bullshit.

He’d been thinking about kindness and taking more to show strength than rage... Kindness is stronger than rage?

No. How to articulate it?

He had a sinking suspicion that Henry Rollins phrased it better.

Something about kindness being a strength instead of a weakness and cruelty being the true mark of cowardice.

He wasn’t sure.

Something like that.

It sounded better when other people said it.

Marilyn had broken his heart in a way no other girl ever had and it took Rusty months to realize why it hurt so badly.

Why was he so devastated?

He’d been betrayed by girls before.

He’d been lied to.

He’d been abandoned.

Why did Marilyn hurt him in a way that cut far deeper?

Why did he feel so crushed by this girl he never kissed once?

Finally, he understood.

...Trust.

Plain and simple.

He trusted her. He had known the girl since she was 10 years old. He thought that meant something. He thought she was his friend. He believed in her. He had faith in her. That was why it hurt so badly. He had become so mistrusting of women. So guarded. So careful to protect himself. Never share too much. Never reveal his true heart. Never expose his actual feelings.

With her, he finally felt he could be honest.

With her, he could trust again.

She wasn’t a cruel grown woman. She wasn’t a jaded and bitter lady who had been jilted by men for decades. This was a girl young enough to still smell of sugar and spice. Unspoiled.

Surely, a girl he had known since childhood would never stab him in the back. Not her. Not Marilyn. She would be the exception to the rule. She would finally be the one girl he could confide in. She called him her best friend. He believed she was telling the truth. She wouldn’t lie to him. She wouldn’t use him. She wouldn’t fuck him over. She was a sweet and gentle soul. His princess. His dream. She would be the one who was loyal and true.

He was wrong.

That was why he was gutted for months.

Even another lover didn’t help.

No matter how many girls he would meet in his life, there was something about Marilyn that would leave him wounded forever. She was a broken promise that would never heal.

Marilyn was innocence incarnate.

Perhaps it was all his fault.

Perhaps he was being unfair.

Putting her upon a pedestal she never deserved.

Just because he knew her from an age when she was innocent didn’t protect him from the age when she would lose that innocence.

For the first time in his life, Rusty discovered that even innocence could betray him. Her heartlessness drew no blood. Didn’t humiliate him or incarcerate him. No. Her cruelty fermented in her desolate apathy; her complete and utter indifference to his very existence. Walking away without a care can be far more vicious than a spit in the face.

Marilyn’s ultimate cruelty was not rejection, it was ambivalence.

Chapter Eleven

Walking out to the balcony at the Hollywood Arclight movie theatre, Rusty had been the first to arrive for the party. Sherisa was throwing a little gathering for her modeling agency, Naughty Delicacies.

Rusty hated that name. He always told Sherisa it sounded like a shop that sold stripper clothes or cupcakes. Not a modeling agency.

Nevertheless, their friendship was almost dead, so he showed up to honor the deceased. Just to be supportive. After all, no one wants to throw a party where no one shows up. Rusty tried that once. Not fun.

Besides, Sherisa kept on talking about setting him up with one of her models named Brittany. Rusty had already seen pictures of Brittany and knew who she was, but this was different. The very first time Sherisa said her name, Rusty could see it. He felt it. The weight of Brittany’s body on top of him. The way her hair fell across her shoulders as he looked up at her. Rusty instantly got the vision, burning firebright and vivid in his mind. He would sleep with Brittany someday. He had no doubt. Just hearing her name was enough. The premonition was undeniable.

Sherisa claimed that Brittany was “more his equal” than Charlinda had been. What she really meant was, Charlinda was too young and stupid for Rusty. In fact, Sherisa even told Rusty that he never should have argued with Charlinda about anything because she was unfairly outmatched. Sherisa’s exact words were, “You’re a hundred times smarter than her. Charlinda can’t argue with you. That’s bringing a knife to a gunfight.”

Despite their messy breakup, Rusty never saw Charlinda that way. He never thought of Charlinda as being stupid. Sure, she made a few juvenile and unwise decisions, but the girl was 20 years old. What do you expect? Of course she’d make a few bad choices. That didn’t mean she was stupid. Even the brightest people can make dumb decisions from time to time. Especially when they’re 20 years old. And that’s okay. That’s what all 20 year old girls do. Rusty knew that when he started seeing her. He had no illusions. He knew exactly what he was getting himself into. Rusty respected Charlinda more than anyone gave him credit for. Even Charlinda.

Brittany McDaniels didn’t even know Rusty existed. She never said a single word to him at the party, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of her. Her mother was French and her father Jamaican, blessing her with a delectable almond skin like he had never seen before. Rusty never understood that description. Almond skin? Almonds are a sickly pale. Why would that be attractive? But Brittany was tanned a golden brown, like the skin of an almond.

Oh.

That’s what it meant!

“Coffee” more accurately described her complexion anyway.

Smooth and delicious coffee skin with long black curled hair and pale amber eyes that caught light like windowsill copper.

She smoked.

She drank.

And she totally ignored him.

How on earth could Sherisa think Brittany would be better than Charlinda? Charlinda was a princess who never smoked or did any drugs and completely adored Rusty. Sure, maybe she didn’t adore Rusty at the end, but in those first two months, Charlinda worshiped him like royalty.

Rusty never spoke to Brittany that night.

He barely spoke to anyone.

He realized that he honestly had more fun standing outside alone, watching people walk past on the promenade, than socializing with anyone.

Damn.

Everyone was right.

He was a hermit.

No wonder his daughters have materialized across space and time to get his ass in gear.

But Brittany?

Yeah, she was hot. And she seemed nice enough. But a girl like that was not the mother of his children.

§

Rusty was staring at Isabeau during another of their late night bedroom talks. He had said nothing for quite some time.

Smiling at him, Isabeau asked, “What?”

“Who are you going to be?” Rusty wondered.

“Who am I going to be?”

“Yeah. Are you and Oona going to be good people? Will you be kind and noble and honest and true? You’re not going to grow up to be axe murderers or anything, are you?”

Laughing with all the charm of a 1970’s Farrah Fawcett, Isabeau comforted her father, “No, dad! We won’t become murderers or anything. I promise.”

“Okay. Just checking.”

Scrutinizing his face, Isabeau cocked her head, “Wait. You’re actually serious.”

“Yes! Very much so! No offense, but I don’t want to have children if they become like everyone else out there. Blaming other people for their hardships. Never striving to attain anything. Being some mindless drone who just watches television all their life. I mean, I want my children to have grand ambitions. I want them to dream of improving the world. I want them to fight for righteous ideals. To have character.”

Isabeau got a look on her face that Rusty couldn’t quite decipher, but it was a sense of pride. “I know, dad. I promise you, we shall be all of that and more. Women of class and decorum and elegance. You will raise us right. We won’t be like most people. We won’t be anything like the women you date, who care for nothing but themselves.”

“Hey!”

“Most of ’em aren’t exactly ladies who conform to your ideals. You gotta admit.”

Rusty sighed. Shrugged.

Isabeau squeezed his foot under the covers. “I promise you, holding steadfast for something decent in this selfish world will pay off eventually. Even if the payoff comes in a way you might never expect or imagine.”

§

“Oh, that’s bullshit. Men are so loyal. So devoted. But only if they’re in love.”

“Yeah, right.” Brittany rolled her eyes.

Three months had passed since the party at the Hollywood Arclight. Now, Rusty found himself at another party thrown by Sherisa, this time in her backyard.

Rusty was sure he didn’t like her.

Not his type.

Nevertheless, Rusty and Brittany were flirting under starlight that trickled through the latticework of a wrought iron gazebo. The kind of flirting Rusty liked best. Arguing. Bickering. Looking at the other person with eyes that say, “You’re an idiot, but I want you to tear all my clothes off right here.”

“I’m serious! See, women never believe that, but how can you not believe - look, wars have been started for the love of a woman! Okay? Men have started entire wars! If that’s not devotion, I don’t know what is.”

“That proves violent insanity! Not devotion.”

Rusty agreed. “True. But how many women have gone into battle for the love of a man? Huh? I’m telling you, men are devoted. If they are in love, they are totally loyal. This is why gender roles have been the way they are for so long. Women need to love their men. Love your man, show him that you worship him, you have eyes for no one else, he is your whole universe, and he will fall in love and remain true to you forever.”

“So, you demand subservience from a woman in exchange for loyalty? What year do you think this is? 1743?”

“Subservience!? Who said anything about subservience? You’re putting words in my mouth. I just said if a woman learns to show a man true devotion, men will fall in love and be loyal. But, again, he must be in love. If he’s not in love, yeah, the dude’s gonna cheat. Just the way we are.”

Brittany scoffed. “Worship him? What do you think this is, 1952?”

“You already said that. But at least the years are getting more modern.” Rusty smirked, “Hey, I’m not saying it shouldn’t be mutual. The man should worship his woman too. Absolutely. All I’m saying is that men are very devoted.”

“Then why do so many cheat?”

“Listen, men and women are equally guilty of ending relationships. The difference is how we end them. Men cheat. Women leave. That’s the difference. Women know they can get a new man in about 10 minutes. Men, even handsome men who get lots of women, we constantly think we might never get laid again. That’s why men never leave their women. Men cheat on women, but they never leave them. Women on the other hand? Women know their men can be replaced in a heartbeat. So, they cheat less. Why go to the hassle of cheating when you can just pack your bags and split?”

Brittany grinned, “So, you’re saying all women are sluts?”

“What!? No. Of course not!”

“Good.”

“Just the ones over 16.”

“Oh!” Brittany smacked Rusty in the arm as he laughed. “No wonder you’re single. Bastard.”

“And why are you single? You’re far too beautiful to not be loved and courted by many a gentleman.”

Only Rusty could get away with saying such a line with charm. He never knew this about himself, but that was his great talent with people. Women especially. Had any other man said those words, it would have sounded hokey and borderline pathetic. Rusty, however, was able to insult a woman one minute, then turn around and be just sassy enough, just sweet enough, and give her just enough drops of those puppydog eyes, he could have her laughing and smiling in an instant. Girls loved him for even the corniest of compliments, because in his innocent demeanor, they saw he truly meant them. Despite how cheesy he might act, there was an endearing sincerity to him that could never be denied.

That was his charm.

That was his seduction.

That was why girls who couldn’t stand him, still liked him.

Even Brittany knew, he really did think she was that beautiful.

There was a sincerity to him that others lacked.

“Well, thank you. But I’m not a slut.”

“I’ve long said life isn’t about what we do, it’s about why we do things. Motives are sometimes more important than actions. So, who am I to judge if a girl is slutty or not, based upon numbers. Right? A person with less sexual partners could actually be more slutty.”

“Who said anything about numbers? Why even bring that up? You think I’ve done tons of guys?” Brittany clicked her cheek and Rusty wasn’t sure if she had been with a ton of men and she was mad he found out, or if she hadn’t, but was tired of being accused.

“I don’t know anything about your history. I was simply pointing out that ‘sluttiness’ is traditionally defined by numbers, but I think there is more to it than mathematics.”

Brittany seemed diffused by that and shrugged down at her wine. “Honestly, I don’t want to sleep with tons of men. And it’s not because I’m some kind of sissy or I insist on being in love or any bullshit like that. No. It’s because most people are complete assholes. And I just don’t want to fuck a bunch of jerks!”

Rusty laughed and found himself liking her twice as much from that single sentiment.

A fellow misanthrope!

Brittany grinned and continued, “I’m serious! It’s true. Most people are assholes. And notice I didn’t say ‘men’, I said ‘people’. Gender is irrelevant. People are assholes regardless of what naughty bits they have. And the truth is, I don’t want to sleep with most men because they are horrible human beings. That’s why I want to get to know them first. That’s why I don’t do one-night-stands. It’s not because I’m repressed or I’m conservative or I’m afraid of my sexual freedom or any of that crap. No. Bullshit. It’s because if I hook up with some dude I don’t know, he’s probably going to end up being a total jackass, just like everyone else.”

“I hear you. Plus it’s too easy to hook up with some venereal disease germ farm when you go banging every douchenozzle stranger you see.”

“Totally. That’s just using someone else’s body to masturbate with. And I’m not interested in sex if it means I’m just masturbating with a penis instead of a vibrator. That’s not celebrating sexual freedom. That’s just giving a male whore permission to molest me.”

“I’ve actually had people tell me that I’m repressing my natural instincts by not having one-night-stands.”

“What!? That’s idiotic.”

Rusty chortled, “Oh, you don’t know the half of it! That argument took place because I was cracking jokes about her friend who got chlamydia and gonorrhea by fucking some skanky dude.”

Brittany’s eyes flew open wide. “Wait. So, you knew some chick with a friend who was slutting around having one-night-stands and she got her cooter all gunked up. Then, in the same breath, she belittles you by claiming that you’re not indulging your instincts, because you aren’t running out doing the same thing?”

“Yep. Pretty much. She said I was betraying my animal instincts because I never have one-night-stands. Personally, my instincts are to not have my junk swell up like a balloon, just because I wanted to plow some chick I don’t know. Following her brilliant advice would have landed me right in the exact same place as her skanky roommate! No thanks.”

Brittany laughed in agreement.

“She sounds like an idiot.”

“Eh, she meant well.” Rusty shrugged. “But she was young. Her logic was kind of juvenile.”

When Rusty got her phone number and walked Brittany to her car later that night, he made damn sure to kiss her. Hard.

Brittany was taken aback.

Ever change your mind about something and feel like you made a great choice? As if some mighty gears of the universe just clunked into place and things are running according to destiny now?

In that moment, Rusty didn’t feel such a thing at all.

He just kept thinking of the immortal words of Llyod Dobler...

I’m not going to meet someone like Diane Court at a kegger.

Shimmering an awkward smile that faded and returned over and over, Brittany fumbled back for her keys and car door with all the grace of a flustered girl in a romantic comedy film. Rusty loved those weird moments where life looked exactly like a movie.

§

Rusty hadn’t left his apartment all weekend.

“I just feel so... isolated.”

Isabeau asked her father as he ran on his elliptical machine, “Well, how much of that is self-imposed? You did nothing this weekend. That’s your fault. You could have gone to the Halloween party at Jerry and Laura’s or to the diner for the Friday night auto show. You could have gone to the beach today instead of just motorcycling past it. Right?”

“I just know how things will - ”

In that moment, Isabeau lost it and screamed at her father like she never had before. “ - STOP IT! STOP IT! YOU JERK! YOU KNOW ALL RELATIONSHIPS ARE TEMPORARY AND YOU STILL INSIST ON HAVING THEM LAST! YOU NEVER CHANGE! YOU CAN MEET ANYONE! YOU KNOW HOW! YOU ARE NOT REMOTELY SHY! NOT LIKE YOU PRETEND TO BE! YOU ARE TOTALLY SOCIABLE AND OUTGOING! WHY DO YOU ACT THIS WAY!? THE ONLY TIME YOU CLAM UP IS WHEN YOU YEARN FOR THE RELATIONSHIP TO LAST AND YOU HAVE ALREADY DECIDED IT WON’T. STOP THAT!

“LIVE!

“IN!

“THE!

“MOMENT!

“Take life as it exists that second! THAT SECOND! Nothing exists beyond that. Wake up. Seriously. Otherwise, what have we been doing all these years?”

Rusty stopped his run.

He was elated. Deep within, he was beaming to have someone yell at him. He couldn’t believe it. Rusty always knew he was a pain in the ass. The fact that he never had a verbal fight with a girl used to make him happy. He thought it meant he had stable relationships with rational women.

Later in life, he realized the truth. He never had those fights because no woman ever loved him enough to have one. When women get angry with Rusty, they just walk out the door.

That’s not maturity.

That’s indifference.

Girls never dare to yell at Rusty, because they never think he’s worth fighting for.

Same thing applies to jealousy. Rusty never dated a girl who was jealous, and he foolishly thought that was a good thing. Rusty thought women who were never jealous were mature and trusting of him. One day, he realized that jealousy isn’t a sign of insecurity at all. Jealousy means a woman cares. Means she doesn’t want to lose her man.

Painfully, Rusty came to realize that never having a jealous girlfriend meant no one he dated ever really cared about losing him.

When he realized this, he wished just once he could meet a woman who loved him enough to scream her head off, yet never think about leaving. A woman who could fly into a jealous rage, yet never threaten to walk away. Someday he would find that girl. Isabeau obviously inherited her fire from her mom. Rusty desperately tried to not smile at Isabeau, because he knew she would interpret it as mockery instead of contentment.

Wiping sweat from his brow, he gently responded with, “I’m sorry. Yeah. You’re right. My friendships. My romances. All are about transience. Yet instead of gratitude for them, I only feel remorse at their lack of permanence.”

“Foolish.” Isabeau said, completely calm. All her fury from moments ago had faded. She just did it so he’d listen.

“Aye. Foolhardy and foolish indeed. I guess you have a point.”

Isabeau’s eyebrow raised. “A point? This is the very fabric of your life. Far more than a point on the map. This is the world. This is not a strand of the loom. This is the entire tapestry. See it. Recognize it. Everything will change once you cease fighting the flow and move with the current.”

“What’s all the yelling about?” Oona asked, coming in the room.

§

Six months passed after that first kiss before Rusty saw her again.

Brittany was the oddest courtship he ever had.

Just when Rusty thought he’d never heard from Brittany again, he’d get that random email or phonecall.

Brittany accepted his evening invitation to a group bicycle ride.

Unfortunately, she wasn’t quite as athletic as the other 300 participants, and her body quit on her before reaching the full 16 miles.

Staring at Brittany as they rode back home on the subway, Rusty chuckled to himself. He loved doing things like riding a bicycle with hundreds of people through the city. After dozens of such rides, with people of all ages and backgrounds, not once did he meet a girl who was interested in him.

Looking at poor Brittany, totally wrecked from only making it to the 14 mile mark, he thought about the lie he had always been told. Follow your heart and pursue your hobbies! That’s the way to make friends and date people!

Hogwash.

Just live a life where you do the things you love and you’ll find the right person? Man, he’d been doing what he loves all his life. He had a freakin’ Peter Pan complex about being childlike and doing the things he adores. He still never had some magical girl just fall in his lap because he decided to pursue a hobby. That’s a friggin’ joke.

“What’s on your mind?” Brittany interrupted.

“Oh. Nothing.”

“You’re smirking. What’s so funny?”

“Bemused by life, my dear. Bemused by life.”

Another six months passed before he saw her again.

§

As Rusty gallantly pulled out her chair, Brittany stared at the massive floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the mountains.

“Wow. This restaurant looks amazing. I can’t believe I grew up in Los Angeles and never knew this was here!”

“Well, I’m glad I could introduce you to something new. Wait until you have the food! It’s even more incredible than the view.”

Stark white with vaulted thirty foot ceilings, the restaurant at The Getty Museum felt like a dining hall in Olympus. Everything was majestic, pure and meticulous. The very air you breathed seemed polished to a sheen for the gods.

Brittany smiled at Rusty, her cream toffee skin a delicious contrast against the heavenly snow of the room.

“So. Want to hear all my drama about why I couldn’t go out with you sooner?”

“No.”

Brittany was taken aback. Did he actually say something that rude? He must be joking. She chuckled, although uncomfortably. His expression didn’t say it was a joke.

Reading her thoughts, Rusty explained, “Look, Brittany, I really like you. You know that. I’ve liked you for over a year. And I want to get to know you. Whatever kind of drama you’re going through with other boys, that isn’t you. Those are experiences that are happening to you. But those experiences don’t define you. Tell me about who you are. That’s what I’m interested in hearing. Dreams. Hopes. Ambitions. That’s what I want to know. Save the relationship drama for your girlfriends. That’s what they’re there for.”

He didn’t explain further.

He didn’t apologize for coming off as rude.

He completely turned her on in fifteen seconds.

Brittany decided right then she was going to fuck him that night.

She wondered if he knew he was so seductive?

He seemed so casual about it.

No. Brittany decided he didn’t know. And that turned her on even more.

Rusty wasn’t trying to impress her with feigned eccentricities. He sincerely didn’t care. Rusty never wanted to hear about all the bad things a girl has suffered from an ex-boyfriend.

Years ago, Rusty had dated a girl who wanted to photograph the two of them making out, so she could send the images to her mousey ex-boyfriend, just to be mean to him. His crime? He had sent her a very cordial and polite letter wishing her well in her life. Rusty read the letter. The gentleman was absolutely respectful and kind and considerate. Rusty was disgusted that this girl he loved could be so vile with no justification whatsoever. Classy and self-respecting people never go out of their way to be cruel to someone they loved. Girls with that attitude only serve to reinforce the fact that so many women these days confuse “cruelty and bitterness” with being a “strong, empowered woman”. Those girls never show one ounce of strength or empowerment. That chick was still a little girl on the playground, screaming “you have cooties” at a boy who stole her jumprope.

Each passing minute, Brittany became more intrigued by his unique view of everything. When she spoke about the tragedy of a recent news report of a little boy killed in a car accident, Rusty smiled and said that might be wonderful.

Brittany was appalled until he said, “Maybe reincarnation is real. Maybe his soul loves being a child so much, he just spends a few lifetimes dying over and over at the age of 10, so he never has to grow up. Sure, it may be tragic and painful for his family, but for him, it might be a beautiful thing.”

“Who are you?” Brittany shook her head over her wineglass.

“What do you mean?”

“Who thinks that way? That’s a beautiful way to look at it.”

Rusty wasn’t impressed with himself. “I guess. Thanks. Just seems obvious to me.”

“Well, it wouldn’t seem obvious to most people.”

By “most people” Rusty knew she meant herself.

Rusty noted, “You know what you said earlier about drama? I had a dream the other night where someone asked me, ‘If you wonder why people in your life are not giving you peace, you have to ask yourself what you are giving them.’”

“Wow. That’s a pretty deep message to get in a dream.”

“Yeah. But I don’t think it was meant for me. I think maybe it was for you.”

“For me?”

“Yep. After all, I don’t have any turmoil in my current relationships. But you just said you’re having drama. Maybe I was given that dream message to share with you. Sounds like you might need it more than I do.”

Rusty didn’t know it, but that was the second moment Brittany decided to have sex with him that night.

§

Back at his place, Rusty felt like a fool.

Like a celibate Pavlov’s Dog, he had become so conditioned to being rejected by women in Los Angeles that he honestly believed he was not sleeping with Brittany. Instead of seducing her like the suave charmer he should have been, he wasted hours talking about books and showing her a movie and throwing away countless time that should have been spent in foreplay. Rusty squandered their time like it was a gradeschool slumber party.

Finally, at 5 o’clock in the morning, Brittany had enough and quite literally had to throw herself at him. Not until he was pinned to his couch and her tongue was in his mouth did the lightbulb go off and he finally realized he was about to get laid.

Proudly, Rusty beamed when her eyes widened. With a mischievous grin, she took him full in her mouth after she said, “Oh, my! That will work very well.”

His trackrecord remained intact.

Undefeated.

Good job, little guy.

That was when it happened.

For the first time in his life, after being in the double digits with his number of sexual partners and having nothing but wonderful experiences, Rusty had awful sex.

Well, perhaps not “awful”, because a warm body and a blowjob was better than jerking off alone to porn. The problem was, (and how to put this delicately?) she was... loose. Exceptionally loose. Extremely loose. Abnormally loose. As he slipped inside her, Rusty could barely feel a thing. It was like masturbating with the back of his hand. Her vagina was gaping wider than the mouth of a dead Jabba the Hutt.

Rusty finally understood the fears of men and women are equal in bed. As all men fear their dicks are too small, so must all women fear their pussies are too loose.

He never knew this before.

He wished he was learning this information from a movie or a comedy routine and not in his own bed at 5 in the morning.

Rusty once dated a girl named Ellen Ricci who was the polar opposite. Ellen was so tight, the first time he fingered her in the dark, he apologized, thinking he had accidentally shoved his finger up her ass.

He hadn’t.

Sex with Ellen was hot as an orgy with teenage bikini models.

Ellen was so tight, one thrust made his eyes roll back in his head.

Brittany was the polar opposite.

Doing Brittany was as stimulating as a pile of Auschwitz corpses.

Rusty almost laughed and had to force that description out of his head. What a horrible, horrible thing to think! Okay, the poor girl wasn’t that bad. But still, climaxing was never going to happen.

Did this woman use fire extinguishers as dildos?

As he thrust inside her, Rusty started to panic.

No. He wasn’t going to finish. Heck, he could barely keep it up! No matter what angle or position they tried, he just didn’t feel a damn thing. Her vagina was about as tight as fucking a leaf of lettuce hanging on a string.

There were a few moments when he came close.

In the dark, shutting his eyes tight, he’d start to imagine Brittany was actually Hayden Panettiere or Aly Michalka or even Demi Lovato and he’d almost climax. Then Brittany would moan and her voice would shatter the fantasy. After going at it for far longer than either of them intended, she wiped the sweat from her brow and said something Rusty would never forget.

“Can you cum?”

Excuse me?

Can he?

Wait.

What?

He wasn’t quite sure how to answer that.

Questions started pouring through his mind.

What did she mean?

Her tone of voice was difficult to read.

Was she asking if he was physically capable?

Did she think he had some sort of physiological problem?

Or...

Was she asking him to hurry things along?

By that time, Rusty was so tired from the mere fact it was nearly 6:30 in the morning and now, he was so preoccupied with trying to understand the meaning behind her question, that he nearly lost his boner entirely. Again.

Can you cum?

Can you cum?

What the hell kind of a question was that anyway!?

He couldn’t think of any other meanings.

She was either accusing him of being incapable...

Or she was telling him to hurry up and finish.

Either way, it was pretty insulting!

He realized there simply was no “good” way to interpret her question. It was pretty degrading, no matter how she intended it.

Can you cum?

Can you?

Of course he can. He has. With cooler girls than you! Maybe if she tried fucking him at 11:00p.m. instead of waiting until 5:00a.m., she would have found he did the deed far more quickly.

In fact, maybe if her cavernous cunthole wasn’t the diameter of a meteor crater, she may have found he can cum a bit more quickly too. He started thinking if he ever wanted to remember what it was like back inside the womb, he could just crawl up between her labia and find out.

Now, he wasn’t even in the mood to cum anymore.

To hell with this girl. Now, he just wanted to get to sleep!

Send her ass back to being fisted by The Hulk.

Thankfully, when wearing a condom, orgasms are easy for a guy to fake. Women think men can’t fake it, but faking is just the same for a man or a woman. Grunt a little more. Shudder a bit. Done.

Sure, women can tell the man is faking.

But by that point, both of you are so embarrassed, the woman never admits that she knows, and the man never confesses.

Breakfast was awkward the next morning.

Rusty fucked her again after they ate. On the couch. And came for real. Just to prove to himself he could do it.

Miss Grand Canyon Pussy never called him again.

§

Isabeau and Oona looked strange that evening. In the decade since first meeting his daughters, they hadn’t remained quite as translucent for quite as long.

“Everything okay?” Rusty asked.

Isabeau’s voice sounded far away, even though she was standing in the same room. “I don’t think we’re going to be around much longer.”

Rusty’s stomach plummeted with words that snapped elevator cables. “What!?”

“Dad, you’re turning 40 years old soon. You realize it’s been 10 years since we met? The universe isn’t going to allow this to go on forever.”

She was right. And clearly he was growing too old to have children. Rusty thought, if he gets married at 45 and his wife wants to wait 5 years to have kids, suddenly he’s a new dad at 50. He’s raising a 16 year old when he’s 66. Who wants to deal with a 16 year old when they’re 66? A parent should deal with a 16 year old when they’re 36. Sure, he knew 40 wasn’t “old”, but old has a nasty way of sneaking up on you.

Oona quietly supported her sister with silence and eyes colored of remorse.

Rusty wished it was a threat.

Rusty wished she had spoken in anger.

Instead she said it very calmly. Plain. Simply stating a fact.

In his fear of losing them, he had no defense.

Chapter Twelve

“That’s her!” Isabeau squealed.

One night, there she was.

On his computer monitor, totally at random, Rusty saw her.

The One.

The girl.

His breathing seemed to stop for a sky of endless time and the room went muffled and cold, then fading up to tingling warm again. Overpowered by the sensation of jumping into an icy lake and suddenly bursting back to the surface.

That’s the girl I’m going to marry.

That’s the mother of my children.

No sooner had those thoughts entered his mind than he forced them away. No. No. No. That was crazy! This was real life. This wasn’t a book or a movie. That kind of thing didn’t happen. For all he knows, this girl could be engaged or married already.

Marry her?

No.

That’s silly.

But looking over his shoulder, Isabeau and Oona nodded eagerly.

There was no denying, they did bear a resemblance.

My God, Rusty thought, she does look like them!

Chloe David Strnich was not simply the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. The second he saw her face, Rusty was convinced that Chloe was the most beautiful girl to ever walk the earth. Rusty had never seen her equal. Surely in all the generations of humanity, among all the faces of every woman who has ever lived, in every corner of the world, there was never a greater beauty than this girl. One could describe the curve of a cheek or the shimmer in hair, but it seemed to Rusty that such words would be blasphemy. For to speak or write any phrase which attempted to convey her radiance would never do justice. To speak the words would disgrace the very wind which thought itself unworthy to be her breath. Indeed, the very sound of a compliment would tarnish air which sought to be silent in reverence of her presence. What good were poems that lasted five centuries against an immortal elegance such as hers? Hers was a loveliness that transcended the very fabric of light and life. Beauty so divine, it verged on horrifying.

And the best part of all? Isabeau and Oona had her smile.

“My God.” Rusty whispered.

Looking at her Model Monsters profile, he saw she lived in New Mexico.

Rusty forced the thoughts out of his mind.

“No,” he shook his head. “No, no, no. This is crazy. I’m not just going to see a picture on my computer one night and say, ‘Hey! That’s my future wife.’”

“Why not? It’s worked before.” Oona teased.

“Mu-egan!” Isabeau coughed.

Pointing a finger in their faces, Rusty chuckled, “If you were mortal you two would be sent straight to your rooms, young ladies.”

“Just write her.” Isabeau suggested.

Rusty glanced back at that prefect face on his monitor. “She probably has a boyfriend already. No girl that beautiful is ever single.”

“Write. Her.”

“Yeah.” Oona agreed. “Maybe you two could still shoot photos together sometime. Even if you can’t date her, at least you’d get to meet her.”

True.

Rusty would love that. Just to be near her, to be touched by the same sunlight, to stand beneath the same sky. That would be heavenly.

Maybe he should write to her.

Rusty had been working on a photography sideproject of advertisements for Nutty Girly Surfboards. Maybe Chloe would be interested in modeling for that. Most of her portfolio was swimwear anyway. She would fit right in perfectly. That was the ideal excuse to strike up a dialog.

“Okay! Okay! Fine. I’ll write her.” Rusty conceded.

His daughters seemed more excited than him.

A quick note. Cute. Funny. But brief and professional.

Dear God in Heaven, she surpassed every measure of beautiful.

SEND.

He didn’t get his hopes up for a response.

§

“I love you.”

CLICK.

Oh, crap!

Rusty and Chloe had seen talking on the phone every single day for nearly two weeks. He had emailed her over a month earlier. Nothing much happened those first few weeks. They sent one or two emails. She thought his surfboard project sounded cool. Being on some surfboard gear would be awesome and if she was ever in town, she’d totally look him up. That was that. He figured little more would come of it.

But after an online text messaging chat was cut short by a dropped Internet connection, Rusty decided to call her.

That was when everything changed.

Once they started talking, they simply never stopped. For days on end they spoke. Usually for 4 or 5 hours, sometimes for only 1 or 2, but their conversation never seemed to grow weary. Rusty couldn’t get over it. He had plenty of conversations that lasted for hours with other girls in the past, but those conversations would usually happen once a month. Not every single day, for weeks on end. It was astonishing to have this kind of connection with someone. They were calling each other three times a day, constantly full of more to say. More to share. More to laugh about. More to dream.

When he talked on the phone, Rusty developed a habit of placing his thumb by the switchhook when the conversation was drawing to a close. He’d say goodbye, then quickly tap the button to hang up. Just one of those little quirks he’d been doing since childhood.

On a sundrenched August afternoon, with a perfect breeze blowing in his bedroom, Rusty was wrapping up another fantastic, delightful, amazing, fun, joyous, laughter-filled conversation with Chloe.

Rusty smiled, “Okay. Cool. I’ll talk to you later tonight.”

“Alright!”

“Bye.”

“Bye...” Chloe finished saying, as Rusty’s thumb moved over to the switchook. “... I love you.”

CLICK!

Damnit!

Rusty stood there holding the phone in shock.

What did she just say?

She loves him?

SHE LOVES HIM!

This amazing, perfect, wonderful, spectacular girl loves him!?

He thought she was done saying goodbye!

Rusty didn’t know she was going to add “I love you” onto the end! Neither one of them ever said that to each other before!

Rusty giggled to himself, both elated that she said it, yet mortified that he just hung up on her the second the words came out of her mouth! Poor girl! Chloe must think she scared him off! Nothing could be further from the truth! He loved her since the very first second he saw her. For the first time in his life, he truly experienced love at first sight. Rusty never even believed that kind of crap was real. Despite what a hopeless romantic he was, he always thought “love at first sight” was bull.

Until he met Chloe.

Now, she said the words.

She said it!

She said it first!

No girl in his life had ever said it first!

He wondered if he should call her back?

But, no. He quickly decided, he’d wait. He really wanted to say it to her in person for the first time. Not over the phone. But he had learned his lesson about “holding back his feelings” a long time ago. He would tell her. Just not yet. Calling her back right then and there would seem too pathetic! He’d say it that night.

Grinning mischievously, he thought he’d just let her squirm for a couple hours. Truth be told, Chloe knew Rusty loved her too. Rusty was sure Chloe felt it in her bones, just as he had.

§

Every conversation grew better and better.

Like an epic crescendo it seemed to rise infinitely, with no sign of ceasing. Beyond the firmament to the heights of stardust, their bond and affection blossomed brighter each day.

This was it.

Chloe. Chloe. Her name like deep magic in moonlight.

This was the girl.

She was undeniably The One.

At last.

Chloe still lived at home with her single mother and was a gymnast. During the day, she trained and taught at a local gymnastics school. Although she didn’t make much money, she enjoyed the work. The smiles on the faces of thrilled little girls, learning their first moves, made the small paychecks all worthwhile. With her love for modeling and fitness, she had no ambitions for college. She had just graduated high school back in June and was happy with a simple life.

Rusty loved her all the more for that.

Los Angeles would be so much better for her. Sports and fitness modeling offered her so many more opportunities on the West Coast. Plus, surely there were more gyms than in New Mexico.

The more he learned about her, the more he felt he had to offer.

He had a number of connections with his photography.

Rusty knew he could help Chloe to have an even better life.

There was never a single “red flag” with Chloe. Day after day, hour after hour, one late-night-phonecall after another and his attraction to her only grew. For the first time in his life, it could truly be said that this girl was everything he hoped for and more.

Best of all, she just so happened to be becoming newly single; going through a breakup with a puritanical religious boyfriend who never wanted to have sex.

Sometimes, when she would talk, her voice sounded strangely like Isabeau. There were times when it was almost as if he were imagining her voice in his head.

Rusty admitted to Chloe, he sometimes feared she didn’t exist.

“You’re so perfect and you fit so many of the things I’ve always dreamed of finding in someone. I got this horrible idea that what if I had truly gone insane and you honestly didn’t exist?”

Chloe laughed, “You’re weird. I still like you anyway.”

“I’m serious! Like what if I just made you up in my head? That’s why we’ve never met and only talked on the phone.”

“That would be awful!”

“I know!”

“Well, don’t worry. I’m real. I promise.”

“That’s exactly what a delusion would say! Ah, ha!”

They never seemed to go for more than 5 minutes without making each other laugh.

§

Sitting in his cubicle at work, Rusty was distracted all day.

Chloe asked him how old he was, a few days after they started talking. Seeing him in videos and photographs on the Internet, she presumed he was “about 25” or so.

“Yeah,” Rusty replied, “I’ve been 25.”

She wasn’t stupid. She caught on. Over the days, she asked a few more times, but he never gave a straight answer.

As the weeks had passed, Rusty was feeling guilty.

He couldn’t lie to this girl.

And this was one of those times when failing to disclose the truth was the same thing as being dishonest.

He had to tell her.

And he knew he would lose her.

Why would a gorgeous 18 year old model want someone his age?

Part of the reason he waited was because he thought, maybe if she just gets to know him, if she learns to love him for who he is, then the age difference won’t matter so much.

As he wrestled with his feelings, Rusty decided he would tell her that night. When he got home from work, he would admit his age. And yes, he would lose her.

They would still be friends.

He was sure of that.

They had such a great connection, this wouldn’t end their relationship. But surely there’s no way she’d still be attracted to him anymore. An age difference of a few years is no big deal. Chloe thought he was only 7 years older than her. When she learns it’s closer to 24 years, there’s no way she’ll dream of any kind of future with him anymore.

The late afternoon light was particularly bright that day. Or perhaps Rusty just noticed it more vividly, as a way to comfort the shadow he feared.

“I wanted to talk to you about something. Kind of important.”

“What’s that?”

“Well, um, it’s about my age. I, uh, know you’ve asked and you think I’m like 25 or so.”

“I have no idea! You look 25, but you don’t talk like it.”

Rusty sniffed. “What does that mean?”

“You definitely sound older. More mature. Most 25 year old boys can’t talk the way you do. But then you’re really smart too, so maybe it has nothing to do with age. I don’t really know! Forget it. Nevermind.”

Smirking, Rusty declared, “Well, I’m not 25.”

“Okay. You’re not 75, are you? Like those pictures are all 50 years old?”

Rusty laughed, “You saw video of me doing photo shoots with models like 3 months ago! Of course I’m not 75, you goof.”

“Okay. Because I don’t think I could hook up with you if you were 75. I have my limits. 75 or bald. Just doesn’t work for me.”

“You are such a jackass.”

“Well, come on, smarty! Spit it out.”

“Okay. Um... I’m... uh... here goes... I’m 39 years old.”

“What!? No way! Seriously, how old are you?”

“I’m totally serious.”

“You are not. There’s no way you’re 40.”

“Hey! Don’t make me even older! Asshole. I said 39, not 40.”

Chloe laughed. “You are not! My mom is 45.”

“Oh, gosh, thanks. That makes me feel so much better.”

“Are you really 39!?”

“Yes, I’m really 39! Why would lie about that? If I was going to lie, I’d tell you that I really am 25. I’m telling the truth. I’m 39. And I was scared to death to tell you - ”

“ - Because you thought I’d run away?”

Grumbling, Rusty admitted, “Yeah. Something like that.”

“Well, I’m still here.”

“I noticed.”

“What, did you think I’d stop talking to you?”

“Well, I mean, yeah. Yeah, I did. I mean, maybe not stop talking to me, but I didn’t think you’d still be attracted to me.” Rusty waited on the edge of the couch, eager to hear how she’d respond to that.

“I have to admit I’m a bit shocked. You totally do not look like you’re 39 at all. But honestly, it kind of makes you more attractive.”

“Really? More attractive? Why?”

“Well, all girls like older guys. That’s hot. To think I have some attractive 39 year old man who is totally into me? That’s kind of sexy. You know?”

“I guess.”

“Wouldn’t you think that? If an older woman had the hots for you?”

Rusty looked back on his life and admitted, “Well, yeah. Actually, I remember when I was 16, my one friend had a hot blonde mom who was like 45 and in the summer, she used to mow her lawn in a bikini. Damn, she was totally hot. I totally fantasized about her all the time. I’d go over there and watch her sunbathing in the backyard. Then I’d totally jerk off when I went home. So, yeah, I guess I get it.”

“Ewwwwww. You fucking perv.”

“Oh, you love it!”

“Yeah. See? And wouldn’t it be hot to sleep with her?”

“Well, I couldn’t do that!”

“Why not? You should have gone for it.”

“I was 16! She just saw me as a little kid. Not to mention she would have gone to jail.”

“I thought you lived in Ohio back then.”

“I did.”

“Well, I think 16 is legal in Ohio.”

“What? Noooo! Don’t tell me that! I missed my shot!”

“Yep. Could have got your young little dick wet.”

“Ew! Okay. When you put it like that, it sounds so... so...”

“Hot?” Chloe giggled.

“No! Just nasty! Little freak.”

“Oh, you love it.”

“Get my dick wet? You’re a little pervert! And what’s this about little? That’s get my big dick wet, young lady.”

“I was wondering if you were going to catch on to that.”

“Oh, trust me, no man on earth ever misses a dick insult.”

“You sure? You’re getting kind of old. You’re not as sharp as you used to be.”

“Oh, fuck off!”

“Well, no. I’m not running away. I don’t care that you’re 39. I’m shocked. But I’m not freaked out.”

“I am a bit shocked. I’ve been rejected by girls older than you because of my age. When I was 28 there was a 21 year old who rejected me for being too old.”

“No way. You’re making that up.”

“I swear.”

“Well, that’s retarded.”

“Yeah, it was. See, here’s my theory - ”

“ - Oh, brother. Here we go with another theory.”

Rusty pointed at the phone so hard Chloe almost saw it. “No. No. Hear me out. Just listen. I have a theory that one day, we all have that miraculous moment of realizing that were alive. You know? That amazing day when the afternoon just sparks with power and for the first time ever we feel like we can do anything? Ray Bradbury actually wrote a whole chapter about that feeling in his book Dandelion Wine. It’s beautiful. Ever read that?”

“Nope.”

“You should. So, anyway, on the flipside of knowing the bliss of being alive is that horrible realization that it’s only temporary. That it won’t last.”

“What does this have to do with girls rejecting you for being old?”

“Let me finish!” Rusty chuckled through clenched teeth.

“Well, hurry up.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Am I interrupting your busy social plans at 11pm on a Tuesday?”

“Shut up. Just finish your story.”

“Well, I think, deep in side, this is why teenagers have such an aversion to the elderly. Most people say that teenagers think they will live forever and act like they will never die or grow old. I think quite the opposite it true. I think teenagers are extremely aware of their mortality and how fleeting their youth will be. They hate the elderly, because deep inside, every teenager knows that is exactly what they will become. No one wants to think about that. No one wants to be reminded of that.”

“Yeah, so why are you reminding me I’m going to look like my grandma someday? You’re an asshole!”

“Oh, my God! Would you just shut your piehole, woman?”

Chloe giggled.

Rusty continued, “My point is that teenagers aren’t stupid. They don’t think they will live forever. They know too well what is waiting for them and it scares them to death. If you’re lucky, the best you can hope for at the end of all this is to be reduced to frailty and death. Teens avoid old folks because teenagers, understandably, don’t want to be reminded of what is waiting for them.”

“So, you just reminded me twice? Thanks! Asshole.”

“And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you lying about your age? Well, I wasn’t lying, but I was not forthcoming. Which is kind of the same thing. But what about you? You really are 18, right? I’m not going to find out you’re 12, and I’m going to go to jail for having phonesex with you?”

Chloe snickered, “Yes. I’m really 18. Since May.”

“Okay. Just checking. I know you’re telling the truth because of your mom.”

“My mom?”

“Yeah. I mean, she always accompanies you on your photo shoots and if you were underage, I don’t think a mother is going to let her daughter claim to be 18 when she’s not.”

“You think?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t let my 16 year old daughter go posting modeling profiles on the Internet, claiming to be 18. So, since your mother knows all about your modeling, I know you have to be telling the truth.”

“Well, my mother has always been really supportive.”

“I know. I think it’s great that you have that kind of backup. I’ve never had that. I’m jealous.”

“Well, you have it now. I’ve got your back.”

“Aw. Then get your ass out to Los Angeles and prove it!”

“I will! I promise. Soon.”

§

“I think people should have kids to make the world a better place,” Chloe explained as Rusty held her voice in his hand.

In the time since he admitted his age, their conversations never ceased. Rusty was worried they would. Sure, she claimed she was still interested in him, but, as they say, actions speak louder than words. After they hung up, he feared she might begin a slow retreat. That classic fade of passive-aggressive girls, where she says all the right things, all the nice things, but deep inside, she is already leaving.

Chloe did no such thing.

In fact, their next conversation changed everything forever.

“When you’re a good parent, and you raise good children, they can influence all the kids in their neighborhood and make the neighborhood better. Once that neighborhood improves, it can move on to make the city a better place. The city can influence the state and the country and the next thing you know, your children are responsible for helping the world.”

That was the defining moment for Rusty.

That was the instant he truly fell in love with Chloe.

His heart pounded faster and faster as she spoke. Right away, he told her why that meant so much to him, “I have looked for you all my life.”

“What?” Chloe giggled, not expecting that as a response.

“You don’t understand. I have always seen parenthood the exact same way! And I have never, in my entire life, met anyone who sees having kids as something to benefit the world.”

“Well, of course it is.”

“Of course! To you and I. But most people don’t think like us. To most people, having children is a completely selfish act. Their kids. Their family. Them. Them. Them. Most parents don’t care about anything but themselves and their kids. They don’t care about what their kids will contribute to humanity as a whole. Parents see parenthood as a private and personal joy.”

“Well, it’s not like that to me.”

“Not to me either!” Excited and talking twice as fast as normal, Rusty explained, “Listen. I’ll give you an example. Years ago, I was dating this girl and she really wanted to have kids and a family. She brought it up constantly. Made me really uncomfortable. I wasn’t ready for that sort of thing. I was too young. Too many dreams. Too many ambitions. Earning way too little money. The thought of that kind of responsibility scared the crap out of me. So, one day, near the end of our relationship, when things were really starting to fall apart, I finally decided to ask her - Why was this so important to her? Why was having kids and a family something she mentioned so often? Honestly, I felt kind of stupid that I didn’t think to ask her sooner.”

“What did she say?”

“Oh, my God. Her answer was horrible. She said because her parents had divorced when she was a little girl, she wanted to have a family that stayed together. She said she wanted to have children when she was still young, so she could play with them and be friends with them. She said she wanted the chance to love a baby and take care of it and have her kids look up to her.”

“Ew. I hate parents who try to be friends with their kids. I need a my mom to be my mother, not my buddy. I have plenty of friends.” Chloe stated, contradictory to the attitude most of her peers ever express.

“Yeah! My thoughts exactly! I was honestly feeling sick to my stomach as she spoke. It was disgusting. And as she kept talking, all I could think about was how revoltingly selfish she was. Every reason she gave was me, me, me. She never once mentioned the value of her family itself. She never once mentioned the father. She never talked about what the kids would accomplish or contribute to the world. No. Everything was about her. Everything was about what her kids would bring to her life. How motherhood would make her feel. Nothing she said was about the kids being good people. Nothing she said was about their dad. Not the world. Just herself. She saw motherhood like playing dressup with dolls.”

“Bet you were glad you didn’t have kids with her!”

“Oh, cripe! Are you kidding? That would have been horrifying! And, yes, that was exactly, precisely what was going through my head as she kept talking. The longer she spoke, the more I was sitting there thinking, ‘Thank God you’re not having my babies!’”

Chloe smiled a grin Rusty could hear over the phone. “Sounds like they would have just been her babies.”

“Yeah. No shit! Exactly. According to her. But don’t you see? Her attitude is exactly how most women think. Most men too. Most parents just think of themselves. Their happiness. What their kids desire. They never think about the world. They never care about the greater good. Parents exist in these perverse bubbles of their own self-importance. I’ve never thought that way. I’ve always felt that parenthood isn’t about me at all. It’s not even about my children. Parenthood is far bigger than that. Parenthood is about being entrusted to nurture a soul and to make the world a better place by the virtues and values you help instill in that person.”

Chloe nodded a nod that Rusty couldn’t see, but could imagine. “Totally. I think most parents have it backwards. They think the world is a big scary place they need to protect their children from. Parents are morons who think they exist to keep their kids safe and happy. They have it all wrong. Their job isn’t to protect their children. Their job is to raise children who want to make that dark and scary world a kinder and gentler place. Don’t shelter kids from shadow, teach them to fight it.” Chloe spoke so beautifully, so in tune with his own emotions, Rusty felt like she was speaking his words.

Even in the middle of this conversation, he knew he’d remember this talk for the rest of his life.

“Exactly! The purpose of raising a family is far greater than your own life. Greater than the life of your child, even! It’s about the whole of humanity. The betterment of the world. And, see, you are the first and only person I have ever met, in my whole life, who sees that. You’re the only person I know who sees parenthood the same way I do. Not as something selfish, but as something altruistic.”

“Well, good. I don’t think there’s any other way to see it.”

“Me either. But my ex-girlfriend would disagree with us.”

“Did she ever have kids?”

“Unfortunately. Yeah.”

“What are they like?”

“I have no idea. A few weeks after that conversation, we broke up and I never spoke to her again. I found out she was a mom through the grapevine. They’re probably awful, selfish little brats, just like their mother taught them to be.”

“Probably. Or, maybe her attitude improved once she became a mom.”

“I sure hope so.”

Chloe then said something that Rusty never imagined a single woman on earth would ever say. “The love of a husband and wife should take priority over the children. Always. Children need to know their mom and dad are a source of stability.”

“God, I love you.” Rusty said, dumbfounded.

“Why?” Chloe giggled.

“Because you’re absolutely right. But parents don’t have that kind of foresight anymore. These days, morons who bear children are idiots who think their kids are some sort of sacred beings that should take priority over everything.”

“No.” Chloe shook her head at her gymnastics trophies. “That’s bull. The man is first. The woman is second. The third is the child. Everyone knows that. That’s old as any wiccan teaching or ancient ways. All cultures and all people know that.”

Rusty felt himself growing a little nervous at the topic of conversation. He half expected Isabeau and Oona to materialize and smack him. What do you mean the children are third? But they never did. The more Rusty thought about it, the more he knew they would understand and the more they would grow up to apply the same high morals and noble values to their own families.

Nevertheless, Rusty was still shocked that a girl as young as Chloe had such wonderful morals. “Surprising coming from a girl who was raised without a dad. Of course, so was I.”

“No, you weren’t. Your grandpa was your dad. He loved you like a father.”

Rusty warmed to Chloe even more, after she showed that kind of respect to his grandpa. “Yeah. That’s true. You’re right. He did.”

“But I do think marriage is first and kids are second. I can’t stand all these horrible women these days who mention motherhood before they mention being a wife. Like if some dumb bitch gets interviewed or has a biography written about them, pay attention to how many of these whores mention motherhood before marriage. Subtle distinction, but they all do it. Terrible women. Being a husband or a wife is more important than being a mother or father. If more couples understood that kind of love and commitment, they wouldn’t get divorced so nonchalantly.”

Rusty nodded. “Totally. I agree. Couples leave each other these days like they changed their mind about going to a movie. It’s disgusting. Love is selfish. Especially for parents.”

“Selfish? I don’t know about that. Loving someone means putting them before yourself. That’s the least selfish thing you can do. You’re not even making any sense right now.”

Rusty grinned, a finger absently stroking his chin. “Oh, really? Love is putting someone before yourself?”

“Yes. It’s not selfish at all.”

“Okay. Fine. Well, suppose you were friends with a guy and he had five girls chasing after him. Would you be happy for him?”

“What does that have to with anything?”

“Just play along. I’m trying to make a point.”

“Ugh. Fine. Sure, I’d be happy for my friend. I guess. Any guy would be happy to have a bunch of girls chasing him.”

“Sure. But if you loved him, if he was your boyfriend, you’d be horribly jealous if even one other girl was pursuing him. Right?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“I’m proving that love is selfish. Loving someone means you want them for yourself. Why would you be happy for your friend to have a bunch of lovers, but you wouldn’t want your husband to do the same thing?”

“Marriage is different! That doesn’t make it selfish.”

“Yes it does! Your friend is free to have a ton of lovers and you’re happy for him. Your husband or boyfriend isn’t allowed to have any other girls, because you love him. Love is selfish. Same thing applies to parenthood. You always hear parents say the exact same thing about raising a child. They all tell you that it’s so difficult and so exhausting and frustrating. But they quickly add, ‘Being a parent is so gratifying though, because the love you feel for your child is breathtaking and uplifting like no other love you have ever felt.’”

“What’s wrong with people saying that?”

“What’s wrong is selfishness! It’s all me, me, me. My joy. My happiness. My satisfaction. Have you ever once in your life heard a parent say, ‘Being a parent is so gratifying though, because I am so honored to raise a human being who has the potential to make the world a better place and contribute to the greater good of mankind.’ Have you ever heard one parent aspire to anything so altruistic? Just once? No. No parent ever says that. Because parents don’t give a damn about the world. They only care about themselves. Their own happiness. Their own life. Their own child. Their own family. The love they profess for their child is something that makes them feel good about themselves. Their personal pleasure and joy. The rest of the world means nothing to them. All of their love is selfish. Like those nutjobs who stopped vaccinating their kids, not giving a damn about how the return of diseases can kill other people. They only care about what makes them happy. Other people don’t even count to those losers. Emotional masturbation. Parents are just jerking themselves off, so they can feel good about what they have.”

“I guess you have a point. That’s kind of depressing.”

“The moment most morons become parents, the self-centered egomaniacs think their job is to take care of their child so their child can be happy. The true obligation of parents is to raise a child who is worthwhile. A truly good parent aspires to raise a child who contributes something of value to the world and to fellow human beings. No child should be raised to be a hedonistic loser, only concerned with their own bliss.”

“That’s true. Now that you put it that way, I kind of see your point. I guess most ideas of love and parenthood are kind of selfish.”

Rusty was suddenly reminded of something Kateri said when she was a little girl. After she died, Kateri’s mother told him the story.

When Kateri was about 5 years old, she started playing with another little girl, her age, in the neighborhood. The other little girl was a bit of brat and a troublemaker and she came from a family who were known in the neighborhood to be a little rough.

So, one day, when Kateri was getting ready to go outside and play with the bad girl, her mother took her aside and gently explained that she didn’t want Kateri to play with that child.

“I’m afraid she might become a bad influence on you.”

Kateri just sighed, looked her mother dead in the eye and softly said in response, “Mom! Did you ever stop to think that maybe I could be a good influence on her?”

Five years old!

And she just educated her own mother.

After her mother picked her jaw up off the floor, she sat there in silence for another few seconds. Completely blown away by the wisdom of her daughter, Kateri’s mother simply nodded and said, “Okay.”

She never mentioned it to Kateri again and she never stopped her daughter from playing with that bad little girl.

That story epitomized Kateri. That encapsulated everything she was. She was always the one trying to rescue the lost puppies. Always trying to change the world, one dark soul at a time.

That was why she was here.

That was why she died.

Kateri made the same mistake so many young people make. When you’re young, you feel your whole world is infused with magic. You feel special. You feel invincible. That’s a big cliché to claim the young feel invincible, but of course you do. Why wouldn’t you? When nothing tragic has ever befallen you, why would you think you were anything less than untouchable? You think nothing bad is ever going to happen to you, only because nothing bad has happened yet.

You won’t get beaten up in that alley.

You won’t get raped at that party.

You won’t be murdered in a robbery.

You won’t get hospitalized with a terminal disease.

You won’t get crippled in an accident.

You won’t get that girl pregnant.

Those things happen to other people. Unlucky people. Not to you.

You’re different. You are one of the illustrious chosen.

When you’re young, you feel protected by the universe. Like nothing can harm you, nothing can stop you, because you are destined for great things. There are mighty forces of both light and darkness always watching out for you. Your guardian angels do number a battalion.

But as you get a little older, and you venture a little too boldly into the shadowy forests of the world, you suddenly realize that your tether back to the light can be broken. If you push too hard, if you stretch it too far, you can tumble away into chasms of hellfire, and the light will no longer be able to defend you.

Kateri pushed.

And she paid the price. The bad things, to which she had once been so invulnerable, began to befall her.

If Rusty didn’t know any better, he would think Chloe was Kateri reincarnated. Of course, that was impossible. Even if he were to believe in such things, Kateri was still alive when Chloe was born. There’s no way they could share the same soul. But he couldn’t deny, no one else seemed to see the world like those two.

Incidentally, that bad little girl Kateri played with, stayed bad.

Angelic as she was, Kateri couldn’t save everyone.

Just like Rusty couldn’t save every little girl lost.

Sometimes bad girls are just born bad and stay bad.

But more importantly, Kateri always stayed good.

§

“I have to ask you, have you ever thought about what names you would give to your kids?”

“Yeah. I never thought about a boy, but I know for a daughter. What names did you have?”

“I would name a boy Jareth,” said Rusty. “From the David Bowie character in Labyrinth.”

“That’s so cool! Jareth? I like that.”

“Yeah. Unique, but not too weird or crazy.”

“Yeah. I like that name.”

“Plus, I always loved his line at the end of the film to Sarah. His attitude kind of sums of my attitude towards women.”

Chloe groaned. “I’m afraid to ask.”

Slipping into a surprisingly accurate David Bowie impression, Rusty said, “I ask for so little. Just let me rule you, and you can have everything that you want. Just fear me. Love me. Do as I say, and I will be your slave!”

“Aaaaand, now we know why he’s single.”

Rusty and Chloe both burst into laughter.

“I really don’t understand why the ladies don’t go for that.”

“It’s kind of hot, actually.” Chloe admitted.

“Well, thank you. You’re the first girl to ever think so.”

“First girl to admit it, maybe, but I’m sure plenty think so.”

“I’m not joking, you know. That really is the way I see romantic relationships.”

“Oh, I know you’re serious. But, honestly, all real men think that way. That’s what women want. We want men with a sense of power about them. We don’t want these little pretty boys and pushovers. Women pretend we want sensitive men as a test. To make sure you’re not a damn sissy.”

Rusty chuckled. “You think? Even these horribly self-important Los Angeles women in their yoga pants?”

“Oh, especially those bitches. They want a real man to come along and rip off those yoga pants and tie them up with them.”

“I like your attitude.” Rusty laughed.

“I figured you would.”

Rusty waited, but she didn’t volunteer her names. Finally, getting back to the topic, he asked, “So, what would you name your daughter?”

“What about yours?”

“Tell me first.”

“Isabeau.” Chloe replied.

Gasping, Rusty was sure he misunderstood.

“What did you say?”

“Isabeau.”

Rusty nearly burst into tears and his hand shook so bad, he almost dropped the phone. A fist covered his mouth, then gripped the bed as the room spun and it took everything he had to not scream or faint or squeal in shock like a little girl.

Chloe continued, “Did you ever see that movie Ladyhawke with that Matthew Broderick guy?”

“Yes.” Rusty croaked, “I love that movie.”

“Me too! That was her name in that movie. Michelle Pfeiffer was Isabeau. So, I always wanted a little girl named Isabeau. How about you? Your turn.”

Trying to catch his breath, Rusty choked back his tears, “Well, that’s so weird you’d say that. I always had the name of a little girl from a fantasy movie too.”

“Really!?”

“Yeah. Did you ever see Legend with Tom Cruise?”

“Oh, the one with the big red demon guy?”

“Yeah. Darkness. He was played by, uh, Tim Curry. But there was, um, a faerie girl who, uh, she shows Tom Cruise where to get his armor and her name was Oona.” Rusty could barely talk. He kept hoping that Chloe wouldn’t notice he was short of breath.

He couldn’t believe they were having this conversation.

Isabeau?

She wants a daughter named Isabeau!?

This is it. This is the moment. After all these years, he has found her at last!

“Oona? Oh, that’s pretty. I like that.”

“Yeah. Years later, I found out that was also the name of Charlie Chaplin’s wife. But, uh, the first time I ever heard it was the faerie in Legend.”

“I’ve always imagined I’ve have twin daughters. So, that would work. Isabeau and Oona.”

“God, I love you.” Rusty choked.

“Why?” Chloe teased, wanting to hear what she thought she already knew.

Rusty couldn’t possibly tell her something this important over the phone. What would he say?

I’ve met our daughters.

I talk to them almost every day.

They have been appearing to me as ghosts for the past dozen years.

“I think it would be better to show you in person why I love you so much. Explaining it over the phone just doesn’t do it justice.”

“Funny they are all el movies.”

“‘El movies?’ What are el movies?” Rusty did an awful Spanish accent and said, “Like, ‘All ju gringos naming babies after el movies!’”

Chloe burst out laughing. “No, not that kind of ‘el’. I meant the letter ‘L’ - Legend, Labyrinth and Ladyhawke.”

“Ohhh! Yeah. ‘L’ movies. That makes more sense than what I said.”

“You goofball.”

“You really need to come to Los Angeles.”

“I’d love to! I can’t afford to though.”

“Well, I can buy you a ticket. That’s no big deal.”

“I’d have to see what my mom says.”

“Your mom?” Rusty thought that was a bizarre thing to say. But then he remembered that she had only been 18 for about 4 months. The poor girl probably forgot that she didn’t have to answer to her mother anymore.

“Yeah, I can only go if it’s okay with her.”

“Well, that’s very sweet of you to be respectful to her like that. But you forget that you’re 18. You don’t need her permission.” Rusty chuckled, amused that she was so young, she wasn’t used to making those kind of choices for herself.

“Yeah, but I know she’d freak out if I just went.”

Rusty understood. In fact, it made him like her even more.

How refreshing to find a girl who respects her mother so much.

§

“I’ve lead a very interesting life. But that’s not a very good thing for building relationships.” Rusty explained as he dragged the phone cord into the kitchen.

“Why not? Of course it is! Women want to date interesting men.”

“Exactly. They want to date them. Temporarily. They don’t want to stay with them. Women want stability. Someone reliable. That’s not me. Leading an interesting life means I’m really cool when you first meet me. But after awhile, it makes me very annoying.”

“How so?”

“Well, for example, when you first meet me, I have a story for everything. Any subject you want to talk about, I will find a way to work in one of my own experiences and tell a story. At first, that’s cool. Makes me seem educated and worldly and experienced. But, after awhile, it starts to sound pretentious and selfish. Because no matter what the topic, I can always bring it back to me.”

“So, why do you do it, if you know it’s annoying?”

“Because I’ve always enjoyed the company of people who behave that way. I never get irritated by someone who does that. I never get tired of her stories and her intrigue.”

“Have you met women like that?”

“Never. But I think I’d love it.” Rusty laughed and Chloe joined him. Rusty suddenly feared he had just lied. What about Amy? She had a story for everything. Rusty just got annoyed because none of her stories ever took place in North America.

“Part of my problem is that I always meet the same woman.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I’m not saying all women in the world are the same. I’m saying all the ones I meet are the same. I’m not blaming them. Not at all. I’m the one who keeps picking the same woman with a different face. I take full responsibility for my fate. I brought this on myself. I know that.”

“At least I have a pretty face.”

“Ugh. My weakness.”

“Shallow bastard.”

“Hey, I get what I deserve.”

“No shit.”

Taking a bite of dinner, Rusty complained, “Ew. I put on a little too much seasoning.”

“You’re such a goof.”

“Hey, I didn’t know! I never used it before.”

“We need to teach you how to cook.”

“Oh, excuse me? We? Where are you getting ‘we’ from? Hey, you’re the dork who told me you made KoolAid without sugar in it. Okay, Julia Child? Don’t be judging me. You’re one to talk about kitchen skills.”

“Shut up.”

“Man, I wish I could have seen that. I bet your lips puckered up tighter than an asshole in icewater.”

§

“Okay. I did it.”

“Did what?”

“You’re coming to Los Angeles. I bought you a ticket.”

“Seriously!?”

“September 15th at 4:00p.m.”

“Oh my gosh! I can’t believe you did that! Why did you do that?”

“You want to come see me, right?”

“Of course!”

“Of course. So, let’s stop fucking around and do this.”

“Okay!”

“Okay!”

“I love you, Rusty.”

“I love you, too, Chloe.”

§

Rusty’s heart was racing as he held the notebook in his hands.

“You ready?” Rusty asked.

“Ready.” Chloe’s voice came over telephone line in a distant electronic hum.

Rusty was nearly in tears a week earlier, when Chloe asked him to write their wedding vows. He couldn’t believe this was finally happening to him. The perfect girl wanted him to write their vows?

Chloe was beyond perfect. This girl was all he ever dared to dream of and more. Bright. Fun. Never drank. Never smoked. Never tried drugs. Athletic. Astoundingly gorgeous. And most important of all, she loved Rusty back. She called him three times a day for months and months on end. Texted him while he was at work. She was always there, even if they hadn’t met in person yet. For the first time in his life, he felt like someone truly adored him.

And now, she asked him to write their vows.

He had never written anything more important in his life.

“So, I was thinking,” Rusty said. “Remember how we both said we don’t like tattoos but we’d get tattoos to wear under out wedding rings?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. So I was thinking I would get ‘Bound to Chloe’ in Germanic runes. And you would get ‘Bound to Rusty’ in Germanic runes. Or, since you’re Swedish, you could do Swedish runes. Whatever. But I thought that would be cool.”

“I love it.”

Rusty grinned, “Good.”

Impatiently, Chloe demanded, “So, read the vows.”

“Okay. Here goes.” Rusty cleared his throat. “So, now picture us standing on that beautiful beach on Catalina like you wanted, and the ceremony starts with the words from the chaplain.”

§

CHAPLAIN:

Dearly Beloved,

We are gathered here this day, blessed under the tranquil solitude of nature, to pay homage to the Lifeforce of the Universe, under whatever name you choose to call it - be it God, the Goddess, the Great Spirit, or simply, Love. As witnessed before this Everpresent and Benevolent Energy of Living, we unite Rusty and Chloe in the Immortal Bond of Holy Matrimony.

Let it be known that no person is entitled to happiness. Rather, happiness must be nurtured, through conscious effort. Building a joyful life is an artform one must develop, understand and revere. Rusty and Chloe, may all the promises you vow to one another today be evermore upheld, not as obligations, but in that spirit of kindling delight. With the forging of this marriage and the exuberance of your love, always remember the sanctity of these minutes. Every single day of your lives, every experience you have known upon this planet, has lead you to this solitary moment in time, when the pathways of your journeys finally converge into a single road.

Down through the centuries, uncounted couples have shared this rite of unity, beseeching priests and shamans to speak definitions of “kindred spirits” and to bestow advice assuring longevity as husband and wife. Yet, I shall bequeath no such words of wisdom, for your hearts already know all which is required for you to sustain the mutual adoration you have in this instant. This ritual is nothing more than a formality - within your spirits, you were already married far before this hour; already conjoined as a singular being. You each possess the reciprocal esteem and graciousness required to court your love and fidelity for all time. You each possess the prerequisites of devotion in your genuine character and nobility.

Long ago, words like “honor” and “nobility” were never uttered lightly. They carried great weight and meaning. Chivalry and righteousness were the moral foundations of royal lords and ladies. So it shall be in your lives, in your family, in all the souls whom you encounter, that your harmonious light, dispels the shadows and illuminates the way. By your deepest instincts, you know this to be your highest truth. You are here to foster the Powers of Good. To stoke the Fires of Light. To make a difference. May your bountiful love for one another shine as a humble beacon of hope and salvation to every innocent soul, uplifting them, when lost in the dark seas of this world.

I now ask you each, Rusty and Chloe, before all those gathered here and the Eyes of Truth and the Universe of Justice, to exchange with childlike wonder and devout reverence, the Oaths of Binding you have composed to share this day.

CHLOE:

Rusty, my most idolized love, I, Chloe, stand before you as woman and child, as partner and mate. As you pledge to uphold our dreams, I vow to keep sacred our dearest home and family. Time and again, I have said you shall watch me grow up. You will witness me become a woman before your eyes. I will be both privileged as your student and admired as your equal. Our connection is both free-will and destiny, a fate preordained by The Force of All Creation. I take you now as my husband, and shall remain your wife for all time. Time shall be kind to us. In the decades to come, never will you be lonely again. The pain of abandonment will never touch your heart for I am yours for eternity. During every minute of my life, and beyond to the hereafter, I swear to spend every second loving you.

I promise to be a harbor of tranquility from the storms of your life, giving you comfort when you need it, peace when life brings turmoil.

I promise to care for you during all your days and nights, and never forsake you, neither in spirit nor in flesh.

I promise to be your dearest friend and your champion, entirely loyal and devoted to you forever, and to give my heart and faithfulness to none other.

I promise to remain your steadfast shieldmaiden, swearing death before dishonor, and protecting you through all times of trouble.

I promise to honor, respect and trust you, knowing that you always have my best interests at heart, even when I disagree with you or you misunderstand my needs. I promise to cherish you exactly as you are, and proudly support all your accomplishments, as well as your hopes.

I promise to keep you laughing and smiling, both to celebrate times of happiness and to survive moments of heartache.

Unto myself, I promise to carefully select friends and pastimes of integrity, as those I bring into my life are now part of yours.

I pledge my heart to be forevermore yours, Rusty, and to symbolize the infinite circle of our unending union, I remove and return unto thee this ring. Once again, I claim thee for my own and take thee as my most divine and lawful wedded husband. As I have avowed in centuries past, with this ring, I thee wed.

RUSTY:

Chloe, my darling, today be not our wedding day. Rather, today, I, Rusty, renew my eternal vows unto thee, from our first wedding of countless lifetimes past. For in my heart of hearts, I know, thou art the soulmate I was destined to have, and the one true love of my life. We have walked this path before. After all our hours upon this earth have passed, we shall walk this path again. While others may declare fealty unto death, such a pact unto thee would disrespect the depth of our passion, for our testament exceeds all limits of this mortal coil. While others may profess a kinship until the ending of love, such a treaty unto thee would disgrace the neverending blessing infused into our spirits by the Universe itself. I stand before thee, Chloe, not to begin our journey together, but to acknowledge and continue the endless quest we started aeons ago.

I promise to always remember your value in my life, to be your hero and your master and servant.

I promise to care for you and love all you are, light and dark, good and bad, weak and strong, cruel and kind.

I promise to respect you with the grace any chivalric and dutiful knight should devote to his dearly worshiped queen.

I promise to be faithful to you and share my heart and flesh and blood with you and no other.

I promise to defend your honor, encourage your dreams, celebrate your successes, and comfort your moments of sorrow.

I promise to bring you lifelong elation and humor as sure and true and brilliant as the rising of the sun.

I promise to conquer my fears and strive to rise to the occasion of fulfilling your wishes for all our future aspirations.

Unto myself, I promise to live with a healthy self-respect, pure in mind, body and spirit, remembering the life I lead now affects yours as well as my own.

Today be not our wedding day, Chloe, for I have been wed to thee for eternity. Today be the minute, the hour, the day when I again declare unto the world that my boundless love for thee remains timeless, beyond all birth and death itself. The oaths I partake this day only serve to reinforce the covenants I swore before antiquity. My allegiance, and my love, blossomed before the dawning of the cosmos, and endures after the ending of all reality, and not a single star remains aflame in the heavens.

I pledge my heart to be forevermore yours, Chloe, and to symbolize the infinite circle of our unending union, I give unto thee this ring. Once again, I claim thee for my own and take thee as my most divine and lawful wedded wife. As I have avowed in centuries past, with this ring, I thee wed.

CHAPLAIN:

Chloe, do you return the vows of Rusty, and promise by your sacred word of honor, to uphold the spirit of all he has pledged unto you?

CHLOE:

I do.

CHAPLAIN:

Rusty, do you return the vows of Chloe, and promise by your sacred word of honor, to uphold the spirit of all she has pledged unto you?

RUSTY:

I do.

CHAPLAIN:

Rusty and Chloe, as you have been betrothed under the Bonds of True Love and the Power of God, in whatever form anyone conceives God to be, let none and nothing ever dishonor or tear asunder. May your passion exceed all others, to forever shine in uxorious idolatry. By the power of your own souls, and by the Destined Fate of a Loving Universe, have you always been united as bride and groom, before and after all time. By the power vested in me, by the State of California, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Go forth in peace and love. Blessed be. You may kiss the groom. You may kiss the bride.

§

Rusty set the notebook down. “Well, what do you think?”

Chloe was crying. She couldn’t speak. Rusty could hear the tears caught in her throat. “I knew it. I knew right away.”

“Knew what?”

“That it would be beautiful. That was the most incredible thing I’ve ever heard. I can’t believe you wrote something that amazing for me.”

“For us.”

“Yes. For us. Wow. I don’t know what to say. I mean, that was beautiful.”

Rusty knew she’d love it. He truly thought those were the most incredibly deep and sacred wedding vows ever written, even though all couples think the same of their own vows. But he knew better than to vow trivial commitments to the ending of life or time. This love went far beyond those things.

“I didn’t understand a lot of it, to be honest. But it was beautiful.” Chloe added.

His heart sank.

What did she just say?

She didn’t understand it?

“Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to be hard to understand.”

“But I loved it.”

“Good.” Rusty tried to grin, but he couldn’t help but be slightly saddened by her comment. What was there to understand?

Was this yet another case of Rusty thinking he was doing something completely normal, like writing beautiful wedding vows, but the world was thinking he was weird because of the way he wrote them?

You’re not excessively normal...

§

“I’m so sorry to have to do this, but I can’t come. My aunt died and her funeral is that weekend. And my mom is making me go with her to Santa Fe. I told her how much I wanted to come see you and she begged me not to leave. She’s all worried that something awful is going to happen. Like you’re some serial killer or something. I’ve never seen her so upset. She was actually on the floor crying.”

“What!? On the floor?”

“Yeah. My mother can be very dramatic. It was like straight out of a movie.”

“Well, I can talk to her! I’m happy to let her know there’s nothing to worry about.”

“She even had her boyfriend come over. He’s a retired cop. And he was saying all kinds of stuff about it being dangerous to meet people online and everything.”

Rusty groaned, “Well, that ridiculous. But, I mean, I’m really sorry about your aunt. I mean, I understand if you have to go take care of that. Family is more important.” Rusty felt awkward saying that last remark. Family never meant a lot to him, but he knew it did to most people, so he said lines like that, just to be diplomatic.

“I’d rather come see you. I don’t want to go to a funeral. That just sounds depressing.”

“Chloe, I love you. I want to spend my whole life with you. I want to have a family with you. We haven’t been looking at rings and honeymoon spots just for fun, right?”

“No.”

“So, don’t worry. We’ll be together soon. Just not as soon as we hoped. Be there for your mom.”

“Okay. I just have a bad feeling about this too. I can’t explain it.”

So did Rusty.

An awful feeling.

After the heartache of so much loss and rejection and relationships that never worked out, he didn’t want to think about anymore tragedy which might keep them apart. This was the girl he had always been looking for. He wasn’t going to let anything take that away now.

§

Chloe had been gone for close to a week, but they still spoke every single day.

Until the day she was due home.

Rusty didn’t hear from Chloe until nearly midnight that evening.

“Hey beautiful.”

“Hi.”

“Thank goodness you called! I was really getting worried about you. I was starting to think something happened to you.”

Chloe burst into sobbing.

Rusty leapt up. “Chloe. Oh, my God. Chloe!? What’s wrong?”

Chloe could barely speak. “We... had... a car accident.”

“Oh, God. What happened? Are you okay?”

“My mom... My mom... died.” Chloe choked.

Tears poured from Rusty like a faucet, as if his own heart were suddenly siphoned into every ounce of Chloe’s pain. “No. Oh, God, no! Oh, Chloe. Chloe, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. Are you okay? Are you okay!?”

“Yes. Yes. I wasn’t hurt.” Chloe was crying so hard, Rusty could hardly understand her.

Rusty knew better than to ask how it happened.

People always ask those idiotic questions. Having experienced the anguish of losing someone he loved, he knew those answers didn’t matter. When that loss enters your life, the details are irrelevant. Illness. Suicide. Murder. Accident. Whatever means Death has used to steal the person you love, you will still awaken every day without them. Her mother was gone and the pain of that loss was an avalanche to cover the importance of “how” or “why”.

In the hour to come, Chloe told him the story, even though he maintained it would have been impolite to inquire. Chloe’s mother had fallen asleep at the wheel. Chloe literally slept through the whole ordeal. She went to sleep in the passenger seat and awoke in the hospital. While Chloe only suffered minor injuries, her mother was thrown from the car.

Chloe didn’t want anymore details than that either.

Gruesome phrases like “thrown from the car” icewater the blood.

In the days to come, Rusty and Chloe talked more than ever.

Her widowed maternal grandmother came to live with Chloe.

Rusty offered to fly out to New Mexico for the funeral, but Chloe didn’t want these circumstances to be the first time they met. That was understandable and Rusty certainly couldn’t disrespect her wishes at the funeral of her own mother. Chloe asked him to stay home, so Rusty had no choice but to comply.

Therapy started.

The nightmares came.

Chloe would call at 3 in the morning. Scared. Crying.

Sometimes she’d have bad dreams about Rusty. Terrible things happening to him. Monsters stealing him away from her.

In those fateful days, Rusty was always there for Chloe.

Everytime that phone rang. Day or night. Any hour. He was there.

He never complained. He never failed to answer.

When he was at work and she’d call him in the morning, he’d always step away from his desk and take the call. Not once did he ever rush to get back to his projects. For as long as she needed him, he was there. If he was in a meeting, he’d step out and talk to her. At lunch? Interrupting dinner? Put down the food and talk to her. Rusty was always the voice of comfort. Of joy. Of helping her through the dark forest.

“Sometimes I feel like you’re some kind of angel sent to protect me and I’m going to have to give you up someday.”

“No. Don’t say that. Well, you can say the first part, just not the second.” Rusty chuckled. “Besides, I wouldn’t let that happen. If the gods demanded that I leave you, I would defy them. I have always wanted to be seen as an angel. And for you to see me as one, I will never abandon you.”

“I know. I know you won’t.”

Rusty didn’t know how often she cried.

When she spoke to him, she was always laughter and smiles. But it wasn’t because she was healed or happy. Only because Rusty felt like home. For his heart was her oasis in the storm. The turmoil which battered her was somehow appeased every time she heard his gentle voice.

Rusty tried in the weeks to come to convince her to visit Los Angeles. He didn’t pressure her right away. But in time, he kept at it. Reminding her that getting away could help. A change of scenery would let her heal faster. Get her mind off things. Staying in that house, with all the memories of her mother, must have been torture. Best to get out for awhile.

Chloe always had an excuse.

He was starting to think she was just scared to meet him.

Maybe she was just nervous.

Again, the vicious cycle would begin. Rusty would want to respect her feelings and not pressure her, yet at the same time, he didn’t want to wait around forever.

§

Chloe declared, “I’m thinking I might stop seeing my therapist.”

“Oh? I thought you really liked her.” Rusty asked, staring at the carpet beneath his bedroom window. Chloe had been through two others, who were pushy and kept trying to make her to join support groups, which she didn’t want to do. This third one was very kind and gentle, from what Chloe had told him.

“I did like her. At first. But she’s not really helping me anymore. Plus she just talks shit about you.”

Rusty wasn’t expecting that. “About me!? Why me? I’m surprised you even mentioned me to her.”

“Of course I did. You help me more than anyone.”

“Awww. Chloe.”

“It’s true. You do. You always make me laugh and feel better.”

“Sweetie. That’s so wonderful of you to say. But I don’t feel like I do much. I always wish I could do more for you.”

“You do a lot more than you think.”

“So, why does your therapist not like me?”

“She says I’m just using you as a crutch.”

“That’s kind of rude.”

“And because of our age difference, she says you’re preying on me.”

“What!? Preying on you!? How can I be preying on someone I’ve never even met in person!? That’s ridiculous. And you’re 18 years old anyway. Not like you’re 14 years old. And even if you were 14 years old, phone conversations certainly can’t be construed as preying on someone. That’s insane.”

“Yeah. But it’s more than that. She just, I dunno, she makes me talk about stuff that I don’t want to talk about anymore.”

Rusty drew in a long and controlled breath. He was offended by the “preying” comment, but he didn’t want to rant about his own feelings. This wasn’t about him. This was about Chloe. About helping her. Making her feel better.

Rusty dropped it.

Instead, delicately and in his most soothing twilight voice, Rusty told Chloe a story, “You know, when I was a little kid, one of my favorite things to do was to go to the woods. I always loved being in the park and playing in the creeks and the forests of Ohio. Climbing rocks. Exploring caves. Jumping in swimming holes. And one of the things I always loved to do the most, was on a warm summer day, when a creek was flowing all beautiful and clear, I’d poke a stick in the mud of the creekbed. And the mud would billow up and boil like beautiful brown clouds swirling in the water. I’d watch that mud swirl around like smoke under the ripples and in time, the creek would wash everything clear again. That’s how I feel about you going to therapy. The mud is never going to go away. It’s a part of your life experience now. It will always be there. But there’s no reason to go poking it with a stick and stirring up all that dirt over and over again. Just let the creek flow and wash it away.”

As he had done so many times before, Rusty phrased things in a way that Chloe understood perfectly, “Thank you. I think I know exactly what you mean. So, why didn’t you say something?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, if you think going to therapy was bad for me, why didn’t you tell me?”

“It helped you in the beginning. But once it stopped helping, I couldn’t say anything. Because that’s none of my business to decide for you. I didn’t want to give you my opinion and have it influence your decision. You had to chose to stop going to your therapist on your own. But I could see you being really happy and doing really well, then every time you came home from a therapy session, you felt like shit all over again. I could hear it in your voice. It was pretty obvious that talking about things every week was not healthy and not helping you heal. It was just reopening the wound over and over.”

“I love you.”

“I know. I love you, Chloe.”

“To the moon and back?”

“To infinity and beyond.”

“You had to use a Disney reference.”

As always, they spent the next two hours on the phone constantly making each other laugh.

Chloe was proving to be the best 6 months of daily Affirmation Therapy that Rusty had ever been given.

§

“You need a pet.” Chloe suggested during yet another late night phonecall.

“A pet?” Rusty asked.

“Yeah. You should have a cat or a little puppy.”

“As opposed to a big puppy?”

“Smartass.”

“No. I love animals too much.”

“Okay. That makes no sense.”

“Yes, it does!” Rusty defended himself. “Look, I know tons of people who rescue dogs and cats and stuff. But, the thing is, I live alone and I work 8 hours a day. A poor dog would get so lonely. I can’t do that to an animal. I care too much.”

“Aw. That’s sweet. I see your point.”

“Yeah. Lots of people think I’m some cold-hearted bastard who doesn’t like pets. But the exact opposite is true. I care about them deeply. That’s why I won’t have one.”

“Cats don’t get lonely. You could get a cat.”

“Dudes can’t own cats. Cats are for chicks and fags.”

Chloe gasped. “Rusty! I can’t believe you just went there.”

“You know I’m right.”

“Yeah. I love my cat. But cats are gay. Manly men don’t have cats. Only sissy boys have cats. You’re totally right. You need a dog.”

“When you move in with me, we can get a dog.”

“Okay! Can I bring my cat too?”

“Duh. Of course you can. I figured you would.”

“Really? But you just said you didn’t like cats.”

“I never said that. I said they were for chicks.”

“And fags.”

“Well, are you a fag?”

“No.”

“No. You’re a chick. So, you can bring your cat.”

Chloe laughed, “You’re a goof. But you shouldn’t wait for me to move in. You need a living thing in that apartment now. I know you’re lonely.”

“No, I’m not. I was before we met. But now I talk to you every single day. I mean, we’ve been talking like three times a day for half a year. I’ve never talked this much to anyone else in my life. I’d usually get bored or annoyed talking to anyone else this much. But with you, I’m always looking forward to hearing your voice. It’s the highlight of my day. Since you’ve come into my life, I’m not lonely at all.”

“That’s sweet. But I wish you had more.”

“I will. I have faith in you. We’ll be together soon. I know you just need time.”

§

Chloe deleted her Model Monsters profile.

Tired of the drama from obnoxious photographers, and rude moderators, she was done.

Rusty had mixed feelings when she told him.

Obviously, she shouldn’t have a profile on a website if she’s uncomfortable with the idiocy of being harassed by other members. Nevertheless, if it wasn’t for that website, he never would have met her. When they got off the phone that night, he was oddly wistful and nostalgic thinking about it.

Knowing she had deleted her Model Monsters profile, Rusty suddenly decided to look her up online and see if she had any other profiles on the Internet. Surely, she must have other modeling profiles. Right? Maybe on other model sites like the Internet Studio or One Model House. Funny that in 6 months of knowing her, he never bothered to look her up online.

Looking at his search results, he spotted something strange.

Apparently, there were a few websites archiving track and field records for students in high school. Chloe was on three of those lists. Three completely different websites. That wasn’t a big deal. Rusty knew she had been a trackstar back then.

Strangely though, these results were for her Freshman year.

All three sites confirmed the same results.

The dates were last June.

Well, that’s impossible.

Chloe was a Senior then. She graduated last summer. How could these sites have her listed as a Freshman? Surely there weren’t multiple girls named Chloe David Strnich running track in New Mexico at Sandyside High School.

For hours Rusty checked and cross-checked and looked up dates. Even though he had to get up early for work, he stayed awake until 2a.m. This couldn’t be happening to him. This had to be wrong.

Then, he found her social media profile.

And the comments from her friends about what a crazy time Sophomore year was going to be. The comment was dated 3 months ago.

No.

No, no, no.

This couldn’t be. There had to be some kind of mistake.

Just because her friend was a Sophomore didn’t mean Chloe was.

Maybe the Sophomore girl was just an underclassman who attended the same high school. Maybe they met last year, when Chloe was a Senior. Chloe graduated last summer! She told him stories about her graduation. She would call and text him all hours of the day. She wouldn’t have time to do that if she was still in highschool. There is no way she was a highschool Sophomore now.

No way.

Going to her highschool website and looking at the archives, her highschool sports calendar confirmed the track and field dates too.

Chloe David Strnich was a Freshman last year.

No.

No way!

This could not be happening!

My God.

He was one of those guys!

One of those guys!

One of those idiots you see on talkshows who get suckered by evil underage jailbait girls. Worst of all, this wasn’t some girl he had known for a week. They had been talking for half a year! Six months! Every single day! Every day! For 2 and 3 hours at a time! What was he thinking!? Why didn’t he ever look her up sooner!?

That damn Model Monsters profile said she was 18 years old!

Why did she lie!?

Why would her mother permit her to lie like that!?

Dear God, if his calculations were correct, the girl was only... let’s see... 18 end of Senior, 17 starting... Junior... then back... Sophomore year in December puts her at... 15 years old!?

Fifteen!?

No, no, no, no, no. That can’t be right!

She was so mature. So articulate. So smart. She could not be 15 years old. That’s impossible!

How could she do this to him!? He trusted her! He believed her! He honestly thought she was 18 years old.

No. This can’t be.

There’s no way a 15 year old girl has been stringing him along every single day for half a year of his life. Absolutely not.

And why the hell did her damn mother allow Chloe to go putting up Internet profiles where Chloe lies about her age!? Shouldn’t her mother have been instilling stronger virtues of truth and honesty in her daughter?

He felt slightly bad for disparaging her dead mother, but not so bad as to take it back.

What could he do?

The wise man would run in the other direction. Leave. Get away from the lying underage bitch as fast as possible. Who knows what else she might lie about? This girl is dangerous. What if she tells people that he tried to have sex with her? Obviously, he could prove his innocence, since he never booked travel plans to New Mexico or anything. But still, the accusation alone can ruin a man for life.

But...

All that Rusty could think about was the anguish Chloe had been suffering over the loss of her mother. Those late night phonecalls. The nightmares that resulted in his phone ringing at 3:00a.m. These moments were not a lie. The torment in her voice was real. How could he abandon her at a time like this?

No.

Despite all she had done, Rusty couldn’t be that cruel.

Besides, he had done nothing wrong. Nothing immoral. Nothing illegal. All they had ever done was speak on the phone. Send some emails. Write a few loveletters. They didn’t meet in person. He never kissed her. Never made love to her. Never touched her. There were no criminal implications behind any of the behavior Rusty had engaged in.

And the fact remained that he loved her.

Lies and all.

Fifteen.

Fifteen!?

No wonder she refused to come see him!

No wonder she spoke of needing approval from her mom!

Now, it was all starting to make sense.

Damnit. How could he have been so gullible? The answers were so obvious. Why didn’t he figure it out sooner?

Because he wanted this too much.

That’s why.

He knew that.

He wanted this to be real, so he never dared question anything.

He thought an 18 year old cheerleader was in love with him.

What 39 year old man wouldn’t want that to be real?

He couldn’t get over it. This wasn’t some girl who would be legal in 3 to 6 months. She was 15 years old! She was just a kid. He’d have to wait nearly 3 entire years to be with her.

But would she?

Would she wait for him?

Why would a girl like her wait for a schmuck like him?

That was the first thought Rusty had.

He wasn’t angry with her.

He never considered leaving her.

He was just heartbroken at the eternity of a lonely wait.

Why would she wait? For him? He was nothing.

She was so beautiful. So perfect. She was truly the epitome of the All American Dream Girl. Chloe wasn’t simply the perfect girl for Rusty, she was the girl every boy dreamed about; a petite, blonde-haired, blue-eyed cheerleader and gymnast. Smart. Sweet. Radiant. Funny. She could have any guy she wanted, from a teenage boy to a grown man. Why would she ever devote herself to a loser like Rusty? What did he have to offer?

Rusty had searched his whole life for this one girl.

She never claimed to feel the same.

Sure, she loved him. She always spoke of bearing his children and raising a family. She asked him to compose vows for them and pick honeymoon spots and they looked at wedding rings. But she never used the word “soulmate” with him. Not once. Only Rusty talked that way. She claimed to never believe in such things. To never think about them.

Why then would she wait?

Why would the most beautiful teenage girl in the world wait for a selfish bastard who was almost 40?

Rusty grew nauseous.

Here they were again.

Damnit!

Those feelings of isolation. Rage. The familiarity of rejection.

Somewhere in dark shadows of his mind, he could see the devils laughing at him. Sinister and creepy things you can barely distinguish in the dark, grinning and admonishing him with the silent wave of impossibly long clawed fingers.

No, foolish boy. You’re to be alone forever. Remember?

How dare you think otherwise. She’s a lie too.

Just like all the rest. Idiot! Pervert! Ssssssicko!

Rusty’s breathing rushed. Sharp and pained gasps for air just before weeping. Yes, she’s a lie too. Six months. Half a year of his life, she had him fooled.

Catfished. That’s what they call it.

Dear God, she made him write wedding vows!

What a fool!

Stupid, stupid fool.

Yeah. Those pathetic old perverts on talkshows.

Rusty was one of those men they do exposé news reports on.

A television crew at his front door. Cameras shoved in his face.

People would say he was a pedophile! Pervert!

Dirty old man creeping after teenage girls!

BUT SHE LIED TO HIM!

He didn’t know she was in high school!

He wasn’t some creepy Internet predator!

She lied!

He never would have fallen for her if she had been honest!

God, was he truly so shattered by the death of Kateri?

That he could only love girls her age, without even knowing it?

How did he get here?

Had he truly become this pathetic?

Were the things that broke inside of him never going to heal? Was he one of those pitiful creatures who was so lonely, he’d fall for anyone? For anything? Was he that vulnerable? Was he this gullible?

Like those dumb 65 year old men who give their life savings to some 20 year old European chick on the Internet who claims to “love” him. Was Rusty that stupid? Was he on his way to becoming that kind of statistic?

A gentle hand found his shoulder. “Maybe it’s not that.”

“What do you mean?” Rusty asked Isabeau.

“Would she call you every single day if she didn’t love you?”

Rusty didn’t have to think long. “No.”

“No. Of course not. You know she’s done gymnastics and cheerleading all her life. She’s one of the most popular girls in her school. Think about how busy that makes her. How many friends she must have. Yet, she has been calling you two or three times a day, every single day, texting you all day long. Which means she’s texting you in the middle of class. If she was some evil tease, just screwing with you, why would she devote that much time to you?”

“Yeah. I see your point. If she was just toying with my feelings, she’d string me along. She’d call me once a week, not three times a day.” Rusty noticed his breathing had settled. A few seconds with Isabeau and he felt better already. Funny, she always knew exactly what to say.

“Totally.” Isabeau simpered like a warm-hearted movie scene.

“Yeah. You’re right.”

“She really does love you, daddy. Think about it. Put yourself in her shoes. If you were 15 years old, and you met this hot woman in her late thirties, and she thought you were 18 and you fell for each other, what would you do? Wouldn’t you be terrified if she discovered the truth?”

“Oh my gosh! The letter!” Rusty put his hand to his mouth.

“The letter?”

“The first time Chloe ever got angry with me! I sent her that loveletter where I said I’d wait for her, even if she was lying and she was actually a 15 year old girl! I was joking, but I was exactly right. No wonder she got so angry!”

Isabeau raised her eyebrows, “There you go. You hit too close to the mark. Freaked her out. That was her guilt getting upset with you.”

“Yes! She knew she had been lying!”

“And subconsciously, you somehow knew all along too.”

“Oh, God.”

“What now?” Isabeau chuckled, amused that Rusty was suddenly being bombarded by one realization after another.

“I’ll tell you in a second.”

He jumped online and checked out a website for counting calendar days. A few clicks, typing in a few dates, and Rusty sat back in his chair with his hand over his mouth again.

“Oh, God.” Words mumbled through fingers.

“What?” Isabeau asked.

“555 days.”

“What is 555 days?”

“Remember I said it was impossible for Chloe to be Kateri reincarnated? Because if Chloe is 18, she was born before Kateri died? Well, since Chloe has been lying about her age, it turns out she was born exactly 555 days after the death of Kateri.”

“So, you think it is possible they do share similar souls?”

“Maybe. Don’t you think that’s a weird number? 555 days?”

“Might not mean anything.”

“No. Might not. But it’s still peculiar, don’t you think?”

“She’s 111 digits away from being a Devil Woman.”

“Very funny.”

“I think you’re upset and freaking out over irrational things and you need to get to bed. Your alarm clock is going off in 4 hours, isn’t it?”

Looking at the clock, Rusty groaned, “Oh, crap! You’re right. Damnit, why did I do this?”

“Get some rest.”

“Okay. Goodnight, Isabeau.”

“Goodnight, my love... ly, lovely daddy.”

§

Not knowing how to confront Chloe, Rusty waited for weeks before he brought up her age. For awhile, he thought he might not mention it at all. Just play stupid. Let her admit it on her own. After all, she couldn’t keep up the charade forever.

But the charade was breaking his heart.

Every time she dreamed about being with him...

Every time she talked about their family...

Every time she spoke about their future...

Every time she said such things it twisted giant fists of gravel in his stomach. Knowing he would have to wait 2 years and 5 months before any of that came true, was torture.

Despite his sexual dream about Marilyn, the age of consent in California was actually 18 years old. He looked it up and double-checked right away.

Nope. He could not touch Chloe for almost 3 years.

Why would she wait that long for him?

After a month of fear and anger and frustration, he finally couldn’t take it anymore, and on the day of the Winter Solstice, he told her.

“Chloe. I know your big secret. I know you’ve been lying to me.”

Uncomfortable silence from the phone. “What? What secret?”

“I know you’re still in high school. I know you’re only 15 years old. I’ve known for weeks. I just didn’t know how to say it. I guess part of me still didn’t want to believe it.”

The long silence was all the confirmation he needed.

“I’m sorry.” Chloe’s voice cracked, weakly, through the choke of muffled tears.

“I want you to know that I still love you. I always will. And this doesn’t change anything for me except the timeframe. I still want to be with you. We just have to wait a little longer than I expected. That’s all.”

“What? Are you serious?”

“Yes. I’m serious.”

Chloe couldn’t believe Rusty wasn’t running away as fast as he could. “You know I only did it because I was afraid to lose you. I thought you’d stop talking to me. And I wanted to tell you the truth. I really did! There were so many times when I almost blurted it out. And everytime we hung up the phone, I felt like shit. I felt horrible for lying to you. But talking to you just made me so happy and I didn’t want to lose that. Then we kept talking every single day and I found myself falling in love with you more and more and I knew if you found out the truth, you’d run away and never look back.” Chloe somehow managed to spit all of that out apparently without taking a breath.

“No. I have no intention of running away. And yes, I was angry. Of course, I’m still angry. I am hurt that you’d lie to me about something so important. I’m not going to pretend like that was okay. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t pissed off. I’m really pissed off. But I don’t want to be. I don’t want to be holding all this anger inside towards you. I love you and I hate feeling this. So, I had to say something.” Rusty paused, taking in a breath.

Rubbing his chin, he added, “But then it hit me - you may have lied and I may be angry, but everything I love about you is still the same. Nothing has changed. I love you because of your outlook on life, and your values, and your ideals, and your attitude, and your humor, and your intelligence, and your ambition, and even for your dark side. And I realized that being 15 or 18 doesn’t change any of those things. You’re still the same person. And anything I love about you today isn’t going to go away in 3 years or 10 years or 30 years.”

“I guess.” Chloe still couldn’t believe he was saying this. Her disbelief just repeated in her head over and over.

Rusty explained, “More importantly, I understood why you did it. Yes, I admit, for a minute, I felt like you were some evil manipulative bitch who was just stringing me along and fucking with me.” Rusty caught himself regretting the use of a cuss word now that he knew her age. Knowing she’d be embarrassed if he pointed it out, he just kept talking. “But then I realized, that might be true if we talked once a week. But we talk every single day. There’s no way a girl talks to a guy every single day for 6 months unless she really cares about him.”

“Of course I do! You know I do.”

“Yes. And that is why I forgave you right away. I won’t lie and say that what you did was okay. It’s not okay.” Rusty felt bad repeating that. He didn’t need to beat her over the head with her mistake. Then again, she deserved to have it emphasized. “What you did was awful. But I understand it. And I forgive you. And I love you. And I will wait for you. The only question is, will you wait for me?”

“Wait for you?”

Rusty was hoping she would have just said, “Yes!”

The fact that she didn’t blurt out the word was the kind of subtle disappointment that made his faith in their future waver a bit.

“Yes. I mean, you still want to be with me, right?”

“Of course.”

“Well, we can’t exactly be living together when you’re underage and still in high school. You have to stay there in New Mexico with your grandmother until you’re 18.”

There was a pause again. Chloe didn’t pause for long, but it was long enough to make Rusty uncomfortable. The fact that she hesitated at all told him one of his greatest fears - she had not considered any of this. What he was saying was all new to her.

In that way, maybe their future together was just a game to her.

She never thought things through to their realistic conclusion.

Damnit.

Isn’t that exactly what that ex-girlfriend said about Rusty?

Fate and the Universe were finally giving him a dose of his own speciousness?

“Why?” Chloe answered.

“Why?” Rusty raised his voice an incredulous two octaves. “What do you mean ‘why?’ Chloe, I can’t live with a 15 year old girlfriend. You know what happens when we 39 year old guys try to do that? Haven’t you ever watched the news? Huh? If I have sex with a 15 year old girlfriend, I will become Bubba’s boyfriend. And I don’t want to be Bubba’s boyfriend.”

Chloe laughed. “You do have a cute butt.”

“I know. And I’m like 5’7” and 150 pounds. I can’t fight off 250 pound thugs. They’d pass my ass around like candy.”

“You don’t really think that would happen. I’d never tell anyone.” Chloe giggled.

“I know you would never tell. That doesn’t mean people couldn’t find out.”

“How would anyone find out?”

“What if you got pregnant?”

“I’m on birth control.”

“That doesn’t guarantee anything. You know that. Birth control isn’t failsafe.”

“Failsafe?”

“No. Not failsafe. What’s the word? Foolsafe? No. Foolproof! That’s it! Birth control isn’t foolproof. Things can go wrong. Women can still get pregnant. And if you got knocked up, we couldn’t hide it. You’d have to admit who the father is. And that would be it. I’d be screwed. So, there you’d be, a 16 year old mother, trying to raise our baby all by yourself, and I’d be your husband in prison, getting butt raped by Bubba everyday. Do you really want that to be our future?”

“No, of course not. That would be horrible. You don’t think that would happen, do you?”

“No. You’re right. Chances are, we could see each other, and have sex, and no one would ever find out, and things would be fine. But if we did get caught, it could destroy both our lives. Mine especially. They wouldn’t do anything to you. You’d just get a slap on the wrist and people would look at you with pity. You already know what everyone would say.”

“I know. I’d be the victim and you’d be the pervert.”

“Exactly!”

“Yeah, they’d be like, ‘Oh, she was so stupid. She didn’t know what she was doing. She’s an idiot. He seduced her. She’s a child. She didn’t understand the implications of consent.’”

“Yep. And I would be the creepy predator sex offender pedophile.”

Chloe gargled on air, “Oh, that’s bullshit! Guys who fuck 9 year olds are pedophiles. I’m 15 years old! Girls my age used to get married a few generations ago.”

“Look, I know that. You know that. We’re smart enough to realize these things. But the courtroom filled with idiot soccer moms and crusty old judges and plastic-faced news reporters don’t understand that. They won’t see our love as real. They will only see me as a depraved sex maniac. I’d be ruined. I’d lose my job. I’d go to jail. My life would be screwed forever. All because I couldn’t wait 27 months to get laid? No thanks, man. I can wait. Nothing bad would happen to you. Your life would go on like normal. You’d just get dirty looks and they’d make you go to therapy. I’d get destroyed.”

“I’d feel horrible if that happened to you. I wouldn’t let it.”

“There wouldn’t be anything you could do about it, sweetie. Statutory rape is statutory rape. You can’t go to the judge and tell him you wanted it. The law doesn’t work that way. What are you going to do, get a helicopter and bust me out of jail?”

“That’s disgusting.”

“What’s disgusting?”

“That some stupid law keeps us apart. There are real rapists and child molesters running around out there, getting away with hurting women and girls, but I can’t be with the man I love.”

“I know. The worst part is that the laws are different in different states. In fact, in 30 out of 50 states, the law says 16 is old enough to legally have sex. Like if we both lived back in Ohio, we could totally sleep together in 4 months, because the law says you need to be 16 years old. But we happen to both live in states where people have to be 18. Trust me, I looked it up.”

“That’s not fair!”

“No. It’s not.”

“That’s so dumb! Are you serious? Ohio would let me have sex with you but California doesn’t?”

“Exactly. In Ohio, we could fuck all we wanted and no one could do a thing about it. Nobody could stop us. Totally legal. But if I come see you in New Mexico or you come to California, I could go to jail.”

“Why don’t we just take a vacation to a state where sex would be legal? We could go back to Ohio for a weekend.”

“Because the law applies to the state you live in, not the state you are visiting. Plus, it’s also illegal for a minor to travel over state lines to do something that would be illegal in their home state. So, they could arrest me just for that. We wouldn’t even need to actually have sex. We just need to cross the state lines with the intention to have sex, and I’d still go to prison.”

“Shit. Sounds like you really looked into this.”

“Chloe, I want to make love to you more than anything in the world. Yes, trust me, you bet I looked into it. I tried every possible option and alternative I could think of, and the fact is, we can’t possibly see each other until you turn 18 years old, or your grandmother chaperones and gives us permission. That’s it. We have no other options. Well, except marriage. We could get married. Then it would be legal to have sex. But, since you’re under 18, your grandmother would have to give permission for us to get married and I don’t think she’s going to do that.”

“This is so dumb! Does that mean Ohio girls are more responsible than California girls? Maturity and morality are based upon geographic location? If a 20 year old guy has sex with a 16 year old in the woods in Ohio, he’s fine. But if they do it on Venice Beach, he’s a pedophile? That makes no sense whatsoever!”

“No. It doesn’t make sense. But then again, laws are usually created by ignorant old people who are disconnected from reality. Laws aren’t meant to make sense.”

“What are they meant for?”

“They’re meant to control people. Steal our freedoms.”

“No shit.”

There was a short pause and Rusty added, “This sucks.”

“I know. Maybe I can come live with you next summer.”

“Chloe. Come on.”

“What?”

“You honestly think your grandmother would let you do that?”

“She might.”

Shaking his head, Rusty said, “Listen, just imagine you and I are married and we have a daughter. Okay? Now pretend our daughter is 16 years old and she comes up to you and says, ‘Oh, mom, I’m so happy! I’m so in love! I met this really sweet boy!’

“And you would say, ‘That’s wonderful, Isabeau. Does he go to your school?’

“And she says, ‘No. He’s a 40 year old photographer I met on the Internet. Can I go live with him next summer?’

“What would you say to our little girl? Huh? Would you say, ‘Sure! I’m so happy for you! Go live in his apartment and fuck all summer!’ or would you say, ‘Go to your room! You’re not allowed back on the Internet until you’re 25!’”

Chloe exhaled sharply. “Shit. You’re right. You always help me see things in a way I didn’t look at them before.”

“I’m sorry I’m right.”

“Me too.”

“I’d love to be wrong. Believe me. I love you, Chloe. But not even we would let our 16 year old daughter get married to some 40 year old she met on the Internet.”

“No. Of course not. You’re right. Damnit.”

The reality that they simply could not be together, finally began to sink in for Chloe. For the first time, she started to see how impossible it was. She may have been scared to meet Rusty, but now she was infuriated to know society wouldn’t permit her to.

Chloe never meant to hurt him or lie to him.

Rusty was wonderfully understanding, but it almost made her hate herself all the more. There were so many men in the world who were jerks and selfish bastards who just used women. Here she found a man who loved her and accepted her just as she was, dark side and all, and she completely deceived him. She lead him on and lied to him, raising his hopes for a life she could never give him.

Were he one of those crass and chauvinistic men, she wouldn’t have cared about his feelings.

But Rusty wasn’t.

Rusty was one of the good guys.

How could she live with knowing what she had done to him? How she had tricked him?

Part of her wanted to apologize to him forever. Another part was so ashamed, she could barely bring herself to speak to him.

Chloe was too young to understand that Rusty had been broken in a way from which he would never recover. People always say that you should give new lovers a chance to stand on their own merits. Someone you meet tomorrow could have more affection and kinder intentions than a person you’ve known for years. Time is irrelevant. Character is everything.

But what happens when you find yourself surrounded by people with no character?

Perhaps in the end, Los Angeles was a terrible mistake.

But from what he had seen, the decay of common decency appeared to be rampant everywhere. Like some kind of Black Plague of moral depravity and selfishness, sweeping the Western world. Perhaps leaving Los Angeles wouldn’t offer any escape from the epidemic of braindead pothead cellphone zombies. They were already everywhere.

Rusty knew the old adages and sentiments of new beginnings. Never judge the person you are dating today upon the way you were treated in the past. Right?

But, of course, that isn’t the way the heart works.

In truth, all of us are born with a certain quotient of love and trust inside of us. Some more than others, of course. But no matter who you are, each rejection of love, each betrayal of trust, depletes those coffers. Until finally, choked with barren dust, you have nothing more to give. Upon that tundra, this is where the ghostly women and the empty husks of men are born. Deep within the lies of teenage girls and college boys germinate the seeds of lifelong mistrust.

So it was with Rusty.

All his trust was gone forever.

Rusty didn’t realize that.

Chloe didn’t know it either.

And she didn’t know that no woman would ever bring it back.

§

As they both promised, Chloe and Rusty stayed true to one another for years. Rusty would send her flowers for no reason whatsoever. He would ship her gourmet chocolate from New York for Valentine’s Day and Christmas or buy her favorite fudge from Disneyland. She wrote him darling loveletters and sent him gifts of necklaces and perfumed boxes packaged so gently they shimmered with her affection.

Chloe’s grandmother even reluctantly approved.

Well, perhaps she didn’t “approve” as such, but she never forbid them from speaking to each other.

Apparently, in her youth, grandma had a loveaffair with one of her highschool teachers. Scandalous as such a relationship would be today, back in her time it was unheard of. How could she chastise Chloe and Rusty for having the same kind of love she experienced at that age?

She didn’t know how Rusty did it, but he always made Chloe laugh. Even while still mourning her mother, Rusty brightened her soul. Despite their difference in age, Chloe’s grandmother liked him for that alone. For his gift of laughter. For always keeping her granddaughter in the light.

Rusty never spoke to the woman. For some reason, no matter how often he asked, Chloe refused to give Rusty the phone number of her grandmother. Sometimes, he had the feeling Chloe never told her grandmother that Rusty existed. Maybe she was hiding Rusty from her grandmother just as she hid her true age from Rusty. Then again, her grandmother had to see the letters and packages arrive at the house. Oddly, the grandmother never called Rusty either. You would think she’d want to speak to the 40 year old man who chats with her 16 year old granddaughter.

Very weird that she never did.

Nevertheless, Rusty sent a letter and explained he would never attempt to spend time with Chloe without her grandmother acting as chaperone. There had been a time, only a few generations earlier, when polite gentlemen in civilized culture were permitted to court young girls. Only a few generations ago, a man his age pursuing the love of a girl her age would not be considered immoral or illegal. Rusty intended to adhere to all the chivalric caveats of such a relationship. Never did he act in a way improper or uncivil.

Chloe loved Rusty more each day. When he worried that she would grow to resent him, for taking away her carefree days of high school, she assured him that would never happen. Being devoted to him was her choice, and she knew that. He never acted like he owned her. He never tried to control her. Chloe was free to do anything she desired. There was no deception, no coercion, no manipulative promises. The whole time, Chloe knew she was free to change her mind. Were she to reject him, were she to decide she wanted to date boys her own age, Rusty would never seek to stop her. Knowing she had such freedom, knowing he was not deceiving her or exploiting her in any way, made Chloe adore Rusty all the more.

But as their dreamtime began to fade...

As reality began to creep towards them...

As her birthday was approaching, things began to change...

Rusty knew far before she did.

After all, he had grown so accustomed to rejection, he saw it when it was still years away. Heck, he knew it that night he saw her highschool track results. There was no way she’d wait for him.

No way.

She lead him to believe she was an unambitious young girl who lived at home and worked an unfulfilling underpaid job at a dance studio.

That was all a lie. That is never who she was.

In truth, Chloe was a star cheerleader with scholarship-worthy grades who dreamed of being a biochemist.

Rusty had tons to offer the girl when her greatest ambition in life was seeking a job at a coffeeshop.

What did he have to offer the girl whom Chloe really was?

This young woman had a bright future. Endless possibilities.

Why would she pick some hermit 24 years her senior?

No.

When Rusty realized who she truly was, he knew he was nothing.

She was a young woman brimming with far more potential than he ever had.

He had nothing to offer.

He was a loser who dreamed of being a photographer and never made his dream come true. In the movies, an underdog like Rusty always wins. In real life, people like Rusty never amount to anything. And he was slowly starting to realize that.

He even told Chloe as such. As much as he admired her ambitions, he feared he’d ultimately lose her because of them. She denied it, of course. But time proved he was right.

Gradually, the arguments started.

Slowly, the phonecalls lessened.

First a night was skipped. For the first time, after knowing her for more than 2 years, they didn’t talk. Then a week later, two nights would pass without sharing a word.

The slow fade.

As always.

That time when we try and wish and hope and pray so desperately to hold on. When we see the relationship dying and as the threads unravel, we are helpless to save it. That glint flickers from the eye of a lover, and even though their gaze goes dull only for the smallest fraction of a second, we know the light will never look the same again afterward. We all deny it, like fools. Yet, there isn’t a soul alive who doesn’t recognize that shadow, and cry that night in bed for having seen it.

Rusty was hurt all the more, because he still never saw her.

Never met her in person.

The spark couldn’t leave eyes he had never gazed within.

Months before she turned 18, when he offered to buy her a plane ticket for her birthday, she told him she “had plans with her friends” that day.

Right.

For the past 2 years, they had constantly talked and planned and fantasized about seeing each other the moment she turned 18. Meeting at the airport. Riding his motorcycle back home. The instant she was legally able to see him, nothing could keep them apart. The thrill of finally being able to touch. The nervousness of hoping they still liked each other. They played the scenario out in their daydream conversations over and over. Dozens upon dozens of nights, hoping, discussing, imagining, dreaming. What she would wear. How she would pack. Would it be cold on the motorcycle? Should they time her flight so she arrives right at midnight?

Now, with her birthday only months away, she had other plans?

Sure.

Rusty didn’t want to argue.

Rusty wanted to stay in the dream.

No. Don’t listen to reason! Keep pretending she loves you!

So, he didn’t confront her.

He didn’t make an issue out of it.

He pretended to be understanding. Heck, he even pretended he was happy for her. Yes. Go. Have fun with your friends. You deserve that! Sounds great!

But inside, he was shattering in ice floe pain.

Chloe wanted a daughter named Isabeau.

How could she do this to him?

Not long after, Chloe told him she wasn’t his girlfriend anymore.

Rusty curiously realized he wasn’t in pain by then.

The disintegration of relationships no longer hurt him.

He wondered when that had stopped.

Looking back, it seemed Mikayla was the last relationship that really affected him. That one really hurt. Were there any afterwards? And how long ago was that? Ten years? Twelve? He couldn’t quite recall.

Even Charlinda didn’t hurt very much.

Had his awful wish finally come true?

That horrible mistake of a wish he had made all those years ago?

To no longer feel heartbreak?

Did it happen?

Could he no longer feel a broken heart?

Was that a good thing?

Or did it just mean he couldn’t feel anything anymore?

Once her 18th birthday had come and gone, Chloe pulled even further away from Rusty. She admitted she couldn’t promise her future to him anymore. She wanted to be free. To live her life. Savor her youth.

Chloe confessed to him, she had started sleeping with other boys.

Rusty knew.

Of course she had.

Why wouldn’t she?

She owed him nothing. He put his whole life on hold for nearly 3 years for this girl. Yet he knew better than to blame her for something he had willfully decided to do. This was his choice. He decided to stay with her. Even when he knew she’d never stay with him. He could have run the second he learned her true age. All other men would.

But he couldn’t abandon a girl who was in so much pain.

Even if it meant the world would alienate him.

None of her revelations shocked him.

Had it been a surprise, he may have been devastated. As it stood, he simply felt numb to it all. Life was no longer something he was living, but rather something he was observing from a distance.

Rusty was tired.

No matter how much he slept, he was always so tired.

After being laid off from his position at the architecture firm, he had become more of a reclusive hermit than ever. Collecting unemployment. No job. No girl. No life.

He never did find stable work again. At his age, he was considered washed up in his career. When you’re unemployed after the age of 40, no one wants you anymore. He had no other skills. He had no money to go back to school. So, he struggled from one odd job to the next, reminded everyday of how worthless his life had become.

Isabeau and Oona seemed a distant memory.

He hadn’t seen them for months.

Looking back on his friendships, he honestly didn’t remember the last time he had a guest in his apartment or hung out with anyone. Was it months? Years? He truly didn’t know. Instead of being sad, he found it frightening to not remember.

How could he not be sure if months or years had passed!?

He began to feel like a ghost. Like something gradually vanishing from the world. He began a habit of staring at his hands, just to see if he was ever starting to disappear.

He never was.

Rusty almost felt disappointed that he never began to evaporate.

The shadowslip is arriving. Arriving. He could smell it on the air. The blood is flowing along the pavement. That is what shows up first. Starts to trickle one night. Coming down the mountain. A few nights later the sun forgets to rise. The moon forgets to set. The clock remembers to tick. And the shadowslip is at the door. It doesn’t need to knock. It is patient. It waits longer than you can. It knows you are there. And you can’t stay inside forever.

Chloe was starting college soon.

She never wanted to hear any stories from Rusty anymore.

He wasn’t allowed to speak about things like his own time at college. Anytime he tried to share his memories or experiences, she’d grow angry and ask him, “How long ago was that?”

A spiteful phrase which had become her answer to everything.

“How long ago was that? I don’t care about something that happened 20 years ago.”

So, he stopped sharing things.

He stopped wanting to talk with her at all.

Yet, she was all he had. No one else ever spoke to him anymore.

Rusty had stopped talking to the few friends he knew, after meeting Chloe. She had been his whole world. She was the promise of his entire future. Family. Isabeau. Oona. Everything. Chloe was the only person who spoke to him every single day and claimed to love him. But he couldn’t tell his friends about the teenage girl whom he knew would betray him. They would all think he was an idiot, a pervert, or both.

So, he allowed all his other friendships to wither.

Dissolve.

Until Chloe was all he had anymore.

Now that she was gone, he had nothing. Once again, he didn’t blame her. That was his own stupid choice.

She began insisting that times were changing and Rusty lived in the past. He never argued with her, even though Rusty knew she was wrong. That was her job. By the time Chloe turned 19 and was starting her second year in college, she was at that age when the world was her oyster and the new generation is always adamant, with misguided idiocy, that everything which existed more than 5 years earlier must be discarded and ignored, for the solutions to every problem in the world must be created from scratch.

College kids mistakenly think they’re going to change everything.

She was wrong, of course.

Nothing important ever changes.

Kids still ride bicycles and climb trees.

Teenagers still become outcasts and get broken hearts.

College students still love music their parents don’t understand.

Adults still get married and have families.

No, things don’t change at all.

Not the important things anyway.

Trivial details are the only things that change.

Things that truly matter always remain the same.

Love. Friendship. Kindness. Home. Family.

Those things are forever.

Things Rusty would never know.

§

Rusty sat on a rock as he hiked in Griffith Park.

Isabeau, still in her same black spiderweb dress and barefoot asked, “Backfired again, didn’t it?”

Rusty kept looking at the horizon. “What’s that?”

“Your wish. You started to say you just wanted a girl who was devoted. Now you found one, and she won’t be with you either.”

“I wouldn’t call her devoted if she has never tried to see me.”

“You were making excuses for her, and using what you perceived as her devotion, to justify putting up with her. Now, you’re taking that back? Now you’re admitting it wasn’t devotion?”

Angry with his own foolishness, Rusty sighed to himself. “Yes. I guess I have to.”

“Let me ask you this. In more than 4 years of knowing each other, did Chloe ever once remember your birthday? Don’t answer me. Just think about it.”

Rusty frowned, “Yeah. I get your point. I’m learning the same lesson all over again.”

“Or maybe the life lesson here is that your lists of criteria will never guarantee a girl will stick around.”

Rubbing his face, Rusty noted, “You know, I understand that you are here to give me truth, but maybe you could do me a favor and at least try to sugar coat your bitter pills on occasion.”

“Life’s tough, kid. Deal with it.”

“I hope you didn’t get your compassion from your mother.”

“Hey, I’m not here for kindness, bucko. I’m here for guidance. Would you prefer false compassions or truth? You know better than to ferry the scorpion.”

Rusty bugged his eyes. “What?”

“The frog and the scorpion.” Isabeau replied as if Rusty should know what she was talking about.

“What are you talking about?”

Rolling her smoky eyes, Isabeau groaned, “Oh, come on. You’re kidding, right? The frog and the scorpion story? You heard it told in an episode of Star Trek and in two different movies within the same week! And there’s even a variation in Natural Born Killers, which you always say is one of your favorite lovestories. How could you forget?”

“I’m kidding. Of course I remember. But tell me again. I love the story.”

Isabeau cleared her throat and wriggled into a more comfortable spot. Rusty wasn’t sure if she needed to do that or if it was just for effect. “A frog and a scorpion are standing at the edge of a river and the scorpion asks the frog to carry him to the other side.

“‘You think I’m stupid?,’ asks the frog. ‘Halfway across the river, you’ll sting me and I’ll drown.’

“‘But that’s not logical.,’ replies the scorpion. ‘If I sting you when we’re halfway across, I’ll drown too.’

“The frog thinks about it and says, ‘Okay. Hop on.’

“Halfway across the river, the scorpion stings the frog. And as they’re both drowning, the frog asks, ‘Why did you do that? Now you’ll drown too.’

“The scorpion replies, ‘I’m a scorpion. It’s my nature.’”

Nodding his approval Rusty said, “And the moral of the story is?”

“You can’t fight against the nature of who you are. Even if you know it’s going to kill you.”

“Always loved that story.” Rusty grinned as if the story were essential to every single fiber of his very existence.

Isabeau surprised him by asking, “And the other moral?”

“Oh! Well, not only is it the nature of the scorpion to sting the frog, but it’s the nature of the frog to help the scorpion. You can’t punish yourself too badly for your own mistaken acts of kindness either.”

Shaking her head in disagreement, Isabeau answered, “No.”

Confused, Rusty asked, “The other is?...”

“Don’t be a gullible jackass like the frog.”

§

“You forgot the worst thing about me. My biggest flaw of all.”

“Oh? What’s that?” Chloe spat bitterly in another argument. She and Rusty hadn’t spoken for days, yet it seemed all their talks were nothing but fighting anymore.

Rusty figured she must be getting serious with another boy.

That’s probably why she’s suddenly being so much meaner lately.

They never spoke about whom the other was dating.

Or, more accurately, they never spoke about whom Chloe was dating. Chloe knew damn-well Rusty wasn’t seeing anyone. That pissed her off too. The longer Rusty was alone, the more she resented him, the more she felt guilty about rejecting the one man who would always love her. Chloe felt like Rusty would never get over her, and she hated him for that.

The truth wasn’t that he was waiting for Chloe.

The truth was he no longer believed in love at all.

Rusty dared never tell her.

Had Chloe known, she may have resented Rusty more than ever.

Rusty kindly told her. “My biggest flaw? That I never list yours. Believe me, honey, I could tell you plenty of shit that’s wrong with you. But I never do. Have you ever noticed that? Notice that no matter how much you run me down and talk shit about me, I never do the same thing to you? I never sit here and judge you and tell you what I think is wrong with you. I never berate you for what I perceive as imperfections. I adore you and love you and respect you with all my heart and soul. Anything about you that I find annoying or foolish or ignorant, I keep to myself. Because I know that you are a great person and any faults I can find are trivial and meaningless. I’ve never once run down the list of your problems or told you item by item what is flawed with you. Instead, I’ve chosen to love you exactly as you are. I’ve chosen to accept everything about you, good and bad, instead of trying to vilify you for your shortcomings. Yeah, that’s my biggest fault; That I don’t see any flaws in you. Even when you’re being an unfair bitch and attacking me for insignificant, petty bullshit, I still accept that as a part of who you are. I love you even when you’re a total fucking jerk. Even when you’re a snotty bitch, I still love you. I have never and will never list your failings as a way to distance myself from you. I adore you, blemishes and all. Gosh, I’m such an asshole.”

Rusty knew it was her guilt talking.

Because she was falling in love with another boy.

Because she wished Rusty had moved on to sleep with other girls.

Because she knew Rusty was still alone.

As much as she didn’t want to feel guilty for having sex, as much as she had no reason to be ashamed or regretful, she couldn’t help but feel like she was a bad person. Rusty loved her. Rusty was devoted to her. He never let her down. He never lied to her. He never walked away. He was loyal to her in a way she couldn’t even fathom.

And she deceived him.

She abandoned him.

All she could do to overcome her guilt was to attack him. Find flaws. Something. Anything. Whatever shortcoming she could magnify and blow out of proportion to convince herself that he was somehow the bad guy. To justify herself. If she could convince herself that he was the jerk, then maybe she wouldn’t feel so awful anymore. Maybe she could live out her wild and carefree college days without remorse.

All she had to do was make herself believe Rusty was horrible.

Yet, no matter how much she tried, she could never shake the shame of betraying a man who gave up years of his life by trusting her broken promises.

Rusty knew all of this.

Rusty didn’t want her to do that to herself. Or to him.

So, he kept talking. And she listened without saying a word.

“I don’t get it, Chloe. You constantly act like I’m clueless about everything. You continually belittle me and accuse me of not knowing anything about the world. But at the same time, when I share any of my life experiences, you tell me that you’re tired of hearing stories about my life, because it means I’m living in the past. So, you ridicule me, presuming I’m oblivious to the way the world works, then at the same time, you refuse to acknowledge any of my life experiences as being relevant! How does that make any fucking sense? Do you have any idea what a monumental asshole that makes you?”

Still silence from her, Rusty continued, “I understand exactly what you’re doing. I know you better than you know yourself. Because you don’t even realize what you’re doing. You can’t see it. I’m a fantastic person, Chloe. I have never run you down. I have never complained about anything you do. I have never been mean to you, or bitter, or resentful. Since the day we met, I have treated you with nothing but love, and kindness, and understanding, and respect, and you know that to be true. But you’ve decided to reject me anyway. I have given you my heart and you handed it right back. Even after you promised to cherish it. And you feel guilty for doing that. You feel terrible for pushing me aside, after I’ve always been so good to you. So, you’re starting to look for some excuse, you’re searching for every little flaw, every tiny piece of my personality that you can pick on. You’re constantly being snotty and bitchy and running me down for everything I say. Just to hurt me. Just to be mean. Just to push me. So you can find some reason to stop caring about me. So you can make yourself believe that I’m a total jerk. You’re doing all this, just so you won’t feel guilty anymore. Just so you make yourself think there’s something wrong with me, so you can justify rejecting me, and stop feeling so bad about yourself.

“Well, I’m telling you right now, you don’t need to do that to yourself. You don’t need to do that to me.

“I forgive you. I don’t hate you. You haven’t hurt me or broken my heart. You don’t need to beat yourself up or feel guilty about anything. I have only ever loved and adored and cherished you. And I am forever grateful that you have been a part of my life, and I have never regretted meeting you, or knowing you, or falling in love with you.

“You have always been a blessing to me.

“And you always will be.

“Yes, I am disappointed that you don’t want to be with me.

“But you have to follow your heart.

“And if your heart doesn’t want me, you need to accept that and stop beating yourself up for what you don’t feel.

“Most important of all, you don’t need to make yourself hate me in order to justify the fact that you will never love me.”

When the words came from his lips, Rusty suddenly understood that the girl he fell in love with, never existed. And somehow, that made everything better.

Rusty couldn’t mourn the loss of a lie.

Rusty finally understood why he never cried over Chloe.

Chloe had always been an illusion. The version of Chloe whom she projected, was always a fantasy. And deep inside, Rusty always knew it. Despite her deceptions, Chloe remained the most amazing girl he had ever met, but the girl she pretended to be, was never real.

Rusty would never stop loving the girl Chloe claimed she was.

And he would always forgive the girl she truly was.

Because no matter if they never meet...

No matter if she marries another...

No matter if they never speak again...

Chloe would have his heart forever.

Unlike all the girls he had loved, Rusty didn’t break promises.

There wasn’t a single girl in his life that he ever stopped loving.

Every single girl he ever said, “I love you” to, he still loved.

He couldn’t understand why so many girls could say those words and take them back. When Rusty said it was forever, he meant it. He never changed him mind. He never took it back. His word meant something.

Maybe the world didn’t care anymore. Maybe keeping your word and holding to a promise was old fashioned. Maybe the world just didn’t give a damn. But Rusty did. Rusty always cared. For him, the sense of honor and self-respect that came from never rescinding a vow was the foundation of his entire character. And that was all that mattered. Even if every soul on earth thought it was ignorance, even if all people ridiculed his ideals as pathetic, he would always believe his ethics were valor.

§

“JOHHHHHN!”

Rusty started up in bed to pounding and screams and the tears of a girl outside his apartment building at 4a.m.

Why does the romantic melodrama of kids in their twenties always manifest at 4a.m on a Saturday night?

More crying.

More pounding.

Rusty clamored to his window, trying to see between the fronds of palm trees, to watch what was happening beneath the yellow glow of streetlamps.

She was cute. Brunette. Couldn’t tell much beyond that in the dim and shadowy light.

“Let me in!”

Rusty wanted to get a better view, so he went down to look out the peephole in his front door.

The scruffy guy buzzed her in and the screaming took to the hallway. The girl threw her bags at him and it looked like she took of some rings and threw them down the corridor.

“Pick it up!”

Another ring. “And pick that up.”

Rusty couldn’t see the boy, whom he clearly knew was named John, but Rusty saw the girl collapse in the doorway and begin wailing again.

“Why are you doing this!?”

John appeared calm. He never yelled. Never grew upset. In fact, he spoke so gently to his hysterical girl that Rusty couldn’t make out a word John was saying. John had a voice that was muffled and deep like Fall wind in trees.

Slapping sounds began coming from just beyond the threshhold of the doorjamb as John stood nearby.

“Is this what you want?!” The girl screamed.

The slaps grew louder.

Again.

Again.

“I swear I will call the cops and tell them you did this to me!”

There was a massive bang and the ring of the steel railing and she started crying even harder. Whatever she was doing, she was outside the doorway and Rusty couldn’t see her. John kept mumbling.

Rusty couldn’t believe it.

This was like the movies.

Was this really happening? Was the girl throwing herself into the wall of the building and punching her own face just so she could claim her boyfriend had beaten her!?

Rusty had seen this kind of stuff in films, but he didn’t think there was such a thing as a real-life girl who was this psychotic.

It was beautiful.

Rusty felt almost gleeful in his voyeurism.

Their fight went on for another 20 minutes.

“I love you with all my heart, but I think it’s over!”

“Your roommate threw me out!”

“I got hurt, John! I fell down the stairs!”

“John, you’re drunk and you don’t care!”

“Hello? 911? I’d like to report a domestic abuse!”

Was she really doing that?

This crazy girl was going to file a false police report? Did this idiot know how much trouble she would be in when the cops discover she was lying?

“John! Who are you texting, John!? John, get off the phone or I swear to God! JOHN!”

Wow. She really loved repeating his name.

“Are you calling my mom!? John, why are you calling my mom!? You have no right to call my mom! Get off the phone, John!”

“John, I will call the cops and tell them you beat me!”

“I’m hurt, John. I fell down the steps. I’m hurt!”

She sure was running around the sidewalk and making a lot of commotion for someone who was claiming to have broken her leg falling down a staircase.

Crazy as she was, Rusty had to agree with the girl about John being on the phone. Who the hell are you texting when your psycho girlfriend is screaming at you? Rusty would never understand these twenty-something kids and their perverse obsession with cellphones. Even during the most passionate of lovers’ spats, people are staying on the damn phone? That level of zombie devotion to their phones has truly got to be some sort of psychological disorder. Who does that?

Rusty wanted to go outside.

He wanted to intervene.

He wanted to tell John how important it was to salvage this relationship. In all his life, Rusty never had a girl act so psychotic. Didn’t dear old John understand that a girl who was that batshit crazy would always love him? Any girl who has that kind of passion and fever in her was something Rusty had never experienced.

Chloe was right.

Rusty desperately wanted to be part of the world.

To know that glorious passion of the human experience.

To have the screaming fight at 4a.m.

Chloe claimed that Rusty looked down on the whole human race, as if he were ashamed to be part of it. But at the same time, Chloe knew that Rusty was desperate to be part of the world and loved people. To Chloe, that was a contradiction she couldn’t understand. Therefore, she viewed it as a character flaw. Rusty knew that being ashamed of humanity while simultaneously loving it is the only way an enlightened person can view the world.

Rusty hated how cruel people can be. He hated the rampant selfishness of our culture. He hated the endless self-destructive vices consuming the world. The complacent apathy people have adopted towards having their freedoms and dreams stolen away. No one seemed to want to stand up and fight for any semblance of ethics anymore. Chloe didn’t see what he truly felt: The world Rusty so desperately wanted to be a part of, didn’t exist. The people Rusty wished he could be friends with, weren’t real. He was alone in his idealism. The kind of dignity and purity and loyalty he held so sacred are values that weren’t even comprehensible by the masses. What he held dear was so far removed from their immoral principals that he could never bond with any of them. Rusty desperately wished that was just pretentiousness. He wished that was just arrogance, but it was not. The decay of our society, the erosion of all morality, these are very real and caustic trends that are slowly dissolving the foundations of decency. How could Rusty bond with them and be part of a world filled with nothing but lost souls?

Rusty was ashamed of how humanity usually behaves, but he loved what they have the potential to become.

This girl screaming for John embodied true potential.

Knowing that the more jealous and insane and enraged a girl behaves, the more she actually feels something.

John probably feared she was crazy.

So what?

No great decisions were ever made without being full of absolute fear and madness.

Rusty was truly on the outside looking in, wishing he had a fraction of their zest for life. Rusty never felt anything anymore. How he envied their visceral devouring of every breath.

Rusty wanted to go outside and tell them this.

He wanted to let John know, if he let this girl leave, John might end up alone when he was 43 years old, and never have anyone love him again. Just like Rusty.

Rusty wanted to say those things.

But Chloe was right.

Rusty was no longer part of the world.

He was only observing now.

By the time Rusty decided to ignore them and go back to bed, the police had arrived and Rusty fell asleep to the soft murmurs of the female officer asking questions and diffusing the situation.

Rusty should have said something.

He should have talked to them.

But why bother anymore?

Best to leave the young lovers to their glorious despair.

Who was Rusty to give them any advice?

They were brimming with life.

Rusty would never be alive again.

§

Rusty scrutinized the two beautiful twins sitting at the foot of his bed. Something changed in him after Chloe. Something shattered. The last shards of some fragile glass ornament had become dust. With the loss of Chloe, crumbled his final embodiment of faith in love.

Perhaps to some that would sound dramatic.

Rusty wished it was.

He wished this was the same kind of pain he felt when he was 16 years old. He wished this was the same kind of anguish we are all tortured by when those lonely teenage weekends seemed like the end of all existence. Because as he got older, he discovered that was never true. There was always hope. There was always another girl. Another smile. Another pretty face.

But now?

Now that he had gone 3 years and 5 years and 7 years without the touch of a woman, he realized that there would indeed be an end. One day, the span of those years would become so countless, he would forget how long it had been. The drought of never being touched would soon be immeasurable. And as each of those valleys of despair stretched into wider and wider plains between the summits of joy, as those lonely times lasted longer and longer, there would arrive an age when he truly wouldn’t meet another girl. When the plain would stretch to the horizon of his days. When he would be too old, too forgotten, to ever matter to anybody.

Something told him, this was the start of that age.

With the loss of Chloe, there would be no future chances.

She was the last.

And he wished it was melodrama.

He wished his hopelessness was merely the pain of loss.

Yet there lingered a deadness in his fear that felt all too real.

Like denying a cancer that finally took hold, this was a death it was time to accept.

So there he sat, staring at his twin daughters, somehow knowing he had utterly failed them. Somehow knowing Chloe had been his last hope. More than thirteen years had passed since Isabeau and Oona first appeared in his life. He was only 28 years old when he first saw Isabeau. 28 and full of hope. Full of determination.

Yet, he was not that 28 year old anymore.

Despite his youthful looks, he had finally reached an age where some girls would never be attracted to him, simply because he was “too old” for them now. He never thought he would become one of those men. He always imagined he’d find “the right girl” when he was young enough to never experience that kind of rejection.

Now, his adolescent soul was imprisoned in a 43 year old man.

43?

Christ. How did that happen? Where was time going?

In gradeschool, time dragged on so slowly. Every math class, every history lesson, stretched on for eternity. But now? Now years are passing in a heartbeat. Conversations he had half a decade ago feel like they happened last weekend.

Once upon a time, 30 sounded “old” to him.

Now, he was far past that.

He didn’t feel any different.

He barely looked any different.

Chloe even thought he was 25.

In fact, he felt more vibrant and alive and strong and healthy than he ever had in his life.

But his heart wasn’t the same.

Hope silently abandoned it, the moment Chloe walked away.

There arrives a certain weariness in the heart at a certain age. When that weariness takes root, you know it blossoms from the seed of your dying. You may still have decades remaining. Perhaps thirty or forty or even fifty years. But the day you feel that faint sting of the dread orchid roots burrow into your heart, you know your time is marked.

Rusty wondered if other languages had a word for that feeling.

The first hint of death.

Or did all languages fail to name it, for fear of giving it a way to take hold?

Thirteen long years with these ghosts of his daughters.

This odd voodoo and loveshadow.

Haunting him.

Driving him.

Compelling him.

To what ends?

For what means?

“Daddy?” Isabeau whispered, fear rippling in her eyes. The look she was seeing on Rusty’s face shook her to the core.

She had seen him sad, but never like this.

Something was wrong.

Very wrong.

“Daddy? Are you okay?”

Rusty sighed deep and long. The kind of sigh that sparks sharp in the quiet of bedroom quilts, not long after midnight.

“No.”

“What is it?”

Staring intently, he said, “Isabeau? Oona? Who are you, really?”

They looked back at their father, not understanding what he meant.

Scrutinizing their faces he questioned, “You’re not my daughters at all, are you?”

“He knows?” Oona looked at Isabeau in a panic.

Isabeau gently clasped Oona’s shoulder. Looking at her sister calmly, she said, “He’s started to suspect for a long while now. It’s time. Look at him.”

Rusty didn’t know what Isabeau expected Oona to see, but that was because he didn’t know despair changes the shape of your soul. He didn’t know just how forgone he had become.

Isabeau replied softly. “No, Rusty. We’re not.”

“Isabeau! Of course we are, daddy!” Oona exclaimed.

“Sweetheart. Stop. The time has come. You know that.” Isabeau told her sister. “We have to tell him the truth.”

“What truth?” Rusty questioned. Part of him honestly didn’t care. Chloe had lied to him for years. Now Isabeau and Oona had too?

Great.

Who cares anymore?

Real girls are never honest.

Why should spirit girls be any different?

Oona relaxed and paused a long while before she looked at Isabeau. Rusty didn’t know what they were. Angels? Devils? Something worse? Ordinary people? All Rusty did know was that he was tired of Isabeau and Oona speaking of him as if he weren’t in the room. “Yes. I know. We have to tell him.” Oona agreed.

“You ready?” Isabeau asked Rusty.

“Ready for what? What the hell are you two talking about?”

“Oona is your daughter. That’s true. But I’m not. I’m... your wife.” Isabeau explained, just blurting it out. She figured there was no easy way to prepare him. Best to simply say it.

The instant the words left her mouth, Rusty felt dizzy. His head swirled like the startled awakening from a falling dream, only he had never been asleep. A ringing chimed silverbell faint in his ears. So faint he wasn’t sure if he was only imagining it or not. Every pore seemed to itch.

Rusty knew, unquestionably, Isabeau was telling the truth.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, Rusty. I’m sorry. You’re such a goddamn romantic bastard. You gave us no choice!”

“What the hell are you talking about? This is my life, okay!? Don’t sit there and dramatically dole out little bits of information like we’re living in some fucking movie. Tell me. Tell me everything and don’t make me ask a million goddamn questions! I deserve answers! I deserve the truth, damnit!” Gazing up at the ceiling, he asked, “How can someone as honest as me be constantly surrounded by lies!?”

With each blink, the light in the bedroom seemed to shimmer. Oona looked much the same, but Isabeau slowly looked less and less like her twin.

Isabeau nodded her head. “Okay. If you had known who I was from the start, you’d just be trying to get back together with me. And that’s not your purpose this time. Your purpose in life, Rusty. You are one of us. You are an angel on earth, sent here to fix the broken souls.”

Rusty had no idea how to respond.

More than ever, he was convinced none of this was real.

He was an unemployed creepy pervert who had been waiting around for a 15 year old girl and now his imaginary daughters were pretending to be wives.

Yes.

He was officially insane.

“What? Thirteen years? You make me waste 13 years of my life? Thirteen years in some vain effort to find a soulmate that you’re now telling me was never my purpose in life anyway!? Telling me I have to find a soulmate for you to be born. Putting that pressure on me. How could you do that?”

“My love, have you forgotten that answers only come in due time? Take comfort in chaos. Mourn not for the things you do not yet understand. Celebrate the turmoil, for it is only beyond the maelstrom that the solace of a gentle harbor can be found.” Isabeau smiled and Rusty was stunned by her sudden burst of verse.

It was such an odd response, Rusty was even more livid.

Before Rusty could reply, his spectral bride spoke again.

“Do you believe in angels, Rusty?”

“Don’t ask me a question! Answer mine! How could you two do this to me?”

Oona reached out for him, “Please don’t be upset, daddy. We had a good reason. Honest we did.”

Rusty yanked his hand away. “Oh? A good reason? I would love to hear it!”

“You are being tortured in that other world!” Oona cried. “That wasn’t a dream! That was you waking up! Your soul isn’t just in one reality at a time!”

Her eyes glistened, her lips quivered, and Oona had an anguish on her face that broke his heart.

That shut him up.

What was happening?

As his anger roiled, Rusty felt his heart split in two. Half held the love for these strange spirit girls and the other held all the decades of loneliness and rage. Trembling, he shivered, completely torn. He wanted to run away from these creatures and never see them again. Yet at the same time, he wished they could embrace him and bring him back home.

Like hearing voices when sleep deprived, he kept wondering if someone else was talking to him.

Living or not, his daughter, or whatever Oona was, had him wrapped around her finger. One word from her, one plea to calm himself, and he couldn’t stay angry with her.

Did he believe in angels?

Of course.

Was Oona not one herself?

Despite how upset he felt for being deceived, she would always be his angel.

Did he believe in angels when she was not around?

The truth was, that depended upon the day. The older Rusty got, and the farther away from magic he seemed to feel, the less he believed in things like hope or angels. On days he saw Isabeau and Oona, they nearly restored his faith in all wonderment. “Hell, I don’t know if I believe in angels. Maybe?”

“Do. You. Believe?”

“I have no idea if angels exist or not!”

Isabeau grinned warmly. Not the playful grin of a preteen girl, but the cheerful and pleased smile of an older and wiser woman. Rusty suddenly realized, she had flashed him that look a lot, only he never recognized it before. She told him, “Which is exactly the way angels need to think. You don’t honestly think angels like you are allowed to remember what they are, do you?”

Rusty pulled away and scoffed into his shoulder. “Whatever. You know I’m not into religion and religious stuff. I’m not into all this garbage about angels and devils. There’s no such thing! Now you tell me I’m some sort of messenger from God? That’s the craziest - ”

“ - Who said anything about gods? I never mentioned gods.”

Rusty replied snottily. “That’s what an angel is. Right?”

“No one has ever seen God or the Devil. But people see angels and demons everyday.” Oona explained.

“God is just another word for the universe, my love. I have never stood in judgment before any gods and neither have you. ‘Angel’ is just a word, Rusty. They have nothing to do with religion. You can call us angels or ghosts or spirits or apparitions or faeries or specters or phantoms or djinn or whatever word you like best. Don’t get so distracted by the definitions of words. The word isn’t the point. The point is your reason for being. You have forgotten your true self because you had to. Your destiny, your purpose, is to touch the souls of others. To heal the heartsick. To make a difference. Only you were so hung up on finding me again, you were failing in your true mission.”

“My mission?”

Oona finally joined in and sighed, “Yes. To be a gentle spirit. To vanquish demons that most people don’t even know they are haunted by. So, we had to come set you straight again. Encourage you to date around. Explore other relationships. Find those souls you were supposed to save. This is who you are. A healer. A shaman.”

Isabeau added, “You were an angel to Chloe as well. Just like she said. You did this on purpose. You knew what you were getting into all along. Your mission was to save her. After her mother died, she was lost. Suicidal. You kept her in the light. Once she had the strength to stand on her own again, Chloe was bound to hate you, because she can’t return the favor. She can’t save you. And that’s okay. You have no right to expect that salvation from her. Saving you was never her destiny. This is the path you wanted. And thus all our angels become devils.”

“Is it? Is this the path I wanted? How do I know that? How do I know you’re real at all? How do I know that isn’t a bullshit lie I’m telling myself to make myself feel better?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes! I want the truth. I don’t want to comfort myself with delusions.”

“We make our own truths and reality. Remember?”

“If we make our own truths, then why can’t I change it? If I have made my isolation my reality and you say we make our reality, why must I be resigned to this fate?”

“Like I said before, did you ever stop to think that, maybe, the angels aren’t allowed to remember who they are?”

“What?”

“Chloe was right about you. And maybe you were right about her. She is a small part of Kateri reincarnated.”

“So, why can’t I be with her?”

“That is not your purpose in this life.”

“Oh, stop. Stop! It’s all bullshit! My head is spinning!”

The more they talked, the more confused Rusty became. As if he were asleep and this was some strange dream conversation that made sense for a few minutes, then began to unravel into repetitive nonsense. He wasn’t sure what was real anymore.

Rusty sighed.

Breathing with his head hung in heartache, he sighed again. And again. Until the sound of his breath was a soothing white noise and sleep felt like it was at his shoulder.

“Why didn’t you just tell me the truth?” Rusty groaned, cradling his head and staring into the dark of shut eyes.

“That you’re an angel sent to save souls? Because you would either not believe it and it wouldn’t help you. Or you would believe it and it would make you an egomaniac.”

“Yeah. Yeah. You have a good point. Find souls I was supposed to save?” Rusty chuckled, looking back up. “That sounds arrogant as hell. You know, I’ve had plenty of past girlfriends accuse me of being egotistical and full of myself. I wonder how they’d react to that? ‘Oh, I’m part of your life in order to save your soul.’ Wow. Yeah, I’m sure they’d appreciate that. As if I wasn’t already perceived as a conceited bastard.”

“Doesn’t matter if it sounds arrogant or not. It’s the truth. You are articulate and very well-spoken. Most people are not used to that. Intelligent people always sound arrogant to those who are not. Think about it - do really smart people ever call you arrogant? Or is it just the dumb ones who can’t understand you?” Isabeau smirked with a wry grin that reminded Rusty of the way all young actresses smirk in sardonic teen comedies.

“Good point.” Chuckled Rusty.

Isabeau nodded reassuringly. “Be patient with them. You don’t need to ‘dumb yourself down’ at all. Just stop looking down on them for being uneducated. Remember they are children. You are the old soul. You are here to guide them. They won’t follow you if they feel like you are belittling them.”

Oona explained, “And you have guided countless girls, daddy. You changed their lives. Every girl you have dated. Not always in big ways. Not always in dramatic ways. But in ways they needed changing. You helped set them back on their proper courses, just as we have kept you on yours. Sometimes you were a companion to encourage them. Sometimes a guide to lead by example. Sometimes a savior to pull them from darkness. You would be surprised how many of them saw you as an angel. Even the few who grew to resent you. At one time or another, they all saw you for what you truly are. Maybe some wouldn’t admit it anymore, but at their pinnacle of admiring you, they all saw your light. What else do you think dreamfasting was?”

Rusty slitted his eyes, focusing through the haze of understanding. “So that’s why you kept encouraging me to date other girls? You said it was because you weren’t sure who your mother was. The truth is, you just wanted me to keep bedhopping!?”

Isabeau cringed. “Well, it sounds so sleazy when you put it like that! Bedhopping. You’re not one of them, Rusty. Don’t you see? You’re not human. You look like one. You sound like one. But you have a higher purpose. The problem was, you were starting to forget that purpose.”

Sighing, Rusty asked, “Am I always to be the needle on the loom?”

“The needle on the loom?”

“Yes. I come and go. I shape the lives of the people I touch, but I’m never in the colors of the tapestry. I’m essential to the creation of their lives. Yet there’s no sign of me when all is said and done.”

“Like a ghost?”

“Exactly... Oh, nice. I get it. I see what you did there. Yeah. I’m a ghost. Just like you.”

Rusty stood up and walked a few steps away from them. Being in the bedroom, he could only pace a tiny circle. “No. This is stupid. I don’t believe any of this. That’s crazy talk. I’m not human? No. That’s nuts. You can’t be real. I’m just dreaming the two of you.”

Oona agreed, “It’s probably best if you think of it that way.”

Continuing to defend his position, Rusty angrily lashed out at them. “What’s more likely? That I’m some kind of angelic savior talking to his ghostly wife and daughter? Or that I’m a normal human being developing a mental disorder? The chances that I’m a normal guy, experiencing some sort of, of, of chemical imbalance hallucination, is much more likely than me being some sort of guardian angel with amnesia.”

Isabeau shrugged. “True. That is more likely. But, if we’re just your hallucinations, how did Amy Ambrosini see us?”

Rusty hadn’t forgotten that.

He was just trying to pretend it never happened. “Damnit. Why are you doing this to me? Meeting the two of you has been the most... the most... profound and astonishing experience of my entire life. And now you’re telling me it’s all a lie. Your whole purpose was to deceive me! And here I’ve just gone along with the lie, like an idiot. Real girls lie to me over and over and now girls from the spirit realm are doing the same thing?”

Isabeau reached a shamed palm to him. “No. Baby, it’s not like that. We weren’t deceiving you maliciously.”

“Gosh, that’s so comforting.” Rusty felt strange hearing her call him “baby” instead of “daddy”.

Isabeau continued, “You are burdened with a noble quest, my love. All children allow themselves to dream of greatness. Even those born of destitute means and hopelessness did at one time dream of futures brighter. Those who hold steadfast to attaining something of relevance in life need not be inspired to forge ahead, for their spirit remains fueled by the embers of every failure. For the ones who resign themselves to mediocrity, a tender rain of belief may be enough to sprout their gardens of hope to life once more. My love, you kindle the hope to those who do not burn with the light.”

Rusty melted at such beautiful words.

Oona was trying to defend her mother more than herself. “Dad, it had to be this way. You planned this with us. Before you were born. We couldn’t just tell you what to do. You have to learn life lessons on your own. That’s how it works. Even for angels. You know that.”

Still upset, Rusty sneered, “Why? Is it some sort of forbidden thing to be honest?”

Oona shook her head. “No. I don’t mean it like that. We were honest when we told you that we didn’t fully understand our purpose by appearing in your life in the first place. Lost in the strange ripples of time and space, we struggled to remember too.”

Isabeau ran her fingers though her hair and nodded in agreement. “Yes. It took time for us to fully understand why we had appeared to you this way. Just as it takes time and experience for you to learn lessons in your own life.”

“So you did lie to me. All that stuff about helping you to be born. None of that was true.”

“But isn’t the truth a lot better?”

“Better? How? How is this better?”

Isabeau grinned, but not in a mocking way, “You don’t see the full implications, do you?”

“Full implications of what?”

“When I say the truth is better, I mean ‘better’ that you have more than one life. Better that you have had a wife and daughter who love you so much, they materialize across time and space of the afterlife, just to help guide you.”

Rusty looked at Isabeau and felt like a fool.

She was right.

Of course she was right. Countless centuries of human generations have questioned the existence of an immortal soul, of the human spirit, and now, here was the proof. Right in front of him.

He was certainly the most privileged human being ever to live.

For he was the only person to ever have irrefutable evidence that there is more to life than the physical world.

Or, perhaps he really was suffering from some sort of long term psychosis, and all of this was in his head. Maybe Amy hadn’t seen Oona at all. Maybe he imagined all of that. Maybe she broke up with him and he was traumatized, so he invented her reaction in his mind and altered his own memory of their confrontation.

Rusty wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

Hell, it had been over ten years since he dated Amy.

What did he really remember?

Isabeau saw the conflict in his eyes. “I’ve always loved you. So has Oona. That’s not a lie.”

Despite the turmoil in his heart, he couldn’t deny that. Something told him that he had heard Isabeau speak such words a thousand times. He felt loved. At least he thought he did. He wasn’t sure he knew what love was, but he knew what he imagined it might be. This felt like he imagined.

Something inside Rusty felt different when Isabeau looked at him. For the first time in his life. He wasn’t really sure what love was, but it must have been close to this.

Standing there in his room, he felt what he had always dreamed a girl might make him feel. There was a comfort in him the likes of which he hadn’t known since he was a child. The moment that long forgotten emotion stirred in his heart, he realized it was exactly what had so long been missing from his life. That wonderful sense of feeling safe and protected and secure. A feeling he hadn’t known since he was maybe 6 or 7 years old. A feeling he was trying to regain ever since, without even knowing it was gone. You could get glimpses of that comfort. Watching a Disney movie you loved as a child. Visiting a familiar spot in the park where your family shared picnics back when you were only in preschool. You get stirrings in those moments. Kind of like he felt now. Only now, the feeling lingered. His entire bedroom felt smaller somehow. Cozy. Warmer. Gazing out his bay window, the city somehow seemed changed. Not a single streetlamp was altered, yet somehow, someway, the entire landscape began to feel more like a storybook than reality. Rusty finally recalled, truly recalled, the sense of childhood wonder that all little boys have for the world.

All because a girl like Isabeau loved him.

“I know. And I’ve always loved you, Isabeau.”

“Remember the night we first met?” Isabeau asked, with a sparkle in those silvery eyes. “I asked you if I was really your daughter and you said you could feel that I was?”

Rusty nodded. “Yes. Of course. That was a dirty trick.”

Isabeau tossed her head in apology. “Yes. I’m sorry. It was. But I said it because I knew you felt our connection, but you couldn’t quite articulate it. If I just manipulated your feelings a little, made you think it was a father/daughter connection, I knew you’d believe it.”

“That was a shitty thing to do.”

Isabeau didn’t appreciate him reminding her twice, but she didn’t want to stick up for herself. He had every right to be upset. “Yes, it was. But it’s not the first time you let a woman manipulate your feelings. That’s what we wives do. I’m sorry, baby.” Isabeau winked at him, hoping he’d take her ribbing in the good humor with which it was intended.

“Cute.”

Isabeau touched his cheek. “Look at the bright side. Now you’re not such a big pervert.”

“Excuse me?”

Smirking those young lips, Isabeau teased, “You always felt a little guilty for being attracted to me.”

“What? Who ever said I was attracted to you?”

“You didn’t have to say it.”

“Sweetheart, my love for you was purely paternal.”

Isabeau looked slyly at her husband. “The love you admitted was purely paternal. The love in your eyes was something different.”

She was right, of course. Rusty did always feel a decidedly inappropriate attraction towards Isabeau. He never felt it towards Oona, and that always struck him as strange, since they appeared to be twins. Why wouldn’t he find them both sexually appealing? But he never did. Only Isabeau. Knowing they were actually his wife and daughter, now it all made sense. “You’re getting a real kick out of this, aren’t you? Knowing your husband is secretly a pervert?”

“No. You’re not a pervert. You behaved like a gentleman with plenty of girls when you had the opportunity to be inappropriate. You never are. You don’t cross that line. And you’ve always been a gentleman with me. Loving your wife across all space and time and ages makes you a romantic, not a creep.”

Rusty laughed, “You still look like you’re amused.”

“Of course I am! I’m getting a kick out of this. Sure. But it’s more than that.”

“How so?”

“Are you kidding!? I’m getting a kick out of knowing how strong our love has always been. Knowing that we’re so in love with each other, you can still feel our bond across lifetimes and despite appearances. That even if I am introduced to you as someone else entirely, you still know in your heart that I’m your bride. That’s what I’m getting a kick out of. Loving your wife doesn’t make you a pervert, baby. No matter what our physical ages appear to be, our souls are always immortal.” Isabeau pursed her lips playfully and grinned.

Rusty conceded, “Okay. Fine. You’re right. My feelings for you are a bit, um, not parental. Never have been. And for Oona, they always were. And yes, I was confused by that. But since you appeared to be twins, I didn’t want to say anything. I didn’t want either of you thinking I was some kind of disgusting sicko. But now I understand. That was shitty too. Of both of you! Manipulating my feelings like that.”

“Sorry, daddy.”

Now Rusty understood why they didn’t appear to him at the same time. The knowledge came to him instinctively, “You didn’t change your appearances at all, did you? I saw you as I wanted to see you, didn’t I?”

“Yeah.” Oona nodded.

Rusty realized this as Isabeau continued to look different. Her features hadn’t changed much, yet somehow the subtle shadings made her more breathtaking than ever before. No longer mere beauty, now he recognized lips he had kissed ten thousand times and eyes into which he stared while making love for age after age.

Isabeau explained, “My love, if we had told you the truth, you would never have gone out with other girls. You would have been trying to figure out how to get back together with me. How to be reunited with your one true love. With your wife and daughter.”

“True. You know Kateri once told me the same thing? She said it was my destiny to never find a soulmate. To just move from one relationship to the next.”

Isabeau looked uneasy and stared at Oona.

Something passed between them that Rusty didn’t understand.

Isabeau ruffled the bedsheets in her hands and admitted, “Sweetheart? You... You were right about Chloe. She is Kateri. Part of her anyway.”

Rusty was astonished, yet not surprised at all.

For the first time, Rusty realized that he wasn’t sure how to respond, then he said, “I thought you said maybe she was part Kateri.”

“No, my love. Not maybe. Souls are like waters in a pond. Bits and drops of one swirl into the glass of new people when they are poured back into the world. Chloe definitely contains a bit of Kateri. You two can’t be parted for long.”

“So, that means I need to go to her! I need to be with her!”

His tone was almost a question more than a statement.

Isabeau shook her head. “Rusty, no. Don’t you see? That’s why she has kept you at a distance. She knows who she is, but she’s ashamed to admit it.”

Rusty asked, “Why?” But Isabeau could hear in his voice, he already knew the answer.

“Put yourself in her shoes. You kill yourself and one of your soulmates, who vowed to love you forever, finds you again. Only now, she’s 24 years older than you. And she still loves you. How would you feel? Wouldn’t you be ashamed? Wouldn’t you be embarrassed? Wouldn’t you be in denial? Wouldn’t you want to run away?”

“No! I’d want to be with her!” Rusty lied, giving the answer he wanted to hear.

Looking in the eyes of Isabeau, he couldn’t be dishonest. Rusty conceded, “But... Yes, I guess at the same time I’d be ashamed too. Yes... I... I would do exactly what she’s doing. I’d feel drawn to her out of love, yet wanting to distance myself from her due to shame. I’d get really angry if she ever brought up the subject. I’d deny it.”

“And if you knew it was crazy? If you knew it wasn’t true?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean if she was convinced you were a long lost soulmate, but you were not. How would you react?”

Rusty churned the idea over and muttered, “Then I wouldn’t get mad at her. I’d just think it... Was... A little... Holy shit. Her anger. Her anger! She gets mad at me! Her anger means...”

“...Means she knows you’re right.” Isabeau finished his thought.

“What must I do?”

“Nothing. This is how it is meant to be. Let Chloe go. I’m sorry, Rusty. You were right.” Isabeau glanced at her daughter, afraid to say what they both knew. “This lifetime, you’re meant to be alone.”

Rusty was crushed.

All these years wasted.

Told to find a soulmate.

Now he comes to discover, there is no such person in this world. Over 40 years spent chasing a childish romantic idealism that never existed.

Rusty believed in Santa Claus until he was 10 years old.

He believed in soulmates until he was 43.

He wasn’t sure which was more humiliating.

Believing in soulmates wouldn’t be so bad if he wasn’t the last of his kind. To look around and see the entire world has ceased to believe made him feel like the last fool leaving the party. At least with Santa Claus he had the valid excuse that he didn’t think his parents would lie to him. Foolishly clinging to the faerie tale of soulmates was an embarrassment for which he had no one to blame but himself.

What Rusty had imagined as “soulmates” were nothing more than numerous brides from dozens of lifetimes. Now, the one he had loved the most, the one with whom he had reunited countless times, is a disembodied spirit who lied to him? And the only living girl he truly loved is destined to abandon him through two of her lifetimes anyway? Once as Kateri. Now as Chloe. This was too much. “Bullshit! Meant to be alone!? No! It means more than ever I should be with her!”

“Did it ever occur to you that this lifetime may serve a higher purpose?”

Rusty scoffed. “This lifetime? How do I know there are others? How do I know you haven’t just been a hallucination this whole time? Maybe you are two devils! Maybe we only have one life and I’m wasting mine by going crazy. How do I know that’s not the truth? I’ve already thrown half my life away thinking I’d find some... Aw, forget it!”

“You don’t know that’s the truth, my love. That’s the tricky thing about ghosts, Rusty. Are they real or are they madness? Didn’t Hamlet struggle with the same doubts? And if you can’t tell the difference, what does it matter?”

Rusty wasn’t sure if Isabeau was trying to be facetious or not. “I just can’t accept that. I can’t accept that I’m destined to be alone. That’s awful. It goes against every instinct I have ever had. That just feels so wrong. So false. Like the ultimate cruel joke. Some sick lie of a sadistic universe.”

“It goes against every instinct you had, because you were meant to have love affairs for a long time. But what do your instincts tell you now?”

She was right. Absolutely right.

The truth was, as time went on, Rusty’s instincts told him he would be alone. He was just denying it out loud, in the hopes it might change his fate.

Oona finally spoke up again and told her father, “The universe isn’t cruel or compassionate. It just is.”

Rusty itched his cheek. “Yeah. Thanks, Buddha. That’s not very comforting.”

Isabeau explained, “You are right, you know.”

“About what?” Rusty asked.

“About the universe being off. That something went wrong. You’re right.”

Oona added, “She was never supposed to die, you know. Kateri. Her suicide was a mistake. From the moment that happened, the universe shifted into a tangent which was never supposed to happen. That’s why your life feels so off sometimes. That’s why your perceptions of time itself sometimes feel so disjointed. You know how during parts of your life, something that happened a week ago feels like yesterday? Other times, a thing you did a few days ago feels like months? This is an alternate universe you were never meant to enter. Deep down, your instincts about fate and destiny and your perception of space-time are all very cognizant of the fact that something isn’t right. The world is off key.”

Rusty said nothing for a moment, stunned by how accurately Oona had just described feelings he could never quite articulate himself. “Yes. That’s exactly how it feels!”

Isabeau sniffled, “Do you think it’s just a coincidence that in the years since she died, so many books and movies and TV shows talk about those ideas? The strangeness you sense is the plot of countless films. Why is that? Did you ever notice those concepts expressed in stories before she died?”

“No. Not really. I mean, a little, maybe. But, not like it’s been since.”

Isabeau grinned. “Exactly. That’s why those messages get repeated to you so often these days. The universe is trying to remind you that this tangent world is your life. These movies and TV shows are not metaphors. These stories mirror who you are. The universe is trying to show you your reality.”

“You know me so well.”

“I should. I’ve been your wife for twice as many lifetimes as Chloe or Kateri have. She knows you. She loves you. I just know you a little better.”

“Twice as many? That means you have other husbands too?”

“No. I’ve never chased across time and space and the afterlife for anyone. Only for you.” Isabeau winked and smiled a wry flirtation that made Rusty feel like he was in kindergarten again.

“Good answer. So why am I not with you? Why didn’t you show up here to be my bride again?” Rusty asked, even though he already understood the answer. He just wanted the reassurance of hearing her say it.

“We aren’t meant for each other in this lifetime. You had to do this one without me, baby. That’s the way we planned it. We agreed on this together, my love.”

“I still don’t understand why you even appeared - ”

“ - I told you. Because you were going far, far off course. I needed to get you back in line.”

“I’m deviating too far? Going off script?” Rusty joked.

Isabeau and Oona smirked. Isabeau said, “Something like that. Yes. You were. You’re not anymore. You need to keep nudging people back to the light. This lifetime isn’t about you and your desires. This is about what you need to do for them.”

The comforting night settled.

Rusty began to wonder about the time between then and now. Between those childhood moments of contentment and this one. He mourned those years he lived without remembering this feeling. Remembering the first night he set foot in these rooms, he began to understand the fate these walls appeared to hold, and all the inevitable magic of hours he would live within them.

“Feelings of exile and abandonment should cause you to exalt with joy and never pain.” Isabeau whispered hushed in the bedgloom dark. “Knowing that immense void is expanding about you proves you are on a quest that no other has ventured to undertake. Show only compassion to those you depart, for they are not meant to understand your road. Burden them not with your grief nor disturb them with your fortitude, for such depths and summits hold lights and darknesses beyond their seeing.”

Oona added, “Instead, bind yourself to your fellow man by your common traits of simple humor and gentleness which is unending in all people. As they grow weary and aged, comfort them from the solitude which you have learned to embrace, and they tremble at with horror, but never chide them when they are unable to comprehend the comfort you seek to imbue, for some souls are too childlike to see beyond their nightmares. Rest assured that the universe has a holy place full of love, awaiting thyself this very instant, and one only need to claim it and your reward shall glow around thee in a mantle of bliss you can never be forsaken of wearing.”

Thinking upon their words, Rusty was silent for a long while.

Again, their strange dreamspeak poetry left him sleepy. Like they were casting a spell meant to relax him.

Finally, he said, “An angel, you say?”

Rusty still sounded skeptical.

Oona noted, “Haven’t you noticed how many dark souls you attract into your life? The lost girls. The grim spirits.”

That was never lost on Rusty. “Yes. Sometimes, I guess I see that. There are a lot of them, it seems.”

Isabeau clarified, “And it’s not just the girls who become your girlfriends. The men and women you meet at random too. How often do you go out somewhere and the strangest people are always the ones who talk to you? The freaks. The weirdos. The degenerates. The strangest of the strange. They are all drawn to you, Rusty. They confide in you. They seek you out. Haven’t you noticed that?”

“Yeah. Of course I have. It does happen quite a bit.”

Oona questioned, “Remember what that dominatrix said to you at that club that one night? When you had talked to her for hours and you asked her if she opened up so easily to everyone? She said she never did. She commented it was strange that she was with you. But she said you have a certain aura about you. Your spirit was one she could trust. Do you remember?”

Nodding, Rusty confirmed, “Of course. Yeah. That was weird. I remember.”

Isabeau cocked her head. “That was only one of many times people have said such things to you. Chloe did too. Do you think that’s a coincidence?”

Grinning, Rusty responded, “I guess I’m supposed to say it’s not. Right?”

Ignoring his joke with little more than a smile back, Isabeau asked, “Rusty, haven’t you noticed that they never harm you?”

“Harm me?”

“Yes. You hang out with the darkest of souls, yet they never tarnish your own life. Most people attract the reflections of themselves. Wealthy and successful people hang out with other wealthy and successful ones. Poor people hang out with poor people. Drug addicts are with drug addicts. You are a successful and well-adjusted guy, but you always elicit the companionship of the dysfunctional spirits. The disturbed. The troubled. You are always finding the maladjusted lost souls at your feet. Why aren’t you one of them? Why don’t they ruin your life? Why don’t they drag you down with them, like they do to all their peers?”

Rusty felt his heartbeat quickening. “I... Um... I’m not really sure what you mean, uh, exactly.”

But he did know.

The implications that he was “different” and a soul of some light began to disturb him. “Soul of some light” was the best he could muster. He still wasn’t ready for “angel” quite yet.

In essence, she was calling him a “white knight” out to “save” an endless barrage of “manic pixie dreamgirl” damsels in distress.

The thought nauseated him.

Those guys were assholes.

Some vile “nice guy” was the last thing he wanted to be.

Isabeau wouldn’t let him shrink away. “Yes, you do. You do know what I mean. Why are they drawn to you, but you’re not one of them at all?”

“I still can’t accept the idea that I’m some sort of - ”

“ - beacon.”

Rusty snapped his fingers, grateful for the word. “Yes! I’m not that. I’m not a beacon.”

Isabeau shrugged. “Call yourself whatever you want. Doesn’t change the fact that you are a light in a dark world.”

“Am I?” Rusty was sure some ex-girlfriends would disagree.

“You are. More literally than you realize.”

Oona wanted to help him see their point in a different way. Pointing at his foot as they both sat on the bed, she said, “You’re proud of the fact that you’ve never resorted to drugs or alcohol in your life. You ever wonder why other people do?”

“Sure. Chloe and I got into a big fight about that once. I was really disappointed in her when she started drinking and she said she used drinking to dull the pain and that I never felt real pain in my life, so I had no right to judge her.”

Oona sighed, “That’s not right. You’ve lost your grandparents. You spent a childhood witnessing domestic violence against your mother over and over. Your never got to kiss your first love and then she killed herself. Plus, come on, Chloe was the head cheerleader in her school! The girl has never known rejection. A gorgeous 19 year old girl has no idea the pain a man twice her age has suffered being rejected over and over for 25 years. She has no clue. Sure, there are a lot of people in this world who have experienced worse tragedies than you, but to say you have not experienced any pain is a cruel thing to say.”

“Well - ”

Oona continued, “ - Like those poor men who snap and start hurting women and killing them in yoga classes and they write these long tirade manifestos about their years of rejection and heartache. And you notice every time a man does that, the media and all these evil women come out and say the man was acting ‘entitled’ and women don’t ‘owe’ him dates. But that’s a lie! Men and women do owe each other kindness and compassion! Those men aren’t entitled, they are suffering. People don’t understand the severe psychological damage caused by having dozens and dozens and dozens of people rejecting you over and over again. Chloe will never understand the kind of pain you’ve endured simply by being thrown aside all your life.”

Isabeau rubbed Oona’s shoulder, “But that is his strength.” Turning to Rusty, Isabeau continued, “Don’t you see? You face the pain and the heartache of life without flinching. You’ve never even been tempted to turn to drugs and alcohol. You fight. No matter how down or depressed you become, you never resort to chemicals or crutches. Don’t you see how amazing that is in this world? How rare a creature you are? Human beings don’t possess the power to do what you do.”

“Right. Sure. That’s crazy talk.”

“Is it crazy? Is it? Think about all the crazy shit you’ve gotten away with in your life. All the experiences that should have gotten you killed or maimed. Think about how many close calls you’ve narrowly escaped from. Don’t you think there may be a reason for that? Maybe higher powers and unseen forces are watching out for you? Making sure you are here to do your job and maintain the balance you are entrusted to calibrate in the universe.”

Rusty rubbed his face. “Calibrate in the universe?” He chuckled, “Sounds a bit dramatic. Look, if I’m truly the embodiment of some kind of... of angelic spirit, why wouldn’t I remember what I am? Huh? What’s the advantage to the angels forgetting what they are?”

Oona replied this time, “Can you imagine the chaos the world would possess if angels and devils knew what they were? Imagine how the world would treat you. Devils could never deceive anyone if they all ran around with horns and tails. Angels couldn’t walk two feet without being mobbed and constantly besieged for help from every lost soul on earth. No. You spirits of light and darkness walk among humans, knowing you are different, but not knowing what you are. It is in the best interest of both devils and angels to remain anonymous and oblivious of their true nature.”

Imagine the chaos that would ensue if angels and demons knew what they were?

The simplicity of her explanation frightened him, only because it made so much sense.

What is more frightening?

That he was something special and he was being visited by the spirits of his family from another life?

Or that he was insane and had been hallucinating their entire relationship for the past 13 years?

“Well,” Rusty smiled at his wife and daughter, “I’m either going crazy or - ”

“ - Get up.” Isabeau ordered, pushing herself off the bed.

“What?”

She clapped at Oona and Rusty, “Come on. Get up. Both of you. Let’s go.”

“Go where?” Oona asked.

“We’re going to prove to your archangel of a father that we’re not a hallucination.”

Rusty rolled his eyes, “Oh, no. I’m scared. What are you going to do?”

“Trust me. Just trust me and get your shoes on.”

“My shoes on? Aw, Isabeau. I was so relaxed. I’m still bummed about Chloe. I don’t want to go out. I wanted to stay in the rest of the night. Besides, it’s after midnight. Where the hell do you want to go?”

“The diner.”

“The diner?”

“Yeah. You know. That little 24-hour diner just up the street. We can sit down, have a good meal, and when the waitress is talking to Oona and I, you will know what we’re not a delusion.”

Rusty had no desire to get up and get dressed.

One thought kept him curious though.

They can eat?

How can a ghost eat food?

He looked at Oona, who seemed equally content to sit at home. However, her eyes implored him to join them. She knew her mother wasn’t taking “no” for an answer.

§

“What a lovely dress.” The waitress complimented Oona.

“Oh, thank you.”

The gothic dark of Isabeau didn’t garner a compliment.

“You almost look like twins!”

Rusty grumbled, “Yeah. Don’t they just?”

“They both yours?” The waitress asked.

“Yeah,” he grinned at Isabeau, “they’re both all mine.”

“Well, you have lovely daughters. Your food will be right up.”

“Thank you.”

Isabeau and Oona thanked the waitress too. She told the family they were welcome, and went off to the counter.

Pleased with herself, Isabeau kissed Rusty’s cheek.

“Wipe that grin off your face.” Rusty scolded.

Oona laughed, happy her parents were together again.

She didn’t bring it up though. She knew better. They weren’t really together. And Oona knew if she reminded them of that, they’d both be sad. But for that split second, she could savor the love they shared, and feel that kind of family contentment Rusty felt back in his bedroom.

“You believe us now?” Isabeau asked.

“You know, this proves nothing. If I were a really batshit crazy person, I could still be sitting in this diner alone and just imaging the waitress was talking to you two. So, really, what does this prove?”

Isabeau smacked his arm, “Oh, you,” she glanced back towards the empty diner and whispered the word, “prick.” Then back at normal volume, “I knew you were going to say that. I just knew it.”

“Too smart for you, huh?”

“Too much of a pain in the ass.”

“Hey, I like to consider all possibilities.”

“How about the possibility that you’re too geeky for your own good sometimes?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you’re the kind of guy who can throw out the Boltzmann Brain Paradox for every argument and thereby just negate the reality of anything.”

“I do not.”

“Yes you do! There has to be some kind of unwavering empirical foundation for your definition of reality. Otherwise, nothing has any merit.”

“Besides, you should know I hate the Boltzmann Brain Paradox because arguing -”

“ - Because arguing about the likelihood of probabilities within the laws of physics that only exist in an imaginary universe causes the whole foundation of the paradox to negate itself.”

“Yes! The whole principal of the construct is flawed!”

“Yes, I know. I’m as geeky as you, remember? I only look like I’m 13.” Isabeau scrunched her nose at him.

Rusty was smiling the whole time. He didn’t say it out loud, but inside all he could think about was the fact that Isabeau was his equal. She was his bride. She wasn’t the young child she appeared to be. She was obviously a mature woman who had gone toe-to-toe with Rusty countless times. No other woman he had ever known in his life would mention something as geeky as the Boltzmann Brain Paradox in a fight. And articulately to boot.

Oona chimed in, “I think mom is trying to say stand for something or you’ll fall for anything.”

“Yeah. Or in your father’s case, not fall for anything. Sometimes, you gotta fall for something, Sparky.”

Rusty smiled, “I fell for you. One lifetime after another.”

“Aww.” Oona grinned.

Isabeau shook her head at him, “You’re such the charmer. Stop looking at me like that. You’re going to get yourself arrested, ‘daddy’.”

Rusty stuck out his tongue and sipped some orange juice.

“Okay. Fine. You’re both real.” Rusty conceded, “But you know what I was thinking recently? What if you are nothing more than fiction? My delusion. What if there are no souls? No ghosts? No spirits? No other lifetimes? If the atheists are right, if this single consciousness, this single lifetime is all I have, then I’m truly wasting my life away! I don’t want to risk that! I don’t want to gamble what may be my only shot at living, against an afterlife, or a series of lifetimes, which may be nothing more than a delusion!”

Isabeau thanked the waitress who showed up with some tea and shook a sugar packet into it. “Fair enough,” she said to her husband, “But let me ask you this; How does that change anything? Why should that change the way you live?”

“Because! This whole white knight angel bullshit would become a lie!”

“Would it?”

“Of course!

Isabeau frowned at the cup as the stirring spoon tinked. “I beg to differ, Rusty. Angels aren’t real only if there’s an afterlife. Angels don’t require a God or a heaven or hell to exist. They only require the lifeforce of the universe. Good or bad. Light or dark. And there can be no denial by atheist or theist alike that there is a lifeforce to the universe. All living things give off an energy signature. Angels and devils are just beings of different energies. And you are angelic by nature.”

“Okay. I can see your point.”

“But suppose you are right.” Isabeau sipped her tea and Rusty wondered how that was possible. “Suppose there are no souls. Suppose we’re just figments of your imagination and there is no such thing as other lifetimes. Let’s pretend that’s true. You aren’t one of those evil religious people who strive to live a good life, solely because you believe some delusion that you will somehow be rewarded for good behavior in death. Are you? You don’t try to do the right thing, only because you think there’s a karmic payoff in heaven. Right?”

“No. Of course not. I try to live well and be kind to people because I know in my heart it’s the right thing to do. Not because I think I’ll get rewarded for it. What is the old saying? Kindness is it’s own reward? I really believe that.”

“Virtue is it’s own reward.” Oona corrected.

“Close enough.”

Isabeau nudged him, “So, if you discovered you don’t have a soul, would that change the fact you can give joy to people? If you have no soul, would you stop doing the right things? Would the lack of an afterlife change your instinct that you should be enriching people’s lives? Would that change the desires in your heart? Would you suddenly stop feeling compelled to give your life meaning and purpose, simply because there was no afterlife?”

“Well... No. I guess... Well, now that you put it that way.”

Isabeau combed her hair with her fingers and told Rusty, “Following your heart is never a waste of your life. And what happens to you in death doesn’t change that. No matter if there’s a nirvana, endless forms of reincarnation, or you cease to exist altogether. None of those outcomes have any bearing whatsoever on the fact that leading a life which you find fulfilling and full of love, is truly it’s own reward.”

Rusty felt a slight wave of nausea. A life fulfilling and full of love?

With no job, no friends, and no girlfriend, where the heck was he supposed to find love and fulfillment?

Bringing that up sounded pitiful, and he couldn’t bring himself to say the words out loud.

Oona added, “God is irrelevant.”

Isabeau agreed with her daughter, “Exactly. God is irrelevant.”

The waitress threw a few strange glances at their table. In the quiet of the late night diner, their conversation was relatively easy to overhear. Uneducated as she was, the waitress was shocked and offended at what she perceived as blasphemy, but she was more surprised that the little girl was saying things that sounded really intelligent. The waitress didn’t understand most of what the girls were talking about. Some of the words were really big. Standing behind the counter, the waitress thought it sounded like they were speaking a foreign language. She didn’t even know what a brain “pair-of-docs” was.

Rusty asked, “But it’s more than that, isn’t it?”

Isabeau stared at Oona, as if trying to find the words in her daughter’s expression. “Yes. It’s more. Not only is God irrelevant, I’m starting to think God isn’t a sentient being, Rusty. Only so much as sentience exists in your own consciousness. God is the energy of life and love and the heartbeat of the universe. God doesn’t know it exists. The conscious of God manifests only through you.”

Oona offered the rest, “Yeah. God is only aware it exists when you are aware you exist. God did not create the universe. God became the universe.”

Rusty tapped the table, “There’s only one problem.”

“What’s that?” Oona wondered.

“Well, on a higher plane, all this lofty shit is wonderful and all, but... none of this changes the fact that my bed gets pretty lonely sometimes.”

Rusty was sure to whisper that when the eavesdropping waitress wasn’t standing so close.

Isabeau rolled her eyes. “And when the bed is occupied, eventually, you just wish you could hog all the sheets. You’re never happy, Rusty. You know how you get. You want complete solitude when you’re living with a girl and you want companionship when you’re alone. You want children and a family, but you’re terrified of becoming a father. You’re never satisfied. Make up your mind!”

“I thought my mind was made up. Didn’t you just tell me that? I’m supposed to be an angel moving from one life to another? Nothing permanent? Always alone? Besides, how can you berate me for my inner conflicts on wanting a family when it wasn’t until 30 minutes ago that you admitted I was never meant to have one!”

The girls were silent for a long time.

Finally, Isabeau looked at Rusty and said, “Everything is temporary, Rusty. You know that. Whatever made you think ‘family’ is permanent?”

“Your French Toast,” the waitress said, setting down a plate. “And yours,” she set down a second.

“I had the burger.” Oona corrected. “Those two got the same thing.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the waitress blushed. “You girls look so much alike I forgot you didn’t order the same thing. Like father like daughter!”

Isabeau giggled, “Oh, you have no idea how much I looove my daddy.”

In that moment, Rusty thought about all the wonderful children of the world who do not have families. Foster kids. Orphans. Instead of contributing to the overpopulation of the earth which will soon inevitably lead to the downfall of all mankind, maybe Rusty should have spent these last few years looking to adopt some daughters instead of helping more people to be born. That would be far more noble and far less selfish.

“Adoption. For sure.” Rusty said through gritted teeth.

Isabeau squeezed Rusty’s knee under the table. Chomping some bacon, she whispered in his ear, “How real am I now?”

“Shut. Up.” Rusty whispered, with visions of explaining himself to police, who never arrived.

§

“Are you going to call her tonight?” Isabeau asked, her arm wrapped around her eternal husband as they walked home from the diner with their daughter.

“Wait. I’m still upset by what you said earlier. That family isn’t permanent. I mean, what about you two?”

“I meant in life, sooner or later, loved ones pass from the world. That’s all. Sad truth that most people never want to face.”

“Ah. I gotcha.” Rusty understood. “Yeah, I guess in that sense family is never permanent.” He had danced with death enough times to know that well. No further explanation was needed.

“So are you?” Oona wondered.

“Am I?”

“Going to call her?”

“Chloe? No. I don’t think so.”

Understanding, Isabeau nodded. “Best to give her a break.”

A sickened grin rippled out of the corner of his mouth before Rusty said, “Something like that.”

“What?” Isabeau said in a tone that expected more detail.

Rusty felt his heart drop as he thought his next words. “I don’t think I’ll ever be calling her again.”

“Why not?” Oona raised her voice to a higher pitch than she intended.

“Oh, come on.” Isabeau shook her head, incredulous that things could ever come to such an abrupt end between them. After all, Chloe was like no other girl her soulmate had ever known in this lifetime. “I know you two bicker a lot lately, but you two have talked almost every single day for over 4 years. You can’t just stop calling her.”

“Yes. I can. That’s exactly what she wants.”

Isabeau asked, “What do you mean?”

“What did she say?”

“Chloe confessed that... she... she only calls because I call her.”

Isabeau repeated her question, “What do you mean?”

Rusty sighed, pained to speak of it. “Chloe said that the only reason she returns my calls is to be polite. Because I call her first. Which is funny because it explains a lot.”

“How so?” Oona wondered.

“Well, because for the past several months, she never lets me talk. Sure, I mean I can say a sentence or two. But what I mean is, anytime I try speaking about anything in my life for more than ten seconds, she always sounds really aggravated. Like she resents the very sound of my voice. I never brought it up. I never confronted her about it, because I didn’t want to start a fight. But now it makes perfect sense. She doesn’t really want to talk to me. So, she just gets on the phone and blathers on and on about her own life. But the moment I try to interject anything, she gets irritated that I’m speaking.”

“Maybe she feels like shit. Maybe that’s why she feels obligated to return your phonecalls. Maybe she knows it’s the least she can do for the man who gave her years of his life and then she abandoned without even giving him the courtesy of seeing him face-to-face.” Oona kicked at a rock at the edge of the sidewalk.

Isabeau knew Oona was getting angry, so she delicately explained, “Chloe will live with this forever, Oona. Our teenage years are the most formative years of our lives. You know that. Chloe will never forget Rusty. Sure, she will claim she has. But no one forgets these relationships. No one. Not ever.”

Turning to Rusty, Isabeau continued, “You saved her, Rusty. You guided her out of darkness. Just like you promised. And she didn’t return the favor. Once you showed her the way out of the woods, she walked away. You woke up in the dark gardens all alone. Like you always do. Chloe knows exactly what she did to you. Why do you think she’s told you she’s sorry half-a-dozen times? The reason she’s said it all those times is because she’s thought it a thousand times more.”

Rusty agreed and was about to say so, but before he had a chance to speak, Oona shouted at the neighborhood far louder than she should have been for that time of night, “I’m tired of these girls breaking your heart!”

Rusty stopped in his tracks. Her anger was touching. Having someone stick up for him and defend his heart wasn’t something he was accustomed to experiencing. For a moment, he thought she was being facetious. But the tone in her voice was clearly full of a bitterness he didn’t expect. While he may be an angel meant to save lost souls, clearly Oona expected one of the lost ones to show a bit more compassion to their savior. Maybe even save him in return.

Turning to his daughter, Rusty got down on one knee. “Sweetheart. Listen to me. Chloe didn’t break my heart. She owes me nothing. You want to know how people get broken hearts? It’s all about expectations, isn’t it? That is how people get hurt. You expect a certain level of commitment or devotion or loyalty and that person fails to meet up to that expectation, then you feel betrayed. You feel scorned or jilted. Because they didn’t behave the way you expected. But if you go into a relationship with no expectations whatsoever, you don’t build up any sort of hope. When you never make any demands on a person to behave a certain way, they can never disappoint you. They can never break your heart. They can never let you down. That’s how I began to live my life. That’s how I started to see people. I never expect or demand loyalty or devotion from anyone. Not anymore. All in all, people are very self-serving creatures. If I could be said to expect anything, it would be that. I expect all people to constantly make themselves and their own happiness their top priority. So long as you are making someone happy, being the person they want you to be, they will show you loyalty and devotion. They will meet your expectations. But the moment that joy falters, the moment you cease to be their greatest source of bliss, their dedication will waiver as well. It’s never about you. It’s about what they think you have to offer. So long as you have something valuable to offer to others, they shall value you. The moment they perceive your worth to diminish, so too shall their need and appreciation for you begin to fade. Thus, I expect nothing from anyone. That way, no one can ever break my heart. Very simple. I can not be heartbroken, because even if I choose to give someone my heart, I will never expect them to actually cherish it.”

Oona rolled her eyes, exasperated with her father. “That’s all a lie. You can make little speeches that sound all pragmatic, but I don’t think you mean a word of it. You’re trying to convince yourself, not me. You totally want to be loved in return. She broke your heart into a million pieces. You just love her too much to burden her with that. Let me guess, she told you that you changed?”

Rusty shrugged slightly, not wanting to answer. Getting back to his feet and walking again he said, “She did not break my heart. As for saying I changed, well, um, yeah, she may have said something like that. I know I don’t make her laugh the way I used to.”

Oona stuck her tongue in her cheek. “Uh, huh. Exactly! Girls pull this bullshit all the time. They break your heart and then they say, ‘You’ve changed. You’re not the same person who was fun and happy!’ Funny how girls claim they want to marry a boy and bear his children, then after she abandons him, she acts surprised when the boy is no longer the same happy and cheerful guy she once knew. Well, of course not! She rejected you! - ”

“ - I know - ”

“ - Now she’s shocked that you’re gloomy and dark? She was your happiness! You gave her your heart and she threw it in the dirt! Now she has the gall to blame you for being upset!? You didn’t change at all! You loved her and you still do. The only one who changed was her! She’s the one who threw you away. She’s the one who changed her mind and decided she didn’t want to be with you anymore. - ”

“ - Yeah, I know, but - ”

“ - Making you take the blame for feeling hurt by her actions is complete bullshit. You’re like a puppy that little girls kick in the face for no reason. Do that enough times and eventually the sweet and gentle puppy starts biting people. So, when he nips at the next person and they kick him in the face, everyone says the puppy brought it on himself! No, he didn’t. He was kind and docile at one time. The shitty people of the world have just conditioned him to snap and growl.”

“Yes. I know, Oona.”

Isabeau agreed with her daughter far more succinctly. “When you are the embodiment of light, the dark ones are always trying to convince you that you’re not.”

Rusty grinned understanding at his ageless wife and turned to his daughter. “Oona, sweetheart. No. I don’t want to be that kicked puppy dog. I don’t want to use that excuse. I have been rejected over and over all my life. I have been rejected by everyone I ever loved. Even my own mother loved her drugs more than me. And when that kind of rejection happens enough times, a person gets angry. Mean. Bitter. But I don’t want to become that person. I don’t want the alienation I feel to be used as an excuse for being cruel or unkind. And so if Chloe wants to tear me down and judge me and act like everything is my fault, I’ll let her do it. Because I know she feels guilty for giving up on me. And I love her so much, I’ll even let her hate me, so long as it makes her feel better about herself.”

Rusty would play her game. He would let Chloe win. He would permit her to think he was a terrible person. Allow her to believe that he was the bad guy. Sure. Fine. He would continue to embody whatever role she wanted from him. He was still playing her savior. Always protecting her heart. If it made Chloe feel better to think he was a bad person, he wouldn’t defend himself. He would let her think that way. Let her go cry on the shoulder of her new boyfriend about what a jerk Rusty had become. That’s okay. Rusty would do that for her. Because Rusty loved Chloe so much, he would even allow her to unjustly regard him as a villain.

Oona scoffed, “Maybe you just love feeling like a martyr. You love seeing yourself as this noble knight, saving the damsel in distress. So, you gravitate towards troubled girls. Not because you truly care about them. Only because you love how righteous you get to feel about yourself.”

Exasperated, Rusty tossed his hands towards the night sky. “Didn’t I just say that earlier? I don’t want to be seen as Mr. White Knight. But you’re the ones telling me I’m an angel. Which is it? Is that so awful? You tell me I’m an angel to save lost souls and now you’re chiding me for being what I am? Don’t you think the ends justify the means? Are you saying the firefighter who feels a sense of pride for pulling a kid from a burning building should have just let the kid die, since the rescue was not an act of pure altruism? Huh? If I feel good for helping people, then I’m not really doing my job? That makes no sense.”

Oona didn’t reply. She wasn’t sure if she was angry with Chloe for dismissing her father, angry with her father for being so forgiving, or proud of her father for having such a gentle soul.

Isabeau looked wistfully across the night. Beyond rows of lonely apartments and a street dotted with a thousand lives. Softy, she turned to Rusty and said, “I hope Chloe always remembers how much you love her.”

Oona again rolled shoulders in frustration. “She’ll remember someday. When time has forsaken her. When life has robbed her of love. When the divorce is final. When her children are gone.” Turning to Rusty, she added, “When she’s all alone in that tiny room and she has nothing left but memories, she’ll think of you. She’ll remember. And that is when she will finally weep for all you could have been. For the love you could have shared. That is when regret will consume her. When too many years have passed. When she has no hope of ever finding you again. When the shame will weigh too heavily for the strength to pick up the phone. That’s when she’ll remember that you never stopped loving her. When it’s far too late.”

“Don’t say that, Oona. I wish nothing of the sort upon her.” Rusty smiled at Oona and every fiber of his being rang true in his words. As he spoke, Isabeau and Oona knew that what Rusty said next was one of the most sincere things he had ever uttered. “I want Chloe to live a long and enriching life of joy and contentment and boundless love. I wish her nothing but the absolute best. After all, that’s what I’m here for. Remember? What kind of an angel would I be to curse the souls I have been sent to protect? My own wishes are not relevant. My own desires don’t matter. Chloe came into my life so I could rescue her from the darkwood. Not so I can wish her ill or hope she falls back into those brambles and thorns. No. Never. I want Chloe to live to be an incredibly old and happy woman, surrounded by family and friends who adore and cherish her even more deeply than I ever have. She deserves no less that utter bliss for the remainder of her days. Bless her heart and soul.”

Oona finally decided and the pride for his gentle heart won out her anger as her voice quivered and her lip trembled. As tears began to stream, she looked at Rusty and said, “I’m so proud to be your daughter.”

“And I am honored to have you as my child.”

“Even if I’m an angry psychobitch?” Oona chuckled, wiping a cheek.

“You’re not an angry psychobitch. You’re jumping to the defense of your dad. While your anger towards Chloe may have been misplaced, your passion is a noble thing.”

Isabeau had been scrutinizing Rusty and seeing a bit more in his expression. Curious, she inquired, “What aren’t you telling us?”

“What do you mean?”

“Something changed in you. She said something that cut too deep.”

Rusty denied it. “No. Not at all. She said something beautiful. But sometimes, beautiful things hurt the most.”

The conversation played back in his mind and her words scoured like sandpaper made of ice.

“You know this may sound stupid to you,” Chloe paused briefly, “but I still hope our children will get together and play someday.”

Looking back, that was the moment that everything changed. Those were the vile words that broke the spell of their beautiful dream. Saying she wanted their children to play together someday was the ultimate betrayal. Rusty had dreamed of Chloe bearing his children for so long. More than 4 years spent dreaming of Chloe bringing Isabeau and Oona into the world. When Chloe said their children would play together, it was her way of saying she’d never bear her offspring with Rusty. Chloe wanted to start a family with someone else. Rusty was not the man Chloe dreamed of having a future with anymore. Those words gutted Rusty in a way he knew Chloe didn’t intend and with a pain he didn’t know she could instill. With that one sentence, Chloe killed everything Rusty had believed in. She stole away his greatest hope.

Even when Chloe condescended to Rusty by saying he had forgotten the joy of being touched by a woman and how delightful carnal pleasures felt, Rusty couldn’t bring himself to be angry with her. The painful truth all doe-eyed, 19 year old girls, falling-in-love-for-the-first-time, fail to realize is that lonely men and women in their forties never forget such bliss of human contact. They remember it everyday. They have simply come to understand, no one will ever love them that way again. Their time is done. Rusty couldn’t burden Chloe with that. Instead, he let her think he was to blame for a fate beyond his control.

Knowing he would fail her dreams of “children playing together” was the part that hurt him the most. Rusty was soon turning 44 years old. Fast approaching those decades of our lives when everyone starts to become invisible to the world. One day sooner than anyone expects, the world simply considers you useless. No lonely man wants the lovesick college girl to know what life will do to her in twenty years. Besides, no lovesick college girl would believe it anyway. Better to let Chloe remain joyous and innocent and convinced Rusty was an old fool instead of a wise soul.

Chloe was adorable to presume Rusty would be loved again. Such youthful optimism was endearing, but anyone who is over the age of 40 knows better than that. No girl would want Rusty anymore. He was too old. Too jaded. Too bitter. Too lost. He wasn’t the kind of man any woman would devote her life to. He had nothing to offer. There were millions of men who were a far better choice than an unemployed and failed photographer. Rusty was done. His life was over. No woman on earth would ever dream of mothering his children. Chloe had been his last chance. His last hope. And now she was gone forever.

That had been their last conversation.

Chloe never spoke to Rusty again.

“What did she say?”

Rusty couldn’t answer Oona. How could he? The more he revealed of his final conversation with Chloe, the worse it would make her look. Chloe said all sorts of mean things. Nasty things. Things that all 19 year old girls say when they are angry and upset trying to pretend they have stopped loving a man they will cherish forever. Rusty knew that Chloe didn’t mean any of it. Deep inside, she was a good heart. Poor Chloe didn’t know how to cope with her feelings anymore. Torn between the boyfriend she loved and her love for a man she never met, Chloe desperately needed Rusty to go away without telling him to go away. So, she she drove him away the only way she knew how. Rusty understood exactly what she was doing. Girls had done the same thing to him before. They aren’t truly cruel. They simply have no other recourse when they need to walk away from a relationship they can’t bear to abandon.

Chloe finally confessed that she had a serious boyfriend for the past 8 months. The boy spoke of marrying her and she said that she “loves him to pieces”. Since they were both drunk when he mentioned matrimony, Chloe wasn’t sure she could trust him.

How could Rusty admit to that?

Oona would be furious. Chloe asked Rusty to write wedding vows, then she never even gave Rusty the chance to meet her in person. Now, Chloe gushes over the notion of devoting her life to a boy she can’t trust, while rejecting a man who would still marry her in a heartbeat. Rusty would remain loyal to Chloe forever. Even after she lied to Rusty. Even after she used him. Even after she abandoned him.

Oona clearly realized that Chloe didn’t deserve Rusty.

Rusty never realized it.

Yet, undeserving as she was, he would never cease to love Chloe.

“Oh, Rusty. Despite all Chloe did, you still can’t be upset with her, can you?” Isabeau giggled, not in a mocking way, but in a way that said she was pleasantly surprised by his devotions.

“No. I’m not upset. Isn’t that funny? Even though she lied to me about everything, I’ve never been upset with her. She lied about her age. She lied about loving me. She lied about wanting to be with me. She was nothing but a lie from the moment we met.”

“She loved you, Rusty. That wasn’t a lie. She still does, in her own way. Just not in the way you wanted. You knew all of that. You knew 6 months into knowing her that everything was a lie. But you stuck around anyway. You knew she was in so much pain over the death of her mother. So, you couldn’t abandon her. You can be angry with her for those first 6 months. But you can’t blame her for the next three-and-a-half years. That was your choice. Your decision.” Isabeau remarked.

“Absolutely. I knew exactly what I was getting into. Chloe did nothing wrong.”

Isabeau looked at Oona and explained, “Besides, Oona, what else do you expect Chloe to do? What is her alternative? You really want this young and beautiful girl to give up her college years? She gave up most of high school clinging to the dream of Rusty. You want her to throw away college too? Sacrifice this one brief moment in her life, so she can run off with Rusty and be a housewife? Rusty is boring as hell.”

“Hey!” Rusty giggled.

Isabeau shrugged, “I’m sorry, my love. Compared to college life, it’s true. You have to admit that. You work a dayjob and you do some photography in your spare time. That’s all.” Turning back to Oona, Isabeau continued, “You honestly think Chloe living a life as his bride would be a thrilling alternative to college parties and dating tons of hot boys and having girl-nights with her roommates? College is a time of crazy drama and bullshit and stupidity that most people wouldn’t trade for the world. You really expect Chloe to give all that up and just be his wife?”

Anger dissolving, Oona lolled her head back on the shoulder and conceded, “No. Of course not. I wouldn’t want to rob her of that.”

“So, what do you expect? Honestly ask yourself what Rusty really has to offer?”

Rusty knew Isabeau was absolutely correct. He had nothing. He wasn’t wealthy or handsome. He wasn’t anymore kind or loving or considerate or funny than anyone else. What did he have to offer Chloe that she couldn’t find in a boy her own age? Rusty was angry and lonely and arrogant. Not exactly compelling traits for a boyfriend to possess. Plus, that anger and loneliness had coalesced into making him become downright misanthropic.

Chucking to himself, he realized “become” was a stupid word to use. When had he not been misanthropic? He’d been this way for decades.

“You’re being a little too hard on yourself.”

“What?”

“You’re not truly misanthropic. You are an incredibly happy and upbeat person. When Chloe loved you, remember how bright you were? You were a bouncing bubble of light for years when you had her love. When you feel loved, you are a joy! You’re just very sensitive. Girls never make you feel loved for very long. You get disheartened when you see how selfish and cruel and ignorant people can be.”

“How did you know I was thinking of being misanthropic?”

“I read your mind."

“I knew it! See! I knew you could read my mind all along!”

Isabeau burst our laughing, “I can not, silly! I’m just messing with you! I know you better than anyone, remember? I didn’t read your mind, just the look on your face! Chill out, sweetheart.”

Oona snickered at her parents and the three of them walked back towards the apartment wrapped in a warm bedsheet of laughter and happiness. Despite all the sorrows of loss in his life, Rusty soared with genuine bliss.

“I love you, Isabeau.”

As they passed by the shadow of a tree cast from a streetlamp, Isabeau and Oona shimmered in the darkening of the light. Flanking him on each side, Rusty saw them flicker in the corners of his eyes.

“Isabeau?... Oona?...”

Their silhouetted figures faded into the dark between sidewalk cracks and behind treetrunk shadows. Laughter faded into the sound of rustling leaves in the breeze.

Rusty felt his pulse quicken. Breathing grew heavy.

“Isabeau?” He croaked her name in a whisper, rubbing his hand across his waist where her arm had just been. Trying to feel some warmth, some pressure, some residual sign that she had been there.

There was nothing.

Two blocks from home, Rusty found himself alone on the midnight sidewalk.

That was the last time in his entire life that Rusty ever spoke to Isabeau or Oona. They had vanished forever.

He never saw them again.

§

Back home, upon his bed, Rusty found a letter written in the finest spiderweb elegance of handwriting he had ever seen.

My Beloved Husband, Rusty,

Sorrow must never be feared as some deathly stormbrew darkening the forbearance of your light. When such moments of wailing hours scour your days like thieves stolen to the precious trinkets of a pauper who hordes every minute as a treasure irreplaceable, know that the universe will never abandon you, and she cleaves you to her bosom, and shields you from the darkside of the moonshade black. Never resist the horrors of life, for they shine as the mirrorspring reflections of joy. Forge through it all. The anguish of one era balances to bliss in time.

You’re beautiful.

You’re loved.

You matter.

You have a purpose.

You’re going to survive this.

Never give up.

Love Beyond Eternity, Your Bride,

Isabeau

That was the only letter Isabeau ever wrote to him.

Rusty only read the letter once, but kept it for the rest of his days.

All his long years, Rusty could never understand why his lovelife never worked out. Why did all his romances only last 3 to 6 months before a breakup? Why so brief? Sure, he had one relationship that was on and off for 4 years, but even that one never lasted longer than 6 months before an “off” period. He had no idea what it feels like to be in a committed relationship lasting longer than half a year. He never celebrated a single anniversary. He never had an official “girlfriend” at Christmas or his birthday. Not once. How great would that feel? He dreamed of it all the time. A girl who loved him, wishing him a happy birthday? Could you imagine?

Completely alien concept to him.

Why? Clearly he must be at fault, since his presence is the only common denominator in all his relationships, right?

What was wrong with him? Was he flawed in some way?

Moreover, what was wrong with the girls he was dating? Did none of them love him? Why was he picking such people? Why did they always leave? Why did they never give him a reason?

Far in his past, or perhaps more recently than he cared to recall, those questions used to make Rusty very sad.

Not anymore.

After learning the truth about the nature of Isabeau and Oona, he finally discovered those answers.

Nothing was wrong.

This was exactly what he always wanted! He had been lying to himself all his life. Rusty knew how he was - the guy was sincerely dreamy and romantic and “nice” in the beginning... and soon he’d totally neglect his lover and take her for granted.

He wasn’t looking for a devoted lifelong romance.

He wasn’t looking for a soulmate.

Not really.

Hell, he didn’t have a freaking clue what he’d do with someone for that long! After that much time, he’d get bored out of his mind.

That’s not to say he disbelieved in soulmates either. Not at all. In fact, his faith in the reality of such bonds between people was stronger than ever. He just suspected his soulmates find him and say, “Beloved, you are so not ready for us.”

Fair enough.

Truth be told, the girlfriend who said he treated soulmates like a game had been right about him! He never did look beyond “The Quest” or envision the effort a lasting relationship would entail.

Rusty used to tell himself he never saw those futures because they were too difficult to visualize.

Honestly, he couldn’t see that future because he never wanted to. He has never been ready for that. He loved girlfriends.

Actually, now that he thought of it, that was a lie too. Why else did he have so few “official” girlfriends?

No. He didn’t love girlfriends. Lovers are what Rusty enjoyed the most. He loved “friends with benefits” more than anything. He loved all they brought his life. He loved all they shared. He loved how they enriched each others lives. He loved all they learned from each other. He loved all they taught to each other. He loved the melancholy goodbyes when it becomes time to move on and he listens to Frank Sinatra for a week straight. Rusty loved the decades of friendships that remained. He even loved the girls who would choose to detest him - because they have still given him a lifetime of memories of laughter and passion.

In fact, Charlinda was the first girlfriend he had right after meeting his wife and Charlinda loathed him. Nevertheless, he adored and appreciated Charlinda more than she would ever know, because she solidified these realizations about himself. Charlinda was the turning point. She was the validation that these life lessons were not a theoretical psychological assessment, but rather, this is the honest core of his truest self. She was the one who put it all to the test.

Did that make him an angel?

Did that make him a scoundrel?

He wasn’t sure.

And did it matter?

This is who he was.

Regardless of convenient labels or definitions.

What he truly wanted was the spark. He wanted the pleasure of new discoveries. Those initial days of getting to know each other - the laughter, the first dates, the weekend getaways, the 3 hour phonecalls, the sexual exploration - these are the things he lived for in relationships! That was his hearts true passion. That was what he found the most rewarding and enriching - that joy of initial connections and feeling of synchronicity. Chemistry. Attraction. Feeling you’ve known a person from another lifetime. He loved the beauty and thrill of that instinctive unity. In his heart of hearts, he had never been looking for anything more. Anything beyond a few months becomes routine. Boring. You go to the same restaurants. You dance at the same clubs. You have shared all the childhood stories. You go to the same movie theatres. You have met each others friends. There is nothing new left to discover. No spark to explore.

When it comes to relationships, it’s not being in love that appealed to him; it’s falling in love that Rusty was obsessed with experiencing. His hearts desire had already been there all along. Subconsciously, he thought, he’s always known this. So had his girlfriends. That is why the loveaffairs never endured.

The elusive answer manifested at last.

This is who he was. Faults and all. His “hopeless romantic” folly pinned so much happiness on notions of “soulmates” and “true love”, and seeking that sense of “wonderment and magic”, that he ceased living in the moment. Countless happy times passed unnoticed. He had come to appreciate all those instants now. For the first time in his life, he realized that he’d deeply, sincerely, and truly loved every girl he’d ever kissed or had in his bed. Even those to whom he never said the words. Rusty loved them all. How privileged he had been! To remember them - every smile, every joke, every touch - sometimes the memories are too bright and he feels he will go blind with joy.

Rusty was genuinely as cheerful and optimistic and hopeful and romantic as ever before. None of that had changed. He completely believed in devotion and commitments and marriage and family. All of those values and ideals, he respected. Nor was he remotely bitter about relationships either - he was just far more honest about who he was. Go with the flow. Have fun. A feather in the palm of a mighty breeze. He had no expectations. He just took things as they are. Appreciating the journey and every filament of a lifetime.

For that inadvertent gift alone, he would love Isabeau and Oona and hold them in the highest regard and most respectful esteem for the remainder of his days. His bride Megan gave him the same gift, although in a different way. As good old Dan Fogleberg sang, his wife “gave to me a gift I know I never can repay.” She didn’t do it deliberately. But he was forever changed because of what she brought to his life.

Indeed, maybe finding his bride was the magical event he always hoped it would be. It was The Holy Grail of Relationships after all; because it truly did the impossible - it manifested the wizardry to change every other loveaffair he ever had. Every other love Rusty had ever known became a hallowed gratitude instead of a remorseful loss.

He finally knew who he was.

In that sense, Isabeau and Oona truly blessed him for a lifetime and held the power to transform his past, present and future in a way he never dreamed. Nothing will ever be the same again.

His. Entire. Perspective. Changed... Forever.

All his life, Rusty had many “lonely” phases. Ever since this epiphany, he’d felt nothing but contentment. Naturally, he knew he’d feel lonely again from time to time. Everyone does. But it never lasted like it used to before. The strangest part of all - he never even attempted to date anyone for months. And those months slowly became years. Rusty didn’t ask anyone out. He didn’t pursue anyone. That was very out-of-character for him. Yet, Rusty never felt lonely pangs of “longing” anymore.

Never did he dream he’d live to see such times.

When he was a teenager, Rusty met a man in his mid 40’s who told him something he would never forget. He said, “Always remember that these are ‘The Good Old Days.’ Right here. Right now. Never take that for granted. You always hear old people talk about life during ‘The Good Old Days’ - well, these are ours. Even though you’re only 19 and I’m in my 40’s, these are still my ‘Good Old Days’ too. Always remember that. These are The Good Old Days. When we look back over our lives, these are the times we’ll remember and miss the most.”

How right he was.

Rusty’s days had become enriched beyond his wildest hopes. Most important of all, he found himself meeting countless people with whom he could share all of these life experiences. Maybe he’s “not excessively normal” and therefore never learned to fully articulate his feelings with the befitting awe and humility and hope to the world, but he could share with it the moments.

The steps along the path.

The currents along the river.

The journey never ends.

The horizon arcs ever on and on to the sky.

And something told Rusty... these were The Good Old Days...

And everything had only just begun...

Chapter Thirteen

Isabeau stood all alone in the silence of the desert, where she prayed Rusty would never ask why this happened. Once he made his home among the desolation, his way had become his own and his road was finally one of peace.

“Life was never fair to him. All his life, daddy was told if he was loyal and honest and true, he would be rewarded with love and joy and beauty. He did everything he was supposed to do. And now he’s going to die alone in the desert with no friends. No family. Decades of loneliness. It’s just not fair.”

“Yes, it is, Oona. The nobility of angels would never be rewarded in a world of devils. Make no mistake. Rusty got exactly what was coming to him. He just underestimated the cruelty of the world. But that’s not why your father is the noblest man I’ve ever known. He never maintained his ideals because he expected to be rewarded. Rusty chose this path because he believes in his convictions. He never expected anything to come of it. Any man can love a world that loves him back. The world gave Rusty nothing. And he loves it anyway. That’s nobility. That’s grace. There will never be another like him.”

“I know.”

“You know your father is the kind of man who remembered the birthday of every friend he had. But none of his friends ever remembered his. That’s just the way his life was. He was a truly caring man who spent a lifetime surrounded by assholes. You know why he remembered birthdays? Because he loved life so much! And he was truly grateful that the universe brought his every friend into the world. Celebrating and commemorating the birth of friends was genuinely important to him. When people failed to reciprocate that kind of joy, even a man as wonderful as Rusty is bound to slink away in solitude eventually. Even the most resilient of hearts can only bear so much of an uncaring world.”

Solitude one day engulfs all mankind. As friends and loved ones depart this earth one by one, even the man richest with love finds himself alone at the end of days. Alone in a world filled with youthful couples and laughter than burns like irons, scalding the flesh with reminders of days you will never relive. Thus must you become beloved to the faeriechild of seclusion in your own youth. Walk in those quiet shoes along her garden rows and desert sage. Find comfort in the silent hours you spend with her. For when you return to her castle of lonesome towers during your end times, aloneness shall welcome you unto her arms as the long lost lover she has yearned to reunite with again.

Isabeau knew well the path that was chosen for her love.

Every messiah must at some point face one simple question - Do you want the world to be a better place?

You must decide if this is relevant to you. Are you interested in reducing suffering? Or is suffering unimportant?

Are you interested in helping people find happiness? Or is happiness irrelevant?

As a savior, you have all the answers. You know the path. You understand the way.

However...

As a savior, you are also one in a long line of others. You know that none of your answers are new. None of your revelations are a breakthrough. All you have to teach has been taught by the succession of saviors before you and shall be reiterated by those who come after.

The answers never change. Are there universal truths? If so, does it not stand to reason the truths of the universe are immutable?

Therefore, the question you must ask yourself is - do you give your answer? Do you provide the revelations to those who ask? Do you speak of the truth? Do you share it with the world? Or do you keep your mouth shut, and allow the world to discover the answers on their own, without your assistance?

Everyone knows what happens to the messiah who starts telling the answers to the people that don’t want to hear them. The people crucify that messiah. Always. Another immutable truth of humanity.

Does that martyrdom figure into your plan?

Do you want to be executed for sharing revelations which are not revelations at all? Become a martyr for telling people all those things that others have already been telling mankind for centuries?

Do you want to experience a grisly end to your life, simply for teaching something that anyone can learn on their own?

To follow this path, to answer your calling, to be the savior you were destined to be, all of this means you may transform the lives of others. You may uplift a lost soul to the road of enlightenment.

But in your quest to find that soul, you may stir the attention of too many demons along the way.

How will you navigate that river?

How will you traverse those dark forests?

Are the risks worth the reward?

To transcend all of this, you already know that you must walk away. You are not of the world. You will always be rejected by the world. You will make enemies of all those who are tainted and possessed by the dark. You must abandon those you would save. You must call suffering unimportant and happiness irrelevant and allow them to live the lives of their own accord - sorrowful or joyous, empty or fulfilling. They must decide this. You can not be the light upon their path. You must leave them to shadow. Whether they survive the journey or not is up to their own fortitude to determine. You are not a factor in the destiny they have ordained for themselves.

...Unless you choose to be.

Rusty never really loved anyone as much as he thought he did.

The truth was that he’d fall in love with any girl who paid attention to him, just as easily as he’d despise those who abandoned him. Rusty never understood that the only girls he ever thought he loved were the ones who showed him kindness and concern.

Isabeau didn’t have the heart to tell him.

He never asked.

Rusty never had to learn he was not special at all.

He was not alone.

This world was a sanctuary for countless lost souls.

This is where damaged spirits retreat to recover their strength.

Anything he endured in this world was such ease compared to the battles Rusty had fought elsewhere.

No. He was not at all alone.

The battles he truly faced, she could not bear to think about.

No matter how isolated he felt, he was just one of many.

The only difference was, he remembered better than most.

Battalions of souls were here to recuperate, just as him.

Rusty was truly here to help heal the souls of others.

He was the angel warrior.

Isabeau and Oona hadn’t lied about that.

Only in rare dreams did he recall, he was also healing his own.

We like to imagine our greatest epiphanies like the movies. Some kind of epic soundtrack wells and there’s a dramatic sweep of the camera to a bold vista overlooking the sea. But in real life, there’s never any music. The room is quiet. Traffic is passing outside. Typically, our lives change forever in very solitary moments. And the worst part of all is that in those movies, we always know the climax is impending; but in real life, it always blindsides us. We never know what we’re in for.

Laying in bed, during those hours of the night when you haven’t seen the clock in ages, and the dark could be on either side of midnight, Rusty thought about the girls in his life.

He thought of all the girls.

He thought of Colleen Horvat, the girl he adored in the 5th grade and pursued for half the school year, but she never liked him back. Rusty got the feeling he was remembering her last name wrong, and struggling to recall made him sad. He used to write it on lunch tables, in wet sponge, when he had to work cafeteria duty. Colleen had meant the world to him. Now he couldn’t even remember her last name?

He thought of the little blonde girl, Linda Elliot, in the 6th grade and how every boy in class liked her. He made no secret of liking her too. But she never liked him back either.

He thought of Kim Kochmit, the cheerleader in his high school who was just about the prettiest girl he had ever seen. She was always sweet to him and friendly when they sat across from each other in Health class. But she never spoke to him otherwise.

He thought of the two different girls named Mary Carter he met in Los Angeles and how he never got more than a kiss from either of them. Not that he felt they “owed” him more, nor did he believe he was he entitled to more, but his heart sure wished they had returned his affection.

He thought of that cute blonde girl he met his Junior year of high school. The adorable one who liked him and he shamefully brushed aside. Like Colleen, he forgot the name of the blonde, and that broke his heart a little. Then the same year, there was the brunette he invited to a movie, but he accidentally stood her up when he was out with friends and didn’t return home in time.

Sometimes, just sometimes, when he thought about those two girls, he didn’t ask the heavens why his life was so unfair. When he recalled what a selfish bastard he had been to some girls in this past, he never questioned why he was alone.

We all get what we deserve.

The universe of justice sentences us to precisely what we ask for.

Some just accept their punishments more gracefully than others.

The truth was, despite those rejections he had given and been shown, every love affair he ever had was missing something. No matter how wonderful. No matter how fulfilling. No matter what sort of bliss he’d feel, driving home after a first kiss. No matter the euphoria of making love by candlelight, and looking deep into the eyes of a girl who made his heart shudder a thousand beats a second. No matter how many times he dreamed of giving a ring to one of them. The truth was, they were all missing something. Every last one. Now he understood why.

Isabeau was The One.

She’d always been.

She always would be.

Through lifetimes that could never be counted.

Their mutual fealty bound unto the very fabric of the everyall.

Reality itself conjured from nothingness, just for them.

Every life.

Every aeon.

Everything that ever was.

Everything that will ever be.

The vast entirety of time and space orbits the core of their love.

And so for this brief flash would they remain alone.

Apart.

For the remainder of his days would he await his last breath.

Despite having decades to live, his time was done.

From that moment forth, he sought only solitude.

After awhile, he just didn’t care anymore.

He didn’t care if he was an angel sent to save the world.

He didn’t care if he was a delusional nobody.

He didn’t care if he mattered.

He didn’t care if he didn’t.

He just knew two things...

He wanted the whole world to leave him alone...

And he was assured it would comply to his wishes...

In that one way, Rusty knew the world wouldn’t disappoint him.

When you want to be left alone, the world will doubtless abide.

And thus was the birth of his isolation.

For the remainder of his days.

Rusty was a handsome young man of 44 years of age.

That’s old when you’re 13, but still quite young when you’re 85.

Although he didn’t know it at the time, he wasn’t even halfway through his life, yet he would spend every breath by himself.

Rusty cherished his next 50 years in solitude.

He never again heard the words “I love you” as long as he lived.

He never did have a girlfriend at Christmas or his birthday.

He never celebrated a single anniversary in his entire life.

He never made love to another woman again.

And for some odd reason, that had become okay.

He was no longer heartbroken nor enraged by his exile.

Not anymore.

The sea of his loneliness washed gently over him. After years of fighting the current, he had ceased to thrash in the brine and instead allowed himself to float peaceably upon the tide. Serenely. Contentedly. For despair no longer conjures pain when one accepts the loss of all hope.

Undeniably, he knew what he was, and what he was worth.

He finally accepted, angelic or not, he was not of these people.

His spirit would remain outcast, for it was of a different place.

And when he finally departed this wonderful and beautiful life, with his last blissful and dying sigh, alone in the silence of the desert, bearded and frail with an old age he never dreamed he’d reach, he prayed above all else, that Isabeau and Oona might be waiting for him.

When he awoke to his last day on earth, far upon a mountain horizon, Rusty could have sworn he saw a pair of dandelion blonde figures holding hands, and waving him to come follow.

Perhaps he hadn’t only imagined them, all those decades ago.

Maybe they had been real after all.

Maybe they were waiting.

Somewhere.

He prayed.

At long last, maybe...

Just maybe... he would be home.

He would be home.

“I do believe in angels and I do believe in light. And I know you just might feel me move across your room tonight. ’Cause this world is surely wrought with ghosts of who we might have been. And I know, you’ll know my touch by heart, when I move across your skin.”

- Pepper McGowan

“Pensacola”

from the album Bad Stars

Epilogue

This is a novel about the rage and hopelessness of loneliness.

Of walking the line betwixt love and hate.

Of being alone for so long, even a friendly smile inspires fury.

Then...

There comes a day when you realize you’re not here to be loved.

You’re not even here to be liked.

You’re just here to leave something behind.

You’re here to do some good for the world.

You can’t do that, of course, until you cherish the world.

Despite being rejected.

Despite being outcast.

Invisible.

Despite the fact that you truly don’t matter to anyone.

You must still love the world.

Even as they judge you. Even as the stones fly.

For you come to see, your calling transcends the events of your life. Light and dark. Good and bad. The purpose for which you came to the Earth is beyond what you will know.

And despite their hatred of you, they must be adored.

After all, why create something wonderful for the world if you perceive the world as being filled with those who don’t care that you were here? You must bear a steadfast faith that someday, someone will care that you passed this way, and you’re doing this for them.

You need to care about the world more than it cares about you. Plain and simple. Therein you find your purpose. Legacy. Posterity. Futures you shan’t live to see.

Maybe if you always care, if you try hard enough to push the anger of rejection aside, maybe, just maybe, after you depart this life, someone might discover your creations and think of you as a friend.

Not much consolation.

But it’s more comforting than thinking you are here for nothing.

When this novel was first written, way back in 2015, many “dashing bad boy romance” stories were popular in the publishing world. Girls between the ages of 18 and 45, who dreamed of becoming writers, were writing novels about girls between the ages of 18 and 25 who meet the dark mysterious stranger, and get pulled into a world of thrilling adventures, and fall in love. The audience for those books were girls between the ages of 18 and 45 who read the books, and reviewed the books, and loved the books, and got all their friends to read the books, and then more girls decided to become writers, and they wrote the same book.

It happened over and over and over and over.

Same readers.

Same writers.

Same story.

An incestuous circle feeding off of itself.

“Saturation” is the term.

The writers and readers just kept on redoing the exact same novel and the lack of insight and creativity was enough to make anyone vomit.

I got to thinking, “What about writing a real lovestory?”

One where you don’t find the ideal person?

One where you get disappointed over and over?

One where “love” and “romance” is not forever, but instead is just an endless series of breakups and first dates?

Instead of writing an escapist lovestory that none of us ever get to experience, how about a futile and frustrating representation of loss and heartache, so readers can understand they are not alone in their isolation and disconnect from human intimacy? Instead of writing a story that tells people “Here is the dream you will never have...” I’d much rather write a story that says “Someone else understands the heartache that you’re going through...”

Sure, we all dream of something better.

But in reality, most people have a lovelife more like Rusty than Romeo. Maybe someone should write a story telling those people they are not alone.

So I did.

That is what Voodoo & Loveshadow is ultimately all about.

This novel wouldn’t be that same old rehashed lovestory readers hope for and never comes true.

This novel articulates the loneliness readers are actually going through, and therein lies some comfort; in knowing you’re not the only one. You are not alone in feeling abandoned by the world.

This is a story to say, “The hero doesn’t always get the girl... but maybe that’s okay.”

Just like you, Rusty never gave up on love.

Just like you, an everlasting love simply never came into his life, no matter how hard he tried to find it.

You never imagined your life would evolve this way.

But here you are...

In this place you never imagined you’d end up.

This is your story. And maybe that’s okay too.

All stories have a surprising evolution.

Doesn’t matter if it’s the story of your real life or one of fiction - they all develop in a manner we never expected.

For example, even this story evolved in a very strange way. The working title of this book was Isabeau & Oona but it was originally just going to be Isabeau. Until the day of 12 April 2013, when I was riding my motorcycle home from an afternoon skateboarding session at Venice Beach skatepark, and spotted a lovely pair of twin schoolgirls walking home along Olympic Drive. They must have been 16 years old, each with cascades of flowing brunette hair and glowing with a grace and charm which most girls have lost 4 years earlier. The story of Isabeau had been germinating for less than a week at that point, and when I saw those dazzling princesses, I instantly realized... Isabeau had a twin sister! That crystalline-perfect title of Isabeau suddenly improved tenfold. Oh, sure, Isabeau alone may roll off the tongue nicer and look cleaner upon the page, but Isabeau & Oona kindled my heart far brighter. And, as any dreamer knows, the stories which kindle the heart are the ones which must be told.

Then, I realized, Isabeau & Oona was not a compelling title.

The title Voodoo & Loveshadow came from two techno disc jockeys.

One was “VooDoo & Serano”.

The other was “Snowflake & Loveshadow”.

I loved those names, so I simply combined the two. Not only do the words have a lovely euphony combined together as a phrase, but Voodoo & Loveshadow actually does poetically define the novel. The tale is about magic and wonder (voodoo) plus love and ghostly mystery (shadow). Thus the title of Voodoo & Loveshadow not only sounds beautiful, but it also has a bewitching intrigue which accurately encompasses the tone and subject matter of the tale.

I have a thing for character names. I am of the firm belief that the proper names of my characters should always be unique - never matching nor reminding me of anyone I’ve known in my day-to-day life. Finding their proper names is not always easy to hear. At the same time, they must not sound so outlandish that a conservative God-fearing American would never dream to name their child such a thing. Abiding by these stipulations, the name of Rusty Stratford came quite easily. I’ve never known anyone named “Rusty” and “Rusty Stratford” sounds like a name you could legitimately find in a phonebook. Plus, considering the persona of Rusty, the name is ideal. Sounds both boyish and masculine. Can be applicable to a little boy or a grown man. Could be a cowboy or a Wall Street investor. Also implies the root of “rust” and thereby suggests something wearing out and running low on time. Crumbling.

Then I changed it.

I realized Rusty was a lot like Annachie Gordon, the classic Irish folksong. (Also known as Annachie or Lord Saltoun & Auchanachie because, as you know, folktale spellings always vary a wee bit.) The story of Voodoo & Loveshadow isn’t remotely like the song (the song is more reminiscent of Romeo & Juliet), but the spirit of sorrow and loss in the song and this novel are very much the same. The one big problem with using the exact name from the folksong is that Annachie Gordon is a really damn-awkward name. Doesn’t remotely sound like the kind of name an American boy would actually have in this day and age. Plus, the name “Annachie” sounds a lot like “Anakin” and I certainly didn’t want people thinking I named my main character after Darth Vader.

I could have just stuck with Rusty Stratford.

Instead, I made “Rusty” a nickname for Gordon Stratford.

Thus, I was able to use all the names befitting the character.

For fans who have actually read a few of my other books, I want to apologize for reusing the wedding vows. See, the wedding vows scene was already used in my novel Annwn’s Maelstrom Festival. However, since that story was a vampire book, I had to change some of the wording and make the vows a little darker and more sinister. In Voodoo & Loveshadow, I was able to use the vows in the bright and cheerful manner as they were originally intended.

Oh. Did I forget to mention that part?

Yeah. I wrote those for a girl who asked me to write them for us, because for a short time, I was lucky enough to be loved that deeply. We never got married, but for a while there, I thought we would. Even if I never see that girl for the rest of my life, I’ll always love her and be grateful for the joy we shared.

I was so proud of those vows, I have used them in two books.

I won’t use them a third time. But, like I said, I wanted to explain the how/why behind it, in case there are some people in the world who actually read both books and wonder why I just rewrote almost identical vows. That’s why. Because they are real, and I loved them, and unfortunately, I never got the chance to use them with the girl I wrote them for. Might as well use them someplace! Twice! Right?

Truth is stranger than fiction.

Indeed.

The theme of “truth” in this tale is a dominant one, repeated over and over. How much more gratifying it is to cope with a painful truth than to cling to a delusion. Ultimately, this is a story about coming to terms with that. That sense of acceptance was the whole theme of Voodoo & Loveshadow. About learning that certain hopes will never come true. We are taught all our lives that fortitude and tenacity always pay off. Work hard and eventually your dreams shall manifest. But that is a lie. Some dreams, no matter how much you want them to happen, no matter how hard you fight, will never become real. (I won’t get to live on the moon someday or become a fighter pilot like I dreamed as a child.) This story is about learning how to live with that sort of broken heart, without losing your mind. A story about a person who failed to achieve his dream, yet he still learned to be happy and find contentment.

In the words of John Lee Hooker, “Loneliness is a very bad thing. And I have heard of loneliness blowing some very fine people’s minds, but you can’t do that. This is a big, big world. There’s a lots of beautiful things going on in this world. You just got to hang in there and be tough.”

During the years around which this novel was written (between 2013 to 2015) there were a few stories in the real world of men who faced that kind of pain and rejection and it did blow their minds. Wrote scathing manifestos about their hatred of women and went on killing sprees. I found it tragic and heartbreaking that otherwise fine members of society were burdened with such a vast hardship of loneliness, they would twist it around into something so horribly violent and cruel. Despite all the rejection I’ve faced in my own life, I have never once fantasized about harming women, nor have I ever blamed their entire gender for my broken heart.

How and why do those violent men make that leap from being lonesome to being murderous? Rusty Stratford and his story answers the “What if...” those men had not become homicidal maniacs? What about all those good men and women who are constantly tossed aside and rejected, but they learn to find a sense of peace within that heartache?

That is what a lot of us go through.

This story is their story.

This story is your story.

We all dream of being loved.

Men. Women. Young. Old.

Everyone wants fellow human beings to value and cherish us (or at least treat us as though we are valued and cherished).

Being deprived of health or wealth or freedom can be far more painful trials to cope with than loneliness. But when no one in the world has got your back, emotionally speaking, there are few things more painful. Devastating to feel no one in the world wants you here.

But the universe put you here.

There is no denying that.

What shall you do with the time you are allotted?

And if there be no grand purpose to your existence... make one.

After all is said and done, I still think life is a grand and beautiful spectacle. Every single day, I find myself overwhelmed by the joy of being alive. While there would be an undeniable elation in sharing that awe and gratitude with a loving dreamgirl, being alone during those moments still contains a sublime and transcendental beauty that can never be articulated. Sharing those moments is glorious, but experiencing those moments in solitude does not dilute their holiness.

Voodoo & Loveshadow is my way of putting some hope and brightness into what can sometimes be a dreary and lonely world. This novel is my way of saying anyone can still live rich and fulfilling lives, even if we never get to share our adventures and passions with someone else.

Ultimately, all art is exactly the same. Writers. Dancers. Actors. Musicians. Painters. We all want to elicit some sort of positive, visceral, emotional response from our audience. We want our work to express universal truths of the human condition and to be a voice for those who can not speak.

I hope this story inspires you in that way.

I hope you see it not as a lonely tale of a man abandoned, but rather an inspiring journey of a noble soul who learns to value the contentment of solitude and embraces the glory of living. A person who knows his value and recognizes that he doesn’t require the approval of others to validate his worth. A man marching to the beat of his own drum. Lone wolf. Howlin’ at the moon. Walkin’ tall, baby.

Never give up.

Never surrender.

In the grand scheme of things, when living every moment of your magical life filled with bliss and gratitude, you need not rage against the dying of the light, because when your love for life shines with the lumens of every star, you will never fade.

Let others walk with the angels.

We’ll soar...

- Eric Muss-Barnes

March 2015

§

“I found my love in a bookstore, not in a library, but a bookstore is a library. And I met a pretty girl there who waited on me, and I took her to coffee, and I took her to dinner, and I fell in love with her, and the books surrounding her. And she took a vow of poverty a year later and married me, because my income was nothing. And she was a rich girl, and she gave up all of her money to become poor like me, and live in Venice, without a telephone, without a car. But we lived on love and books, and my writing. So that’s the answer to life. If you can find a person to love, who loves life as much as you do, and loves books as much as you do, grab her or him, and get married. It’s pretty good, isn’t it? Life is wonderful. That’s a wonderful thing.”

- Ray Bradbury

Biography

Raised by the 1940’s swingkid generation of his maternal grandparents, Eric Muss-Barnes was born in Cleveland, Ohio. There he spent the first 32 years of his life, before picking up and moving to California, with no job and nowhere to live, in the spring of 2003.

During the course of five decades, Eric has spent nearly 7 years engineering websites at Walt Disney Studios; piloted hang gliders over 6000 feet above the Earth; dated fashion models, rockstar goddesses and glamazon actresses; been thrown and dragged by horses (arguably similar to his dating experiences); earned a living as an American Greetings toymaker and a Hollywood game designer; ridden motorcycles through mountains and all-night desert sandstorms (make that “over” mountains, he’s not Buckaroo Banzai); produced, directed and edited numerous music videos and an award-nominated film; briefly wed a tattooed MENSA astrophysicist chick who was also a drummer in heavy metal bands; crewed on an Academy Award nominated movie (look for his name in the American Splendor credits); skateboarded in pools all around California with XGames medalists like Julz Lynn and Lizzie Armanto and documented his adventures in an online video series which has garnered over 4 million viewers; written an epic series of vampire tales plus standalone speculative fiction stories and imaginative literature (for a total of 8 books, including 5 novels); photographed numerous Playboy models (such as Katie Lohmann and Pamela Mars) and sold his images in several art gallery showings across the nation; had his short stories and essays published in multiple fiction/non-fiction anthologies; served 12 years hard time in parochial schools; been clean-and-sober since the day he was born; purchased 10 acres of land (while unemployed) to begin a technologically-advanced, off-grid, dreamouse project, called “Luthorville”, in the Mojave desert; and created and programmed a blog called “InkShard” where you can see videos and essays about his life as a writer.

He’s single and foolishly holding out for a mythical, kindhearted, well-educated, 18 year old straightedge bikini model with ethics, integrity, class and decorum, who believes steadfast in honesty and devotion, and finds herself desperately attracted to him - a struggling novelist, old enough to be her dad. If you fit that description, tie your pegasus to the hitching post and knock on Eric’s door. Where you been? He’s waited a long time for you...

(Yeah, he’s gonna die alone...)

Books authored by novelist
Eric Muss-Barnes
www.EricMuss-Barnes.com

Voodoo & Loveshadow
by Eric Muss-Barnes

Ever since he was a little boy, Rusty Stratford always believed he was destined for great things. Now, with his 40th birthday fast approaching, Rusty is starting to suspect he might only be destined for mediocre things. A bachelor with few family members and fewer friends, life hasn’t quite panned out the way Rusty hoped it would, and he’s beginning to resign himself to being alone and unimportant.

All that changes the night he meets the precocious ghosts of his unborn twin daughters, Isabeau and Oona. Quickly, he comes to discover the universe is a strange brew of fate and happenstance wherein Isabeau and Oona only have a small window of time during which their spirits can be born. Can the little girls help their father find the woman destined to become their mom? Or will Isabeau and Oona miss their chance to exist?

If you squandered decades of your life awaiting “one true love” who never arrived, if dreaming of an idyllic “soulmate” kept you alive through your darkest hours and they didn’t show up, this magical tale will comfort your heartache of missed chances and abandonment with an empathy like you’ve never known. Voodoo & Loveshadow kindles hope in the loneliest of hearts, assuring when the world has given you up for dead, you may still conjure reasons for life, love and laughter to prevail...

The Gothic Rainbow: Beginning Volume of The Vampire Noctuaries
by Eric Muss-Barnes

Helle Tompkins has reached the end of her days as an outcast, suburban teenager. Ever since her beloved father killed himself, and they released Helle from the mental hospital for trying to join him, she’s been in a place where her pain is far deeper than high school melodrama.

No more hiding behind black lipstick and a mohawk. Now she’s playing with pagan charms, Wiccan rites, and the scrying sorcery of her Ouija board. It’s the perfect distraction until she summons the attention of a charming and sinister faerie prince. A seductive spirit lurking in the shadows of treebranches shimmering upon her walls, he may be something much more horrible than he claims.

Will she succumb to bewitching promises and find salvation in his cruel embrace, or will his own agonizing secrets draw Helle into even deeper heartbreak?

“...The Gothic Rainbow by Eric Muss-Barnes is, frankly, one of the most absorbing novels that I have read in quite some time. ... I’ve found the book well worth my time, and I hope you will give it a shot. ... At the end, I think you will agree that Eric Muss-Barnes will be a name to watch...”
- Christopher T. Miller, Book Stacks Unlimited

“... The Gothic Rainbow gives solace and escape for those who feel trapped in a messed-up world full of heartaches and misunderstandings. There is plenty of sex and violence to stimulate, but it’s the delicate beauty and passionate writing of this novel that will touch your soul ...”
- Octavia, Outburn Magazine

“... if you’ve ever listened to The Cure in the dark, danced to The Dead Milkmen, lost a loved one, hung out with skaters, hated your parents or hated preppies, or if anyone’s ever called you a “freak,” I think you’ll find a little of yourself in this book. Its honest representation of this subculture - from the music to the fashion - is spun throughout the web of fantasy ...”
- Cynthia Conlin, Implosion Magazine

“... it’s quite a page-turner, with lots of shocking vampiric escapades. This book, on the whole, is extremely well-written with a wonderful poetic style. I’m glad I didn’t let the slow start scare me off ...”
-Susan Moon, The Nocturnal Lyric

“... One aspect of the writing that I appreciated is that the author uses different styles of writing throughout this novel. Muss-Barnes excels in his literary descriptions of buildings, character dress, and dreams. ... the choice of words and inflection of mood hit dead on at what I anticipated I would find when I first picked up the book ...”
-Dan O., IndustrialnatioN

“... Eric effectively blends elements from different genres and literary styles in a duet between mortals and Fey. Highly unique, believable characters, and a musical playlist to boot! I found the book compelling and charming (in a twisted way), and would gladly read the book again ...”
- Chelsea, Thistle Magazine

“... I’m utterly mystified that this book worked as well as it did for me. It’s written for readers with a firm grasp of the Goth subculture (I don’t qualify); it doesn’t attempt to have a plot as such; and the vampires are hopelessly larger-than-life, with their expensive cars, outrageous acts of violence, and nonstop scorn for mortals. (In fact, the vampires consider themselves so godlike that pronouns referring to them are capitalized, a typographical idiosyncrasy that I found rather disconcerting.) Perhaps the book’s appeal lies in the sheer honesty of the narrative. ... Self-serving but sincere, The Gothic Rainbow is definitely worth checking out ... I know that’s a strange kind of thumbs-up, but The Gothic Rainbow is a strange kind of book. It’s certainly not for everyone. ... It is a book of dreams and fantasies, power and pain, and bittersweet Goth-flavored wish fulfillment ...”
- Catherine B. Krusberg, Sphere Fantasy Online

Annwn’s Maelstrom Festival: Concluding Volume of The Vampire Noctuaries
by Eric Muss-Barnes

Fetishes claw inside of you. Ones you dare never admit. Desires you could never reveal. Claims of being free of all their taboos has never made you stop fearing your own carnal wants... For none could ever endure your passions and live.

Whips and chains are for prudes.

Fangs. Talons. Blood of full moons. The darkest hungers never die. Tell us the tale of your lusts. Succumb to the story of your deviance.

Or pretend this isn’t you at all. Wonder how far burns the flame, but fear to melt the wax. No matter. We have you eternal. Wondering. Wanting. Trapped with no escape from the blackest scenarios you envision.

Know no remorse. Submit to this dread sensuality.

Mock my every word, for still, this is you.

There is a vampire legend within us all. You have felt it for years. Yearned to hear of it. To read of it. See it in a tangible form. Live it. Hungered. And yet no one has ever even spoken of it. No one has ever given that saga a voice... Until now...

This is the myth of the vampire as you have always dreamed it should be told. The one we have all secretly shared, but never expressed.

Hear how she wants every boy and girl?

The dawn of eternal night has come.

More than 17 years in the making, Annwn’s Maelstrom Festival is the long-awaited conclusion to The Gothic Rainbow. When you thought the shadows could become no darker, Annwn’s Maelstrom Festival: Concluding Volume Of The Vampire Noctuaries takes you further into the tale of Elric and Helle DuBois. Told from Helle’s perspective, the story picks up where The Gothic Rainbow: Beginning Volume of The Vampire Noctuaries ended. We learn the true motives of Camillia, and the mystery of mortals played as Pawns, in centuries-old Killing Games, by the insidious DuBois sisters.

The secrets grow deeper. The passion becomes stronger. The fury knows no limits. There is far more to Elric and Helle than they have ever dreamed. Welcome to Annwn’s Obsidian Sideshow & Maelstrom Festival, where the love of Elric and Helle will cause dominions to fall and tragedy and death be left in their wake.

How You Can Get a Job at Walt Disney Studios Without a College Degree
by Eric Muss-Barnes

Working for Walt Disney is a childhood dream, shared by millions of people, from all across the world. Since the founding of the studios in 1923, only a small fraction of individuals have ever experienced the bliss of making that dream coming true.

After working at the illustrious Studio for more than 6 years, author Eric Muss-Barnes shares his story of how that wish-upon-a-star came true for him, starting from humble beginnings in a bluecollar family in Ohio.

Told with warmth and humor, you learn every job, every experience, every career move he made. Starting from his childhood paper route during Cleveland blizzards, he explains how he journeyed all the way to sitting with Minnie Mouse, as a Cast Member, at the Disney Studio lot, on a warm Summer day.

How You Can Get a Job at Walt Disney Studios Without a College Degree is not merely about landing a job at Disney. Rather, it’s a tale regaling every trial and tribulation which lead Eric to Los Angeles, told in the hopes of inspiring you to continue the pursuit of your own dreams, whatever they may be.

You still have time to make your dream come true too. It’s never too late.

As Jiminy Cricket promised, if your heart is in your dream, no request is too extreme...

The Page of Wands
by Eric Muss-Barnes

Legend has it, an ancient walking staff, known as “The Wand”, first presented itself to old widow McCreadle, along with The Three Rules.

1. You may use the magic wand for 3 days.
2. You may only use it in your profession.
3. You must secretly bequeath it to an anonymous stranger.

As the power of The Wand is entrusted from one Los Angeles resident to the next, randomly falling into the hands of noble and corrupt citizens alike, the city is brought to both bliss and ruin. But, when things finally spiral out of control in neighborhoods infested with aliens, dragons, dinosaurs, and superheroes, can a misfit group of townspeople set the world right again, before The Wand must be passed on once more?

Grandpa Steiner Saves the World (from Illegal Aliens (from Space))
by Eric Muss-Barnes

Grandpa Steiner offends everyone. He doesn’t mean to. It just happens. During his youth, his attitudes were commonplace and perfectly acceptable. As the conventions of society change around him, and more and more of his opinions become derided as obsolete, Grandpa Steiner decides to start a blog, to vent his frustrations upon the Internet.

Little does Grandpa Steiner know, when a race of space aliens secretly decide to obliterate mankind, they regard his blog as the only redeeming quality of humanity. Grandpa Steiner inadvertently causes the aliens to reconsider, thereby sparing the world from annihilation.

But when his popular essays cause a media backlash and his family convinces Grandpa Steiner to stop his politically incorrect rants, will the prevailing “culture of damn sissies” spell doom for the Earth?

Schooling Your Boss To Not Suck
by Eric Muss-Barnes

Schooling Your Boss to not Suck takes a fun and sarcastic journey into tales of horrible bosses. There are countless books on improving the workplace, but nothing quite like this.

Is your boss a supervillain? Need a superhero to straighten him out? Instead of being written by another stuffy “expert”, author Eric Muss-Barnes (who barely squeaked out of high school, let alone finished college), offers a lighthearted slant on leadership from the viewpoint of the common worker.

True stories. Real experiences. No silly parables here, folks. No “puppydogs and rainbows” like those other motivational books. Just genuine events of piss and vinegar from the American middleclass workplace.

Eric is just an Average Joe, like yourself, telling it like it is. If your boss sincerely wants to learn how to motivate and inspire the people, it’s time the boss stopped listening to other leaders and started listening to what regular people like you have to say. It’s time someone stood tall, whipped off those mild-mannered glasses, and schooled your boss on how to not suck!

Forever Loving You
by Eric Muss-Barnes

Years ago, after author Eric Muss-Barnes had the cover photo for this book taken, a friend ridiculed him and said, “Who do you think you are, Michael Bolton? This looks like a cover for an album of rock ballads. ’Eric Muss-Barnes, Forever Loving You!’” Twenty years later, instead of an album cover, it became a book cover for a compilation of cheesy lovepoems.

Colophon

Printed Editions Colophon

• HP Pavilion dm3t 1100 Notebook PC (3GB RAM / 160GB SSD)

• Windows 7 Professional 64-Bit OS

My trusty dead-silent SSD laptop was used to write this novel. I also wrote 3 other novels, reformatted 2 others books, and composed 2 memoirs on this very same computer. Indeed, it has served me well. I intend to continue writing books on nothing but solid-state laptops for the rest of my life. I’ve used typewriters, notebooks, and desktop computers over the years and the thin-profile laptops are definitely my favorite. They are really my element. The nice thing about writing novels is that you don’t need a ton of drive capacity either. You can easily fit a lifetime of work on a 160GB drive with room to spare.

• Notepad++ 6.4.5

• Open Office 3.2.0

My initial outline was written in plain text using Notepad++ simply because I like doing outlines in plain text. The files stay clean that way. Uncluttered.

Once the outline was done, I moved into writing the actual manuscript in Open Office, so I can compose the book in the final format including page layouts and font choices. This way, no time is wasted converting a final draft into a final format. Instead, every single draft of the novel is the final format. I can concern myself with nothing but writing. The formatting is already baked in to the process. Once I choose the ideal formatting for a given story, I never have to think about it again.

• Adobe Photoshop CS2

• Canon EOS Rebel T5i

Yep. In the year 2015, I’m still using a version of Photoshop that is about a decade old. No reason to upgrade when it already does everything I need. The cover image is a photograph taken by me using a Canon T5i with an 85mm F1.8 lens, featuring the sublime and iridescent teen model Renea Mazzotta as Isabeau and Oona. We actually shot the images at her place, on a lazy Saturday evening in Los Angeles, during February of 2015. Thanks to her darling sister Cat Mazzotta for helping with makeup and to her father Vincent for his hospitality. The cover design went through a few different conceptual designs. Initially, I actually wanted to hire a professional painter to create a mysterious portrait of Isabeau and Oona first appearing to Rusty in his room. When I began to rethink the concept and go in a new direction, there was a very specific look I wanted, and I wasn’t sure I would be able to find the right girl. With all sincerity, Renea is precisely the sort of young woman I was hoping to find. From the instant I saw her, I knew Renea was absolutely perfect and she immediately became my very first choice. Although she happens to be slightly older than the twins, Renea looks significantly younger than her years. As a result of her very youthful appearance, Renea has a charm about her which embodies a requisite “innocent faeriechild beauty” and reflects the spectral Isabeau and Oona almost exactly the way I visualized them.

• Fonts: Baskerville

Once upon a time, I read a question on a website from an author who wondered what font to use in printing her books. This made no sense to me. As an author, you don’t use “a” font to write all your books. The aesthetics of a font should be reflective of the tone of a story. Fonts should be different for every book an author writes, so long as the tone of the story always changes.

This book uses a font called Baskerville simply because I liked the way it echoed the feel of this story. It has a traditional serif look, similar to Times New Roman. Yet, it also has a bit of a modern flair with stylish spacing and leading and wonderfully vivid italics. This font really fits the “classic” feel of traditional imaginative literature and speculative fiction. When you rummage around the attic and find an old copy of a great book that your grandfather loved as a child, the font will look like this.

eBook Editions Colophon

• HP Vostro 400 Desktop PC

• Windows XP Professional OS

As with my past titles, the eBook editions were created on a desktop computer, converted from the original Open Office .ODT files used in the printed version of the book. For whatever reason, I simply prefer doing my HTML programming on a desktop computer and my novel-creation on a laptop computer. I think because my first novel was written by hand and a laptop is close to recreating that feeling. Whereas I’ve made a living as a programmer and I am used to doing that as a desk job. Hence, the reason I make printed books on a laptop and eBooks at a desktop.

• Notepad++ 6.4.5

• WinZip 9.0

In order to make the book available to readers digitally, the original Open Office .ODT files were rebuilt as an .EPUB file. Being a programmer, I engineered and constructed the .EPUB files by hand - coding all of the CSS, XHTML, OPF and NCX files in a plain text editor. Once that was complete, I used WinZip to package my .EPUB file which was then triple-validated against epubcheck 3.0, and Sigil 0.6.2, and finally in Flight Crew 0.7.2.

• KindleGen 2.7

Using the command-line utility KindleGen, I converted my .EPUB file into .MOBI format for sale and distribution online using Amazon and other .MOBI-based eReader systems. This is also the way I create my free MOBI versions that people can download for nothing and pay for via donations later.