The greatest risk a person who believes in love could ever take in life is when they fall in love. Is there a greater paradox than love? How can someone who brings you a natural euphoria can also bring you the most pain? After my heartbreak with Denise, I learned it wasn’t necessarily the amount of time you spent dating someone, but rather the amount of feelings you invest in them that determines how much time you need to move on. Over a longer relationship, you eventually learn some things you don’t particularly like about a person you’re with, that you could hang onto if things don’t work out. Since our relationship was short, there was nothing I didn’t like about Denise—taking me a longer time to get over her. Notwithstanding, my belief in love, surely didn’t help my cause. I’d rather lose money and not my mind to someone I loved. Denise only provided a confirmation of my greatest fears—feeding me every day through my low self-esteem. Even if they ripped my world apart, I wanted a woman to be brutally honest with me instead of leaving hints to piece together as if I was Sherlock Holmes. Why hurt someone multiple times when you could hurt them once and be done with it? Then again, maybe I didn’t make it easy for Denise to be brutally honest because I was too nice for my own good? After that gut-wrenching heartache, I knew the pain of unrequited love all too well and promised myself to never again be so recklessly accommodating. I would make it easier on women to be heartlessly genuine with me, so much so, they would probably enjoy breaking my heart.

People say it’s better to have loved than to never have loved at all, but I preferred the latter. Heartbreak wrecked me so tremendously, it was like saying it’s better to have gotten cancer than to never have gotten cancer at all. Falling in love for me was like catching a disease with an unknown prognosis. I didn’t date again until five years after Denise left me. I lost an entire half decade, years I could’ve spent building a life with someone else. All of my early thirties…unrecoverable. I couldn’t date anyone with someone else on my mind—it wouldn’t have been fair to them. I just couldn’t get over how much Denise thought I was some pathetic loser. How she surely believed only a man with nothing to offer would be so willing to fall in love. When I felt I had something more to offer, I joined an online dating service; TheOne.com. I signed up for six months and even went on a couple of dates the first few months, but no sparks flew. During the last week before my subscription ended, I stumbled upon the most attractive girl I’ve seen on the website, Carrie. She had straight, long brunette hair complemented by a heart tugging smile and warm light blue eyes. She had multiple pics up and all of them were either as good or better than her main profile picture—a rare feat to pull off. After having my heart broken, I came to learn a woman’s beauty didn’t mean much if she wasn’t a good person, and I kept that in mind while reading Carrie’s dating profile.

KIND & HAPPY SEEKING SAME

I’m looking for a good man. Why are they so hard to find? My philosophy is be kind to everyone. I’m loyal, honest, fun, simple and easy going! I communicate well and really love to laugh! If you want to know more, send me an email!

Upon reading her short blurb, I was hooked. Her words impressed me more than her pictures did. As I beat back a past that believed she was too good for me, I sent her an email wanting to know more. I was so certain she wouldn’t respond, I waited until the next evening to check my messages. When I saw she emailed me back, I figured it was just to tell me she wasn’t interested. When her reply included a few questions about myself, I entertained the thought that it wasn’t Carrie, but rather an auto email reply macro created by their dating website designer. To test the waters, I answered her questions and then bravely asked for her number. It wasn’t until I actually heard her voice over the phone that convinced me she was real. Over the next two weeks, after talking on the phone about four times, we were both ready to take the next step and meet in person. Even after talking on the phone, Carrie was so sweet and attractive, I worried she was too good to be true, and my heart was ripe for being catfished. Although I hadn’t felt this much promise in someone since I met Denise, the fear of looking like a fool was a risk I had to take. After five long years, now thirty-six years old, it was now or never.

In great anticipation of meeting her, I arrived at the “Good Morning Café” coffee shop twenty minutes early to make sure we had a good place to sit. To my surprise, I found a spot to park my car right in front of the cafe and when I walked inside, the place looked fairly empty. Looking to my right, I quickly noticed an open mahogany colored couch in a dimly lit corner, but I didn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable sitting so close together on a first date. I then spotted two cozy looking chairs facing each other with a small table in between and planted myself in one of them. There were a few people in the coffee shop on this late Saturday morning—a female college student working on a laptop and a gray-haired couple sitting at the café’s farthest end appearing lost in their own world. While waiting for her on a warm olive-green velvet chair, my heart raced each time the glass doors swung open, in fear and anticipation. What if she didn’t look anything like the girl in the picture? Would it even matter now after talking to her over the phone for the last two weeks? What if she found me unattractive? If she looked nothing like her profile picture, I would probably cut our meeting short, but would never leave upon her arrival. Sure, I’d be disappointed, but I knew how loneliness could drive us to do things we wouldn’t normally do. It didn’t mean she was a bad person, just a sad one. Just like investing in the stock market, there’s an element of risk to online dating—you must be prepared for the unpredictable, but starting a relationship with dishonesty would scare me more about a person than their physical appearance ever could.

When Carrie finally came through the cafe’s crystal doors, I froze up. Her pics did her no justice—she was more attractive in person. With her long brunette hair flowing just past her bare shoulders and her eyes searching for me, I laid my phone down on the chair to save it for us before walking over to meet her. Wearing a white shoulder less burnout top with blue jeans, she made me quickly realize how my black collarless t-shirt with beige shorts rendered me too casual for our first meeting. Subdued by her attractiveness, I approached cautiously, but when she recognized me and smiled, I felt more at ease. As I stood before Carrie, her sweet flowery perfume invaded my nasal passages and stoked my adrenaline. It had been so long; I forgot how much the scent of a woman’s perfume took a hold on me.

“Nice to finally meet you, Carrie.” I said wearing a nervous smile.

“Nice to meet you too.” She responded then giving me a very unexpected hug.

“I got here a little early so I was able to grab those two chairs for us.” I pointed out to her after she embraced me.

“Can we sit outside?” She asked. “Do you mind?”

“Sure! Not at all!”

“There’s an available patio table right there.” She aimed with a manicured index finger outside the cafe’s large front window.

“Oh, I see it. Let’s sit there.” I seconded, getting lost in her light blue eyes. “Can I get you a latte?”

“You remembered I drink lattes?”

“Of course I did!” I smiled. “You don’t mind grabbing the spot outside while I order our drinks?”

“I don’t mind. I’ll meet you out there.” She said, suddenly reaching into a small white purse then putting a phone to her ear.

After saying “hello” she motioned with her free hand to let me know she was heading outside. As she walked past two men in line, they turned their heads so fast they may have gotten whiplash. While I waited to order, I couldn’t help but try to catch a glimpse of her myself. After all the horror stories you hear about people not looking anything like their dating profile pictures, it’s more of a shock when they look better in person. After I placed an order for a latte and then a hot green tea for myself, that was when it hit me—it’s been five years since I was genuinely interested in getting to know someone again. Now as it stood, if I played my cards right, my disastrous experience with Denise could have some reason to it. When we talked on the phone, I purposely reserved any serious conversations for a face to face meeting rather than having them through a wire. Our phone calls weren’t hour marathons but just twenty-minute chats to get a feel for each other. For instance, to see how our days went and what our plans were for the weekend. I knew the basics about her—she’s been single for a year after a three-year relationship and loved the Pittsburgh Steelers. As attractive as Carrie was, there was no doubt she could turn a man whose allegiance belonged to another team, into a Steelers fan. Hell, I was already imagining what a Ben Roethlisberger jersey would look like on me and I was a die-hard Rams fan. When I had our drinks in my hand and made my way outside, for the first time in half a decade a flicker of life burned inside me.

Walking out into the open air, I noticed the sun had broken through the clouds for the first time this morning, and wondered if Carrie noticed it too. Approaching the small charcoal colored round metal patio table, I flashbacked to when Denise admonished me at the restaurant for standing until she sat. After noticing that Carrie was still seated, I breathed a sigh of mental relief. Before reaching her, I saw how she was one of those women you just knew was super pretty simply by the way her long smooth hair laid so delicately upon her back—there was no way her face wouldn’t be able to complement it. Since she was still on the phone, I gently laid her hot latte down before her. She then nodded to acknowledge my arrival and I quietly took my seat directly across from her. I slightly pulled my chair closer to the table and noticed sweat was now on the arms of my black metal chair. I then took a sip of the hot tea, wiping my palms against the cardboard sleeve as I held my cup to reduce the sweat. As she continued to chat on the phone, a relentless attack of butterfly wings batted against my stomach, but they met a warm feeling of promise within me. After five years of emptiness, I felt as full as the warm cup in my hand. When Carrie ended her conversation and laid her phone down on the table, I couldn’t have been more excited to get to know someone.

“Thanks for meeting me here,” I said, looking into her blue eyes. “I hope it wasn’t too soon to meet for you.”

“Thanks. No, I didn’t think it was too soon.” She said, looking down at her phone. “I have to admit my Dad would be really disappointed in me if he knew I was meeting a random guy here from a dating website.”

“Oh, was that him on the phone?” I asked, trying to figure out why she would tell me that.

“No.” She flatly replied, her clandestine azure eyes still on the phone.

“I can understand that—it’s kinda scary out there. The internet has definitely opened the world up. It’s harder to meet good people these days, but online dating gives us all a better chance to meet our soulmate.”

“How so?” She wondered, turning her attention away from the mobile phone.

“Online dating gives you the chance to meet someone outside your general area. You have access to the entire world if you want it.” I explained, looking nervously away from her mesmerizing eyes. “I don’t think our parents had that.”

“Are you saying they settled?”

“Most likely.” I said, finding the temerity to look at her. “The high divorce rates seem to suggest less people have found their soulmates.”

“Are you sayin’ soulmates are only those who connect with each other on an internal level?”

“For the most part.” I replied, feeling confident I now had her attention.

“Don’t you think having a physical attraction is important?” She wondered, taking a sip of her latte while keeping her eyes in mine.

“A physical attraction is the initial starting point, and it’s certainly important,” I explained, trying to build a connection with her. “but if the person you’re attracted to physically isn’t beautiful on the inside too, then it will never work out in the long run. I think that’s the problem today.”

“What do you mean?” She asked while pushing a button on her phone.

“The divorce rates are what…Sixty percent in this country now? It’s a loveless society we’re living in today.” I responded, trying not to sound negative because of my experiences. “If a relationship is based on just a physical attraction, then it’s doomed when the sheets cool down. It just seems people are choosing partners for the wrong reasons.”

“Interesting.” She replied, with a hand under her cheek. “How many relationships have you had?”

“Two.” Anxiously taking a sip of my tea to hide my sudden nervousness.

“How old are you again?”

“Thirty-six.” Now bringing my sweaty hands upon the arms of the metal chair.

“No kids?” She asked with a look of disbelief on her face.

I shook my head.

“Were your relationships long-term?”

As she spoke to me, I imagined caressing her face and what her red full pouty lips would feel like against mine. I couldn’t believe such an attractive woman was sitting right in front of me taking an interest in who I was. Knowing she came here to meet me, while noticing nearly every man who walked in and out of the café checked her out, made me feel nothing short of special. It was impossible not to be enamored by her as I hoped the questions she posed were made to connect with me and not in judgment of me.

“My longest lasted two years. The other lasted about five months, but it was a substantial relationship,” I replied, fearing a follow-up question that may stoke an emotional response from me. “The five-month relationship was my last one.”

“You consider a five-month relationship substantial?” She questioned loudly while holding in her laughter.

“I know how that must sound,” I laughed fearfully while trying to implement some damage control. “I guess I feel, you know, umm…A substantial relationship is not defined by the length of time you’re with someone but rather by how many feelings you hold for them inside your heart. That’s what I’ve learned because it took me longer to get over a five-month relationship than it did a two-year one.”

“How long did it take for you to get over it?” She inquired, removing a hand from her cheek and glaring down at the phone. “A few months?”

“It was more like a few years.” I fairly fibbed, knowing my answer still left me open for judgment.

“That long? Are you really over her?” Her blue eyes studying mine.

“I wouldn’t be on a dating website if I wasn’t,” Responding while maintaining eye contact to ease any reservations she had. “It really wasn’t so much getting over her but tryin’ to get over the way she made me feel about myself. Losin’ a great person made me feel like much less of one. I took some time to work on myself to hopefully lessen the chances of it ever happening to me again.”

“You didn’t date anyone for three years?”

“I just didn’t think it was fair to date someone while holdin’ on to feelings for someone else.” I said, watching behind her as another man glanced over as they walked out of the coffee shop.

“Did you seek any mental help?”

“What do you mean?” I asked, surprised by her question.

“You know…Did you talk to a therapist?”

“Talk to a therapist?” I laughed. “Oh no…I just needed some time alone, that’s all.”

“Is there somethin’ wrong with you that maybe I should know?”

“That depends on who you ask!” I joked, trying to field her questions in a positive way.

When her eyes begged me for a better answer instead of smiling, I tried to recover like a stand-up comedian whose best joke garnered no laughs. “She lived in Northern Cali and I lived down here and I think that scared her. We can all be resistant to change—even change that is good for us. She never loved me though…I had a really hard time understandin’ that.”

“Why was that so hard for you to understand?” She asked, shaking her head.

Although I told Carrie it took three years to get over Denise, instead of the five it did, I found it to be a fair number to be judged on. I wanted to be honest with her about everything but I didn’t want to divulge too much information about my heartbreaks—especially during our first meeting. Without any idea how she may react to my reason for not being able to get past Denise so quickly. I just hoped she could relate.

“Well, we experienced the most intimate act two people could ever share with one another.” Responding with hesitance in my voice. “So…I believed she was in love with me.”

“Do you believe two people have to be in love…To have sex?” She stated with a hint of amusement.

“I guess I’d just like to believe that someone who was willing to share that much of themselves is at the very least falling in love with me.” I replied, feeling a bit defeated.

“Were you in love with her?”

“Very much so.” I confirmed with dread.

“After only five months?” She stated with wide eyes of disbelief. “Do you really think it’s possible to fall in love with someone after knowing them for only five months?”

As much as Carrie’s questions seemed to poke fun at me, her attractiveness captured the hopeless romantic in me, and now there was no escape—it seemed she didn’t believe in love the way I did. She had no idea that for me to even dare talking about love was a great leap of faith after dismissing it as a myth for the last five years. Denise taught me the painful lesson about loving someone too soon, and I didn’t want to come off as that kind of man. I’ve seen it used against me in the past and I refused to put my heart in that position ever again. As much as I wanted to tell Carrie that five months was way too soon to fall in love with someone, I’d be lying to her if I did. I already knew it could happen and worse yet? I’d be somebody I’m not.

“If you believe in love…” I paused. “all things are possible.”

“Do you fall in love easily?” She dug deeper, turning her eyes away from mine.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I have an internal defense system in place now.”

As I hoped her eyes would come back into mine, she sighed and looked down again at a lifeless phone before taking another drink of her latte.

“How many relationships have you been in?” I politely inquired in an effort to take the focus off my ineptness at love.

“Just one; John. I was with him for ten years.” She announced, straightening her posture and keeping her eyes away from mine.

“Wow! Ten years?” I said, trying to ignore where her eyes trailed off to. “How’d you guys meet?”

“At a business function while I was living in New York. He was a Wall Street investment banker assigned to perform due diligence for my company as part of a merger. My God…He was just so incredible—handsome and powerful; a financial genius.” She explained, her eyes now full of life and back into mine. “Anyway, his investment bank took a hit and our relationship went under as well. That’s when I packed up my things and headed back home to L.A. So, here I am givin’ it another shot.”

“This is a big step for both of us then!” Showing enthusiasm about our meeting.

“How tall are you?” She asked abruptly.

“Five foot eight. How tall are you?”

“Only five three, but I prefer dating men who are no less than six feet tall—I like to wear high heels.” She shot, her blue eyes now somewhere in the parking lot. “I feel safer with a taller man by my side.”

Her revelation hit me like a dagger straight to the heart. Since she knew how tall I was before our meeting, it seemed being true to myself only inspired her to disconnect from me. When she made me aware of this preference as her eyes scanned the parking lot for anybody other than the person in front of her, I felt like a boxer against the ropes. All I could do now was protect myself from falling face first on the canvas.

“I guess my philosophy is that it shouldn’t be about how far a man stands above the ground,” I said, then taking a sip of my tea. “but rather how far a man is willing to go to make you happy.”

Upon this statement, and to my great surprise, Carrie’s eyes shot right back into mine—bringing a sense to the end of the cognitive dissonance between us, if not a connection. While locked in each other’s eyes, trying to read our thoughts, all I could do was anxiously await her response.

“What kind of car do you drive?” She doubled down.

“A truck; a Toyota Tacoma.” I said, pointing to it just twenty feet away from where we sat. “The silver one right there with the black trim. I just got it a few months ago.”

Carrie turned her head towards the neutral vehicle then nodded.

“What kind of car do you get around in?” I asked, hoping to salvage our conversation.

“The S-Class right there.” She said pointing to the black Mercedes Benz parked right next to mine.

“That’s a really nice car.” I replied, not knowing the hierarchy in classes of Mercedes.

“Thank you.”

“What do you do for work?”

“I don’t work.” She answered flatly, now twirling a string of her hair with a finger. “I don’t have to.”

“And you’re able to afford a Mercedes?”

“Let’s just say I did well in New York.” A crossed leg now bouncing back and forth while her eyes returned to the mobile phone.

“That’s very impressive. Do you have any…”

Before I could finish my sentence, she put her hand out to cut me off.

“Yeah, listen Landryn, it was nice meeting you, but I’m meeting some friends for lunch in a half hour and so I have to go.”

When she called me ‘Landryn’ I felt deflated, but what’s wrong with her needing to cut our date short to meet friends for lunch? Maybe she was testing me to see how I would react? Although disappointed, I remained hopeful we could meet again when she wasn’t in such a rush.

“Oh, okay Carrie. It was nice meeting you too. Would you like to hang out again next week? Maybe we can go grab a bite somewhere? My treat.”

“I’m sorry…You’re a really nice guy but I don’t think you’re my type.” She confessed. “I’m lookin’ to really connect with someone and I don’t feel that happened with you.”

“Well,” I nodded not knowing how to respond after receiving the brutal honesty I asked for. “I appreciate your honesty.”

“Thank you for the latte, though.” She said, rising from her chair.

“You’re most welcome.” I nodded, smiling.

Before I could say ‘take care’, and without even pushing in her chair, she walked quickly in the opposite direction. Within a matter of seconds, she disappeared into the darkness of her tinted windowed Mercedes Benz. When she pulled out rapidly from her spot, I waved but could only pretend in my mind she was waving back at me. I then looked at her abandoned coffee cup and tried not to torture myself with an estimation of its weight. After throwing two nearly full drinks into a cement encased plastic trash can, I dug my hands into my jean pockets and slowly walked to my truck. For some reason, my vehicle looked differently than it did twenty minutes earlier. As I got inside and stuck the key in the ignition, I imagined the conversation she would have with her girlfriends, or probably another man—taking a shot or two at the ‘out of touch with reality lovebird’ she met earlier. I then took notice how the butterflies that thrived in my stomach had all flown away as the sun disappeared again behind the clouds. To not see this return to normalcy coming after all I’ve learned over the last five years, made it richly deserved—I guess it just would’ve been nice to believe again. Now that I held a career that depended on having a sound mind, I could no longer afford to dwell on my disappointments. It had to be free of both heartbreak and impossibilities. Carrie confirmed everything I learned over the last five years—believing in love was both immature and irrational in this day and age. Books, movies and songs of love were all just escapes from reality for those who knew the real world didn’t contain it. I duped my own self into believing in love’s existence even with the knowledge of living in a loveless world—both illogical and irresponsible of me. Carrie saw my recklessness and ran for her life, and even if she looked for the wrong things in men, she knew after a 10-year relationship the phony nature of love. She saw a man who never truly experienced love, who could only talk of it, and then created an excuse to leave him there. I couldn’t blame her.

I decided to embrace my single status by finding solace at a bar in Newport Beach called Sonoma's. I had to be up early on the weekdays, so I mainly went on Friday and Saturday nights when I wasn’t traveling for work. The bar was only fifteen minutes away from my apartment, and became my sanctuary to destress after a long workweek. Sonoma's boasted reasonably priced drinks and even had a live band. The crowd was mature, aged roughly between thirty and fifty years old, and I never felt like ‘that creepy old guy’ being there alone. If I still went to the same clubs I used to, I’d likely run into a kid I worked with at the daycare from a decade earlier. The women at Sonoma's were generally described as ‘cougars’, but I was pretty much a ‘manther’ and preferred them over the ‘twenty somethings’ who lacked life experiences. Also, the women usually approached me to start conversations and I appreciated that about them. After all I’ve experienced, I’d have to be pretty drunk to even dare initiating a conversation. If they were interested, they could come and talk to me. I refused to waste my breath on women who were just going to judge me for my height or the kind of car I drove anyway. At times my silence gave me the appearance of being ‘stuck up’, but I’ve been humbled too many times in my life by women to be labeled as such. I also couldn’t expect them to understand the disappointments I experienced or the insecurities I’ve grown attached to. They shouldn’t have to be subjected to my negativity, so why waste their time? I simply couldn’t afford another heartbreak at thirty-seven years old and with a career job. I could understand accumulating painful learning experiences in my twenties as part of my ‘coming of age’, and now years removed from them, I could even feel grateful. But much like a spiteful ghost, I couldn’t afford another lesson in love in my late thirties, I would be too haunted by it.

When he learned I went to bars and dance clubs, my father gave me a hard time. I never told him I frequented Sonoma's—I knew exactly what he would say.

“You’re never gonna meet anyone good at a bar.” He’d yell.

“How could you say that?” I’d argue. “I’m a good person and I’m at a bar—all I need to do is meet another me, right? Who said I was goin’ there to meet someone anyway?”

“You should just hang out at a pond then.”

“A pond?” I’d respond, with a lost look on my face.

“Yeah, there’s plenty of ducks there.” He’d yell, never presenting his views in a calm collected manner. “When you hang out with ducks, you start quackin’ like em’. There are better places to meet people.”

“It’s not the fifties anymore, Dad. You were lucky enough to meet Mom in the neighborhood you grew up in.” I’d defend. “It’s not easy out there anymore to meet people. Where’s a better place?”

“Church.” He’d tell me.

“Oh please. Church?” I’d shake my head at him. “Have you been talkin’ to Mom?”

“Church is a good place to meet a nice young lady.”

“I’m attracted to women who don’t restrict themselves from enjoyin’ life.” I’d say. “I wanna be with someone who likes to have fun.”

“Hey, look at your mother. She likes to have fun!” He’d say, raising his voice even higher.

“Yeah, right. Mom’s idea of havin’ fun on a Saturday night is cleanin’ the house.” I’d reply sarcastically. “Every time she vacuums, she burns up the rug.”

“That’s not true—there’s a lot you don’t know about your mother and me. We like to have a lot of fun. We just don’t get drunk and hang out at bars.”

“Whatever.”

My father’s criticism was coming from a good place and I couldn’t fully disagree. It wasn’t the ideal place to meet someone and fall in love, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t possible. I’d be a total fraud if I ever met someone from church—I had to actually believe in God to meet someone who believed in and loved God. My father was extremely old-fashioned, judgmental and basically removed from today’s world. He met my mother when he was in junior high and I had yet to meet anyone…Let alone way back in junior high school. The world changed and there were more options available to people than there were in the fifties when he met my mom. The internet opened up the entire world and now not only did I have competition from a guy down the block, but also from around the globe. After my meeting with Carrie, I never used an online dating service again to meet people. A potential partner could see what you looked like, know what you’ve accomplished and could also share common interests and goals, but you could never measure chemistry until you’ve met. It’s what ultimately brought two people together and Sonoma's provided me with my own chemistry set. Being there, I could gauge it right off the bat without wasting weeks sending meaningless emails back and forth getting to know someone.

Regardless of my depression, I never let my drinking get out of hand. Sure, I’d get drunk on occasion, but never craved it; only using it to be social. If I wasn’t good enough to drive, I’d walk home and pick my car up in the morning—or I’d wait a while to sober up before driving. I was the type of person who scooped up spiders and put them outside whenever I found them in my apartment. If I ever killed someone while driving home drunk, jumping off the Vincent Thomas Bridge would be a foregone conclusion—I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. Being only a few years away from making partner, I wasn’t going to jeopardize my future by drunk driving. I had money in the bank, no criminal record, and perfect credit with zero debt—life was wide open for the taking. I wasn’t Tony Montana but the world was mine if I stayed the course. If there was ever a time to dream, this was the time. After Denise ruptured my world, it forced me to reinvent myself. All I had to do was stop believing in love to attain a life I never dreamt possible.

The only void I felt was not having love, but I didn’t care anymore. All I had was a mere vision of what love was anyway and still lived without it my entire existence. It was a nice dream, but I needed to focus on what really existed and held value in the world…Money. Denise taught me I couldn’t take care of her and quite honestly, I could barely take care of myself at the time. Most importantly, she inspired me to capitalize on capitalism instead of hoping, wishing and dreaming love would find me. I learned love was no different than a game of Poker. It was about showing no interest in someone, even after intimacy and even if you do care for them, in order to gain the upper hand. To win a woman’s heart, bluffing was everything. I always wore my heart on my sleeve, but I lost Denise the very second I showed it to her. I could recall all the nights I stayed home wondering what she was doing, while knowing without uncertainty, she was in someone else’s arms—where she wanted to be. This ruthless thought inspired an imagination that bore down on me like an endless caning; a throbbing anguish that never let up to ensure I’d never forget how falling in love left me to feel. Every heart wrecking scene I imagined of her being happy with someone else only solidified the need to never allow myself to fall in love again—no one believed in love the way I did anyway. Losing Denise taught me how to navigate through a loveless world, and once I did, life accepted me with open arms.

Although I sought to shred the ‘nice guy’ persona, I never acted like a ‘jerk’ to any of the women I met at Sonoma's—choosing to be friendly but on guard. I could complain all I wanted about women who were “bitches”, but often times it took a jerk to make them that way and I didn’t want to contribute to that. Every weekend brought new people into my life—a celebration of being single. Although drunken make-out sessions happened from time to time, I never felt strongly enough to take a woman home for a night cap. Other than pure animal magnetism, and a few dance moves inspired by the band’s choice of music, I never established a connection with any woman to take it beyond the night. I was having too much fun being single and being available to meet others. Since I was a weekend regular, I didn’t want a reputation for sleeping around and then having women be upset with me—I wasn’t raised to be that way. Another weekend regular, a surly, dark-haired but balding male, Mitchell Black, loved to take jabs at me about it.

“So, what happened last weekend, dude?” He’d ask, stroking his goatee. “Did you tap it?”

I’d usually just shake my head at him since the bar got loud at times.

“What?” He’d shout in disbelief. “She was hot, bro!”

“I don’t wanna get close to anyone right now.”

“I wanna smack you.” He’d say, raising his right hand to my face.

The phrase “I wanna smack you” was uttered by Mitch on numerous occasions. He could never comprehend why I never took it past a make-out session. I never thought I was better than anyone, just more cautious. He also didn’t know about Sara, Karyn or Denise—he could never understand my refusal to be held captive by my own heart again. Even if he did know, I doubt it would’ve made a difference to him, he’d likely want to smack me more. Watching Mitch interact with the women at Sonoma's best captured his attitude towards them.

“Hey, ya got a light?” He’d ask a woman he wanted to talk to.

“No.”

“How bout’ a match?” He’d press.

“A match? No.” They’d respond, annoyed.

“Two sticks?”

After strike three was called, he’d just move on to the next one with the same exact line. I had to admit, hanging with Mitch made the night entertaining. A part of me admired how he scoffed in the face of constant rejection by never caring what they thought of him—leading with a conditioned mind rather than with his heart. If he was the kind of guy who led with his heart and got burned with it as many times as I had, he’d understand better why I never took a girl home. The only reason I went out to Sonoma's on the weekends was to feel a part of a group that I no longer felt a part of—the human race. He frequented Sonoma's to get laid, and as much as I abhorred his mind set, I also appreciated it—it gave women the inability to hurt him. In his mind, he had nothing to lose anyway—even his reputation. After becoming this fearful idealist, my mind could no longer afford to take the risks he did. Mitch was relentless with each woman he pursued, and on this night in particular, the second day of June 2007, he even topped himself.

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“Hey dude, do you remember that chick I hooked up with last month?” He randomly blurted out to me. “Alice?’

“You mean Alisha, right?” I corrected while remembering it was the only woman who I ever saw accommodate his behavior.

“Hold up…Alisha? Oh, yeah. That’s it…Alisha.” He reminded himself while I imagined a flickering light bulb above his head. “Shit…I hope I called her Alisha. Anyways, that bitch is here! I just made out with her, bro!”

“Congratulations.” Sarcastically responding while taking a sip from my glass of Pinot.

“Dude! There she is!” He announced while pointing to the back of a curvy blonde girl in blue jeans and a black shoulder less top about twenty feet away. “Watch this…I’ll show you, bro!”

“Uh, Mitch. That’s okay...Really. I believe…” Trailing off, unable to stop him from doing the unwanted from her perspective.

Feeling like an accomplice to a crime, I witnessed Mitch stealthily stalk her from behind. When he reached her, and as unnaturally as possible, he attached his hands to the back of her shoulders then forcefully spun her around until she faced him. A surging sense of guilt flowed through me as I did nothing to stop the impending mouth rape of Alisha, but like driving by a car wreck on the side of the road, I couldn’t restrain from looking. Grabbing the back of her head with both hands, he then rammed her lips into his. Since his head blocked my view, I was unable to see her pursed lips in complete defense mode. After he proved that he could kiss a member of the opposite sex, he strutted proudly back to where I stood, beaming.

“Did you see that, dude? Choppin’ wood! Chop…Pin’ wood!” Exclaiming and spitting in my face at the same time. “I told ya, dude. Alice digs me.”

“Clearly.” I replied, wiping the stray saliva off my face. “How drunk are you? That was about the creepiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“What? Creepy? Alice loved it!” He yelled wide-eyed, blowing kisses at a girl whose back was turned to him. “I’ve only had five kamikazes. Whatchu drinkin’?”

“Pinot.” I said, bringing my half full wine glass up to his face.

“Pinot? What’s that? A wine cooler?”

Mitchell Black’s persona at Sonoma's was a cross between “Fast Times at Ridgemont High’s” Mike Damone and Sun-Tzu. He used the phrase “choppin’ wood” to describe his strategy for hooking up with women. The philosophy being that if he didn’t hook up with a girl on the same night after getting to know each other, a chance to sleep with her still existed if he saw her again. Basically, the wood’s already been chopped so it’s just time to make a fire. I watched him lose many battles, more than most men, but at least he had the guts to lose them. I saw him win a few times too though, ones I never believed he even had a chance to compete let alone win. Although I didn’t agree with his objective, I couldn’t deny we were just a split platoon.

At five foot ten, Mitch stood a couple of inches taller than I did. He possessed a strong, character line free face for a forty-year old and carried a sturdy build with hints of muscle tone. He didn’t do too badly with women, but his behavior was so overbearing it usually turned them off. Half the time he spoke to them, the safety phrase “duck, cover and roll” took on a whole new meaning due to the flying saliva shooting from his mouth. I tried to never get him excited to keep my face dry, but when that didn’t happen, protecting my face from it was like trying to catch a fly with chopsticks.

Mitch worked as a disc jockey at an L.A. strip joint and since he was always around women who wore nothing, he didn’t particularly care much for wearing clothes himself. Not that I paid much attention to a man’s attire, but it was hard not to notice after a few months it never changed. He habitually sported a white collared shirt that advertised the strip club he worked at with the same black trouser shorts. To compliment this regular clothing, he also wore white tennis shoes with Velcro straps that made a pair of bowling shoes appear fashionable. He also never had to worry about matching socks—he never wore those. Just like the man himself, though, rain or shine, the shirt, shorts and shoes never changed. Yet here I stood, dressed in a black collared dress shirt, wrinkle free dark denim blue jeans with polished black dress shoes, and I could honestly say, Mitch was far less self-conscious talking to women than I was.

“Dude, did you drive the Marcedes here tonight?” He asked.

“Nope…Took a taxi.” I lied.

“I wanna smack you.” He slurred, his hand in position. “Are you serious?”

I nodded with false affirmation.

“Dammit, dude! Alice won’t want me now!” He boomed, his voice rivaling the sound of the live band.

“What is it about the car? You don’t need it.” I shot back.

“Chicks love the Marcedes, dude! When they see me in it, it’s easier to chop wood.” He explained. “They think I got somethin’ goin’ on.”

“Yeah, but that’s because you’re choppin’ wood on false pretenses by tellin’ them it’s your car.” I laughed. “Why pigeon hole yourself? They’re gonna eventually learn the truth anyway.”

“Doesn’t matter, man. All I need is for them to see me leavin’ in that car.” He rationalized, trying to keep his balance against the long wooden countertop next to us. “All I have to do is fool em’ for one night—Mitch is here for one night only.”

“I think they came here for the drink specials, not the one night special.” I joked.

“They getting’ a little somethin’ extra.” Slurring his way through his response. “I totally macked down on Alice. I slipped her the tongue too. You saw that, right?”

Like letting go of a helium filled balloon, the urge to continue the conversation was out of my hands. In a fifteen-minute span he went from “Fast Times at Ridgemont High’s” Mike Damone to “Sixteen Candles” Farmer Ted. It wouldn’t have surprised me if he asked all the men at the bar to follow him inside the restroom to show off the lipstick on his lips. My new Mercedes was a whole other obstacle with him. My Tacoma truck had a half cab so I needed something more practical to shuttle clients around in for lunch meetings—my failed meeting with Carrie having a little something to do with it too. Buying the car helped me to see something tangible for all the hours of work I’ve put in, and at the same time showing my commitment to the firm. Thanks to Mitch, though, I was also committed to buyer’s remorse.

“Hey…Buttwipe.” Mitch leaned into me.

“What?” I asked, naturally assuming he was referring to me.

“Quick. Put your hand on my back.” He instructed.

The very second my hand touched his shoulder blade, Mitch hurled himself into a cute petite red head who walked by.

“Ahhhhwhoaaaaa!!!!” Yelling then applying a bear hug on the horrified female patron. He then defended himself—by pointing at me. “Did you see that? This crazy bastard just pushed me right into you! I almost fell on the floor, but you saved me, baby!”

When her green eyes glared at me like she was holding a loaded pistol, I put my hands up and apologized for something I didn’t do. Just when I thought Mitch couldn’t embarrass me more, he seemed to always find a way to top himself. Whenever he pulled stunts like this, I feared every woman in the bar thought I condoned his antics, but I wanted to flee the scene as quick as they wanted to. If she only knew Mitch was the kind of guy who would throw himself at a girl, literally, I’d be able to escape her judgment. On this night, though, I was the mastermind behind the human catapult.

“Hey Honey, thanks for being there in my time of need. I nearly wrecked this handsome face of mine, ya know what I mean?” Slurring through his pickup line while giving her a cocky head bob. “How bout’ I dance with you as a show of my appreciation?”

“No thanks.” She fired back, shaking her head vigorously.

“Just so you know, I’ll be right here when you change your mind about that dance, babe.” Stumbling a bit as he leaned into the bar counter. “I know how you women think. Changing your mind is your prerogative!”

“Um, yeah. I wouldn’t count on that.” She clarified, then walking quickly away.

“Whatever, skank!” Hollered Mitch, drawing looks from the people near enough to hear him.

“Mitch,” I said sternly, pulling him away from her. “Chill out.”

“I was gonna show her a good time tonight.” He rambled, spitting as he tried to explain his intentions. “I threw myself at the bitch.”

“Oh really? This crazy bastard didn’t push you?” I said, pointing at myself.

“Yeah. Hey next time do me a favor.” He asked, hanging onto me for support.

“What’s that?”

“Don’t listen to me.”

“Easier done than said.” I assured, while wiping his stray saliva off my face and maintaining my distance from him.

“I think I’m gonna go see what Alice is up to.” He stammered, with an empty glass in his hand as he slowly wobbled away.

“Good luck with that. Say hi to Flo and Mel for me.”

“Wha…Who…Who’s that?” He quickly turned around then stumbled back towards me, his glazed eyes searching the bar. “Florence and Melody? Where are they?”

“Never mind.” I said, my dated joke about the characters of the sitcom “Alice” falling flat on drunken ears. “I was just kiddin’.”

“Don’t joke about that, dude.” Pointing at me with an unstable finger. Turning around, he then made his way through the bar, bumping into anyone in his path, to find a girl who likely left the bar after he kissed her.

Being a quaint high scale bar and restaurant, lighting at Sonoma's bordered between dim and bright. The main bar’s countertop stretched seventy feet in length and could easily accommodate forty guests. Behind the bar, glass shelving displayed all the different kinds of liquor they had in stock and beyond that same wall was the dining room area. The bar was only twenty feet from the entrance, and to the right of its entry was a small stage with a dance floor below it. The long cherrywood countertop bar was parallel to an area of a thousand square feet of pure mingle space that at times the dance floor spilled onto. There was a long thin wooden countertop equaling the length of the main bar that separated the people sitting at the bar from those in the mingle space. To the left of this socializing area, several booths lined a wall with large windows above so you could usually see who was waiting in line through them. There was also a mini bar in the corner and a small event room in the back near the restrooms, just across the end point of the main bar. The doors to the event room were always open, so you could walk through it to get to the restaurant or vice versa. When the place got too packed, I’d walk that way to avoid bumping into people. Live bands played rock and popular dance tunes every weekend. The lead guitarist played a wireless electric guitar and even walked outside to play his solos before coming back inside to finish the song. The place got loud at times but never to the point you couldn’t hear a conversation you were having. Since I’ve been hanging out at Sonoma's for about a year, the bartenders knew my drink—I never had to wait in line. After finding an open spot at the main bar, once the bartender spotted me, a full glass would soon be in my hands. I had to tip them a little extra but it was worth it. How could you not reward that kind of service? The waitresses were always friendly, even pointing out women they thought I should talk to, but I never did. The owner of the bar, Mickey, would always come by to see if I needed anything. I was far from royalty but the Sonoma's team always made me feel like nothing less—it was nice to feel special. I worked hard each week and reaching the weekend knowing I had Sonoma's to look forward to was like Christmas Eve for a six-year old.

This particular Saturday night at Sonoma's, including Mitch’s freak show, was not unlike the nights before it. I even changed things up, having a glass of Pinot Noir instead of my customary Crown and Seven-Up. Shocked by the order, my waitress asked me if something was wrong. It wasn’t until after I explained my need to cut down on sugar did she agree to write down the wine order on a napkin. Alone in the mingling area and away from Mitch, I placed my wine glass down on the countertop and quickly checked my cell phone. My ears then picked up a familiar guitar chord and when I realized the song was Pink Floyd’s “Wish You Were Here”, I raised my wine glass to the band in appreciation. Checking out the scene before me, there weren’t many people in the bar’s social area like usual—they were all out on the dance floor. A woman, who had her back turned to me and standing fifteen feet away, caught my eye. She had lovely straight yet wavy black hair that flowed down the middle of her back, but she was engaged in a conversation with a male patron. Sonoma's had its fair share of attractive women, but I looked more forward to going home early than meeting someone, especially on this night. I quickly turned my attention to one of the several high-def flat screen tv’s mounted around the bar to catch the sports highlights of the day. When a commercial came on, my eyes scanned the main bar on my right and then through the windows. I then followed the guitarist as he strummed his wireless guitar outside, walking by the people waiting in line to get in. After finishing my only glass of wine, I wanted to wait another twenty minutes before driving home. I had been at Sonoma's for a little more than an hour, surrounded by people engaging each other in conversation. The more I witnessed it, the more it hit me to know that love was such a miracle of life. It disgusted me to think I believed in love for as long as I did— a complete waste of my life. I had two college degrees and a CPA license, but it took me too long to learn what everyone else had known all along. My mother used to tell me I had no common sense, and she was right because believing in love took an astounding lack of it. Falling in love to only have your heart broken made no sense at all. I couldn’t put my faith in God yet I believed in love? I was a living breathing contradiction. Sonoma's taught me every weekend that it was so much simpler to just hook-up. Why bother with love at all? The more I observed the people around me, the more I wondered if they even had the capacity to love someone. And if they did, the importance of knowing what loving someone truly meant. Love never had a chance in this world. Every love story ever written had to be pure fiction—it couldn’t be anything else. Love was like volcanic lightning—a phenomenon. I experienced these kinds of flashbacks now and then, but this was the first time they hit me at Sonoma's. I guess it was nice to connect with love’s impossibility, so I didn’t feel so out of touch.

“Hi.”

Startled by the soft voice, I looked to my left to see if her greeting was meant for someone else.

“How are you?” She added, slipping me an uncertain glance due to my reaction.

“You’re talkin’ to me?” I timidly tried to verify, looking behind me one more time.

She nodded with a facial expression that seemed to question my sanity.

“Oh, hi. I’m good. How are you?” I recovered.

“Good.” She smirked. “What are you doin’ standin’ here by yourself?”

Not knowing how to respond, I quickly realized this was the girl with the long straight yet slightly wavy black hair I noticed minutes earlier.

“I’m actually here with a buddy of mine. He’s somewhere out on the dance floor.”

“I’m sorry if I surprised you,” she replied then turning and pointing to where she once stood. “I thought maybe you saw me since I was right in front of you.”

“No worries.” I responded, annoyed she implied I should’ve seen her while refusing to admit I did.

When she approached me, I looked forward to heading home early and didn’t want to talk to anyone to ensure that happened. My eyes met hers only out of courtesy but when they did, I got lost in them for a moment. Her eyes were like two black holes, their softness and depth pulled me inside them. I sensed a story within, like the history of the universe, yearning to reveal her personal antiquity through them. Unable to decipher what her eyes wanted to reveal, I quickly looked away from her face to save mine. When I brought them back to her, my mind went into auto defense mode—she was hands down one of the most attractive women I had ever seen. She possessed an exotic Asian appearance, standing about five foot two with a slightly curvy but athletic physique—one probably attained from both running and light weights. She wore a black shoulder less blouse that hung loosely over her dark blue jeans. Her mouth was small, surrounded by high but tight cheekbones, with teeth so white you could see them in the dark. Her hair hung just over her right eye, covering the right side of a small forehead then flowing down the left side of her soft face. My hand begged to push the bangs away from her right eye so I could get a good look at what haunted both of them, but her subtle use of eye liner made them look so beautiful that it would be wrong to do so. There was an exasperated look of sincerity on her face—a willingness to engage with me in some way, but my reaction made it difficult for her. With no way to deny her beauty, my heart was now on guard.

Other than an exchange of pleasantries, I shook myself loose from the physical attraction and made the decision not to ask anything about her. I wouldn’t allow my heart to skip a beat or make the slightest appearance on my sleeve. If she came over to talk to me, it was probably because she was as drunk as Mitch. If I believed in love at first sight, I’m dumber than I even thought I was—I had to shut her down. I would turn this conversation off—I simply wasn’t interested in anything she had to say. I couldn’t care for what lied behind her soulful eyes. A woman this beautiful had to be ugly on the inside and wasn’t worth my time. I’d just be resorting to old habits that already claimed half my life away from me. The very thought of wanting to be close to her scared the fuck out of me—no one knew what love meant anyway. There were plenty of other men here she could talk to. Other men she could reveal herself to, but this man was unavailable. I needed to get out of this conversation—I didn’t even know what to say. I just didn’t want to be rude about it. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a tall blonde woman standing at the back exit. I presumed it to be a friend of hers who was waiting patiently so they could leave together. I then looked at my watch to speed her exit up.

“Were you leaving?” I hopefully inquired, moving my eyes towards the back door. “Is that your friend waiting for you?”

“Oh, no.” Motioning with her hand for her friend to come towards us.

Among women, there always seemed to be that one friend who always got jealous when the girlfriend they came with was talking to another guy. It’s happened to me a few times—when the girl I’m talking to gets dragged away by a jealous friend. This was the first time I actually hoped it would happen. If not, I’d probably have to track down obnoxious Mitch to seal the deal.

“What’s your name?” She asked, extending her small hand to mine in anticipation.

I’ve never had a woman present her hand to me after asking my name before—I was usually the one who did that. It was such an unselfish gesture; I didn’t know how to react other than to oblige her.

“Landyn.” I said, meeting her soft hand within mine then quickly letting go.

“Landyn…This is my very good friend, Debbie.”

We exchanged pleasantries and greeted each other with a swift handshake as well, but with great relief. Since she never told me her name, it seemed the only reason she approached me was so she could introduce her friend. Her pleasantness now made a lot more sense and I started to feel bad for being standoffish. Debbie stood about six feet with a slight muscular tone. Her face was long but tight, and she wore a white top with dark blue jeans. Her short blonde wavy hair flirted with her bare sunburned shoulders yet never touched them. Debbie was attractive but she was too tall for my taste. Now, I had to figure my way out of having a conversation with Debbie. At least it seemed my night would end the way I wanted it to…early.

“And I’m Anya.” She announced, throwing my newly formed theory to the wayside.

“Anya.” I nodded, unwilling to admit it was nice meeting her.

I didn’t care to know her name let alone her friend’s name simply because I just no longer trusted the intentions of women anymore. I came to Sonoma's only to get out of the house before the start of a long work week. She seemed sweet and very attractive, but this couldn’t be who she really was. Like a dog who only knew abuse from humans, I was afraid to be touched. I was attracted to Denise and she was very sweet to me too. Anya was much more attractive, and that’s why I instinctively knew I couldn’t afford to feel anything for her. No woman has ever truly tried to connect with me before—I was seasoned to know better. If she learned how I believed love should be, she would certainly be turned off by it. I couldn’t be myself around women without escaping harsh judgment so why bother? I knew how things usually turned out for me and I refused to get close to anyone again. All my time had to be devoted to my work, not to anyone or anything else.

“What brings you girls out here tonight?” I asked to stymie the silence.

“Well, my boyfriend broke up with me today,” she said, looking at her friend. “And Debbie, being the good friend she is, got me out of the house tonight.”

I looked up at Debbie and smiled, hoping she decoded the “please save me” look on my face. She kindly returned my smile, her blue eyes shining noticeably under the bar’s lighting, but they suddenly increased in size and intensity.

“Great. Here he comes again.” Said Debbie, her eyes now inside her head.

“Who?” Anya asked, looking towards the dance floor behind her.

“That Creeper right there.” She clarified, pointing to someone on the dance floor. “He’s been askin’ me to dance all night. I’ve told him “no” at least five times already, but he keeps stalking me around.”

By her description, there could only be one person that fit the “Creeper” mold like a glove. When I turned around and saw Mitch making his way towards us, a sheepish grin on his face, this could be a first since I’ve known him—not being embarrassed by his antics but rather saved by them. I had to find a way to capitalize on Mitch’s creepiness.

“I hate to admit this but um…yeah, that’s my friend.” I stated with false pride. “Oh well, you’ll probably want to stay away from me now. He’s super wasted tonight and he can be overbearing. I’ll keep him occupied though and tell him to back off…So you can make your escape.”

“Thanks, I appreciate that.” Said Debbie, her fearful eyes fixated on Mitch as she placed her arm within Anya’s. “I have to run to the little girl’s room. Did you wanna come with me, Anya?”

When Debbie posed this question to her, I felt relieved. To know she had just broken up with her boyfriend only made it more urgent and necessary for her to go with Debbie—I just wanted to go home.

“I’m fine. I’ll be right here.” Anya responded, slipping her arm out from Debbie’s and standing closer to me.

Debbie nodded her head in obvious disappointment, and I felt the same concern for my safety, albeit for different reasons. I wanted to tell Anya…My friend is insane! Run for your life! Don’t you know birds of a feather creep together? Now, as her sweet scent made me miss having a woman in my life, I had no idea where to take the conversation from here after banking on her exit. Debbie would probably return in three to five minutes so whatever I said to her, I had to make sure my questions carried as much thoughtlessness as possible—I was on the clock.

“I see you like Corona.” Portraying myself as a simple-minded man who could only point out the obvious.

“Corona is okay, but over the years I’ve attained a palate for mostly fine wines though.”

I noted she had a palate not only for wine, but for fine wine—the choice word for pretentious snobs. Why would I even try to keep this up for another minute? To see how much of an elitist, she thinks she is?

“Do you prefer whites or reds?” I asked with my eyes on the people around me, counting down the seconds until Debbie’s reappearance.

“Well, I love red wines. Cabernets mostly.”

I had a hard time getting past the word “fine” after noticing the gold earrings shining loudly on each of her tiny ear lobes. It was easy to discern how much the sun adored her skin, and how well to do she appeared to be. It was even easier to surmise she didn’t work much if she had the time to keep a tan up on the weekdays. The golden jewels in her ears were clearly bought for her by someone—most likely the boyfriend who had no choice but to dump her—probably because he couldn’t afford her. Fine wine, golden earrings, impeccable skin, and flawless teeth all added up to things another man had helped to provide her with. Now that he was gone, she was only in mourning of all the conveniences she lost. Anya was your textbook gold-digger, and if I needed something to free myself from her allure, this was my moment of clarity. I didn’t care about any further awkward silences between us—whatever it took to get her to leave. If she still didn’t after Debbie returned, then my night at Sonoma's was over.

“Can I ask you a question?” She spoke, turning to face me.

“What?” I replied a bit rudely.

“What were you thinking about before I approached you?”

“What do you mean?” I asked, trying to keep my eyes away from hers.

“It seemed you were in deep thought.” Her black hole eyes gazing up into mine.

“I wasn’t in deep thought.” I laughed, getting sucked into her eyes again to better feign the sincerity in my response.

“You weren’t?” Delicately shaking her head without her eyes leaving mine

“Nah, I’m just tired…That’s all, really. It’s been a long week.”

“What kind of work do you do?”

“I’m an accountant.” I sighed, flashing back to when Denise asked me the same question but receiving a different answer.

“Are you a CPA?”

Before responding, I took a minute to assess what transpired after telling her I was an accountant, and it didn’t kill her interest. Instead, she had the wherewithal to ask me if I was a CPA. I never enjoyed telling anyone I was a CPA, not wanting to sound pompous. People often assumed all I did was taxes anyway. Whenever I broke the news, I didn’t do tax preparation work, a strange look usually followed—the kind that doubted I was a real CPA. What really worried me though was her first question—how did she know I was in deep thought? Then she sent me completely out of orbit with her follow-up question--why would she even care what I was thinking about? I mean, damnit…how was she able to see my soul?

“I am. I work for a CPA firm, but I don’t do tax work.”

“Do you have a business card on you? I’m looking for a new CPA.”

I never expected her, or anyone else I met at Sonoma's, to ask for a business card so I never brought them with me. I frequented the bar for pleasure, not to do business anyway. I didn’t like having anything in my pockets, usually leaving my wallet at home. All I ever brought with me was my driver’s license and a debit card or cash. I carried my car key and small cellphone around in my hand, leaving my house key in the car. This time, as fate would have it, I accidentally grabbed a business card. It was wedged between three twenty-dollar bills—noticing it when I paid for my first drink. I was always open to networking and upon learning I could land a possible new client for the firm, it now prevented me from calling it an early night for the moment.

“I do.” Picking it out of my pocket and then handing it to her. “I assume you’re looking for tax return prep services. We can definitely help you with that.”

“I thought you said you didn’t do tax work?”

“I’m sorry to confuse you…I just meant I don’t do tax returns personally…But my firm does.”

“Oh, I see…Actually, my company needs to be audited.” She answered, looking at my card. “We’ve been looking for a new auditor.”

“No kidding? Our firm has a great audit department. I run their audit engagements… Mostly on low budgets. So, I can tell you with confidence that our audit services will be very affordable.” I perked up, pointing at the number on the card. “That’s the firm’s toll-free number and my cell phone is right below it. It’s probably better if you contact me directly…If you’re interested of course. I can put you more quickly in touch with the right person.”

“Thank you sooo much.” She smiled, putting the card in her purse.

“My pleasure.”

Now that business was in the mix, I felt much more comfortable engaging in a conversation with her. I also couldn’t deny I felt a spark inside, but without any time to fan its flames, and only time enough to douse them. The mental scars from Denise always brought me right back to the harsh lesson I learned about falling in love. I had too much to lose now if I fell …or if I merely cared about someone again. Like an uncollectible debt, I had to write off love. It had nothing to do with Anya. I appreciated the way she approached me, and she seemed like a great person. The problem was I felt something and had come too far to ever risk losing myself again—I knew what a spark could do.

“Do you have experiences with breakups?” She asked. “I’m havin’ a hard time with it.”

Her question caught me completely off guard. Now that she was a potential client, I had to provide a shoulder for her.

“I have…They’ve never been easy for me either.” I consoled.

“It’s so hard to let go. We had a very passionate relationship.”

“How long were you guys together?” I inquired, fighting back any interest. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Five months,” she sighed. “but it felt much longer than that.”

When the length of her relationship mimicked mine with Denise, it didn’t ignite a fire within, but when she told me, it felt longer than that, I had to know more.

“Why did he break up with you?” I wondered, reaching into her soft dark eyes. “Did he give you a reason?”

“He said it was because I have two kids.” She softly replied, her eyes beginning to bounce like buoys in shallow water.

After revealing this, she awakened the empath who hibernated within. The way she held me in her eyes, her beauty shone upon me like moonlight upon the sea. Even if she had five kids, I would’ve never been strong enough to break up with her. Did she hide her kids from him in fear of losing his love? It’s the only reason that made any sense for him leaving her.

“Did he know you had kids or did you not tell him?”

“I told him the night we met.” She clarified.

“And five months into a loving relationship he tells you he has to leave because of your kids?”

“Mm-hmm.” She responded, her eyes never leaving mine.

Upon hearing this, I realized something about her—she was not the fine wine drinker who lived off the wealth of her boyfriend I believed her to be. How could anyone judge someone, they claimed to love, for situations they could never change? A condition that existed the first day they met? This was the kind of pain that’s nearly impossible to bounce back from. The kind that only sets you up for loneliness. I never wished for anyone to ever go through what I did, especially a woman who had her heart smashed for just being a mother.

“I’m so very sorry to hear that.” I consoled, holding back from saying anything bad about her ex.

“Thank you.”

“Well, at least you know now.” I sighed. “Some people don’t ever get that.”

“At least I know what now?” She shot. “That he left me because I have kids?”

“No.” I corrected, my eyes diving back into hers. “At least you know he didn’t truly love you.”

“Didn’t love me? We had a very passionate relationship.” She exclaimed, pushing back on my assessment. “He used to tell me “I love you” all the time.”

“That’s nice of him,” I sarcastically acknowledged. “but love has to be a verb before it can become a noun.”

With her tiny mouth slightly agape in disbelief, my eyes were sucked into hers like a star into a black hole. Her grief-stricken gaze never wavered as I waited patiently for whatever words she had left to say—her sudden exit likely imminent.

“What makes you think he didn’t love me?” She posed, her hands now squarely on her hips.

“It’s not obvious to you?” I responded, with the memory of my half a decade struggle wondering the same thing she did.

“Obvious? Not at all.” She whimpered slightly and abruptly extracting a mirror from her purse to casually check her make-up. “What makes you think he didn’t love me?”

I knew this feeling all too well. Little did she know she was asking advice from a broken man. A man who would’ve loved to know this information before it took five years away from him. We waste seconds every day as if they were nothing, but life was too short to be spent wondering what was true and what wasn’t. I wanted to be there for her because no one was there for me. The truth would hurt her, but ultimately set her free.

“It’s just that…” I trailed.

“It’s just that what?” She pressed, shaking her head.

“It’s just that you deserve more.” I stated. “You deserve more from someone who says he loves you.”

She then placed her small round make-up mirror back into her purse then brought her eyes back up into mine with sincere concern.

“Have you ever been in love?” She curiously inquired with a look of subtle warmth. “What do you know about it?”

When the redness in her eyes burned me, I began to regret my frankness. Pandora’s box was a mere ashtray compared to mine. Like a fisherman who was passionate about baiting his hook to catch a fish but everyday coming up empty—I was so sick of people losing their zest for life just because they fell in love. I was over Denise, but I wasn’t over the way she changed the way I saw the world. She vanquished my trust in people and my belief in love without a care in the world. I had to release Anya’s eyes from the asylum I created for them with my words.

“I have…Love is everything in this world.” I broke, seeing myself in her. “And it should always be based on mutual respect, good communication and trust.”

I expected her to say something. To fight me on what I just said, but silence prevailed as she appeared unable to speak.

“If he truly loved you, Anya” I continued, hoping my words wouldn’t hurt her. “he would’ve accepted the entire package—not just you, but your kids too. If I know one thing in life, I know that love doesn’t leave you for any reason, especially if you have kids.”

“Have you ever had your heart broken?” She asked. “Do you know what it’s like to feel rejected? Like you weren’t good enough?”

I nodded reluctantly before I spoke.

“I’ve been in love before.” I said without pulling my eyes away from hers. “So of course, I have.”

“How’d you deal with it?” She asked. “I’m desperate. It just hurts so much.”

“Please don’t look upon me as a template for recovery—it took me five years to get past my breakup.” I admitted shamefully, struggling to keep my eyes within hers while hoping I could help. “Losin’ her was tough but the loss of seein’ the world, the way I did before I met her, was harder on me. She left me jaded by how the world works.”

“Jaded by how the world works? How so?”

“How it seems people seek the wrong things in partners—how they fall in love then get married for all the wrong reasons.” I explained. “It’s not about love anymore, but more about what someone can get rather than what someone can give.”

Her face spoke of her immersion into all I had to say, but it rattled me enough to fear I was coming off as a bitter man more than a wise one.

“I apologize if I sound negative, but that’s what I’ve taken from my own personal experiences. It’s more my reality than it is anyone else’s.” I clarified then looking down at the floor suddenly unable to face her. “My advice to you would be this—to just look at your heartbreak as a rite of passage; something to be grateful for.”

“Grateful?” She grumbled, slowly shaking her head. “I don’t understand.”

“Be grateful because you’re now that much closer to finding the love you deserve than you were before you met him.”

I couldn’t tell if I had lost her or if she just witnessed the second coming of Christ. She would either walk away now or rip me a new one. Who tells anyone to be grateful for a broken heart and expects to be taken seriously? As crazy as it sounded now, gratefulness would come later for her. It was absurd to think she would be appreciative of the emotional pain her ex caused her anytime soon. I just wanted to offer her some hope. She was simply too beautiful to lose years over a heartache like I did. Before I could further clarify what I meant, she hit me with another question.

“What do you mean people marry for the wrong reasons?”

“Whether it’s for reasons of vanity, money or status, people marry based on what our society holds most dear these days.” I elaborated. “People don’t truly marry for love anymore. They only marry to have kids or because they feel pressure from others. They only get married because they’re afraid to end up alone or because it’s practical or convenient then call it “love” when it’s anything but. They completely neglect the main artery that brings blood into the heart of any relationship, let alone a marriage.”

“Main artery?”

“They discard their emotional needs for superficial ones.” I explained, her eyes still fixated on mine. “They fail to consider having common interests and bank on their physical attraction to last forever. Having mutual respect in a relationship has become a luxury, not a need. They sacrifice huge pieces of who they truly are and choose to fall in line with what others think they should be. From where I’m standing, it’s easy to see.”

“What is?” She asked, her body edging closer to mine.

I then looked away and shook my head, unable to meet her gaze.

“No one truly believes in love anymore.”

“Do you believe in love?” She inquired softly, her eyes finding their way back into mine.

“I used to,” now trying to disconnect myself from her. “but after my last relationship, I’ve learned if it exists…If it truly does exist…It’s meant for other people to have.”

In an attempt to pull myself away, I surveyed our surroundings and noticed most people were either out on the dance floor or perched at the main bar. We stood virtually all by ourselves, lost in a world of our own while I tried to fend off connecting on a level unprecedented.

“Isn’t a physical attraction just as important as having common interests?” She dug deeper, tugging downward on her jeans.

“I guess I’m just an idealist, or maybe my mind has undone reality?” I smiled. “Don’t get me wrong—I’m not trying to minimize the importance of having a physical attraction. Having those butterflies in your stomach every time you see the person you love is important too. I just feel through common interests and ideas, you can develop a shared mutual respect for one another. No matter how hard or boring things may get, at least you see eye to eye with each other on other things to get you through it. I think that’s the formula for a love and marriage that lasts forever.”

“A physical attraction is never enough?”

“If you want a love that lasts forever.” I explained, not knowing where this would take me. “You could be the most beautiful woman in the world, but how could a man ever see things through your eyes if he doesn’t understand who you really are? Those things that hold the most value to you?”

I thought she would cut me off, but instead gazed up at me in wonder like a shooting star. All I could do now was continue to satiate her interest.

“How long will a marriage last after physical appearances naturally fade away? If I can connect with her on the things that matter the most, her beauty is eternal. Anyone in this bar tonight can get laid, but I bet none of them knows what it means to love someone. It takes a real leap of faith to fall in love in today’s world. You have to be willing to die for it.”

“Is a physical attraction important to you?” She spoke, her eyes falling then rising back into mine.

“I’ll take an average lookin’ woman, one I share interests and ideas with, over a woman who everyone else sees as beautiful.” I said. “I have the courage enough to trust in what I know to be beautiful anyway—it’s in the eye of the beholder.”

She looked at me the same way a stray dog did to a stranger who fed them. Her simple request for a business card opened me up, exposing thoughts I had no idea I could communicate. They all resided in the truth for me, a painful one—like Fantine who went from believing in love to losing her teeth trying to keep a dream, that died for her, alive for her daughter, Cosette. For the first time, I felt a true connection with a woman, naturally gravitating to her like a planet to a star.

“Is it alright that I’m talking to you?” She asked, bringing me down to earth. “Am I ruining anything?”

“Ruining anything?” I questioned.

“Did you wanna talk to other women?”

“I’m not here to meet anyone.” I clarified.

“Good.” She smiled. “I’m having fun talking to you. I feel safe around you.”

She didn’t have Denise’s dimples, but her smile was prettier. Even the sound of her voice brought me pleasure. With every word she absorbed from me, I had never felt safer. So much so, I told her things I didn’t know I could.

“I like your shirt.” She complimented, placing her hand on my left bicep. “You look nice in black.”

“Thank you.” I replied, looking shyly away.

Without positive reinforcement in my life, it was hard for me to accept a compliment, but it held weight because it came from her. Denise never complimented me the night we first met—only commenting on how quiet I was. Even during our relationship, she never told me I dressed nice or that she liked a single thing about me. In fact, even Sara never really complimented me when we were together. I wanted to return the favor but was afraid to tell her how great she looked. I didn’t believe in playing games, but unfortunately everyone else did. My past grabbed my throat and threatened to cut me off from breathing the air she gave, and it wasn’t her fault at all. Regardless of my past’s stranglehold, I couldn’t deny this simple fact about Anya—I’ve met women I considered to be cute and even women I believed to be pretty, but this was the first time I ever met a woman who I found to be beautiful.

“I tend to wear my heart on my sleeve. Why play games? Either you like someone or you don’t, right?” Divulging her in response to my sudden silence. “I agree with you. People do marry for the wrong reasons. As far as love goes…I’m not sure what to believe anymore.”

“I’m sorry if I overstepped my bounds with all I’ve said. I just…” I paused; putting my hand gently upon her right arm. “I just know how you feel.”

“You didn’t overstep your bounds at all,” she smiled, capturing my eyes within hers. “I’ve just never heard those things from a guy before.”

“Please don’t let that get out. I have a reputation to uphold here.” I joked.

“Really?” She smiled sweetly, her eyes squinting.

“What that reputation is though, I don’t quite know.” I teased.

“I don’t know what to say.” Shaking her head, her eyes never straying from mine. “I didn’t think guys thought that way.”

“I guess I’m not your typical guy.” I said, taking my hand away from her arm in fear of judgment.

“Can I be honest with you?” She asked, her soft hand sliding gently down to my left forearm.

“Sure.”

“I was really hopin’ you would see me and say hello.” She confessed, her delicate hand feeling like it was meant to be there.

“Seriously?”

“Yes! Didn’t you see me standing there?” She smiled, hitting me softly on my arm.

I wanted to tell her the truth—I did see her standing there. I just didn’t want her to know why I couldn’t talk to her.

“I saw you there.” I confessed.

“You did not!”

“I did!”

“I don’t believe you!” Stomping her foot.

“I know this may sound strange, but I never approach women here. Please don’t take it personal.” I explained, bringing my hand to touch her left shoulder to show my sincerity.

“Why don’t you ever approach anyone?” She wondered without pulling away from my touch.

“I don’t wanna bother them. I’m sure after what I’ve just said about love, you probably wanna hightail it outta here and I wouldn’t blame you.” I said, hoping my explanation made sense to her. “I totally get how my views sound pretty irrational, but I don’t play games with people. I am who I am—I refuse to pretend.”

Anya examined me deeply, attempting to dive into my soul.

“I loved what you had to say, and I don’t wanna leave.” She stated.

Upon hearing these words, I felt a sudden ember inside me—one I’ve never felt before. Feeling the need to retreat, I had to gather my thoughts before speaking another word.

“Please pardon me for a minute. I have to use the restroom.” I said. “I’ll be right back.”

“Okay.” She nodded.

Meeting Anya felt comparable to seeing a ghost—it scared me but a relief to know there was life after death. How could her pain burn me too without the belief I’ve just experienced the connection of a lifetime? She represented a crossroad—do I respect my past by leaving her or do I pay its respects by trying to be her hero? Stars we couldn’t see were aligning for me to give her a chance by ripping to shreds my lethal fear of unrequited love. To take a monster leap of faith I never thought I’d be strong enough to take again. This had to be it; our meeting years in the making—the true reason my other relationships never worked out. We’re given only a few precious moments in life and mine was finally here. One made solely for me with a design so perfect it brought tears to my eyes. It just felt so good that I was right about love—that there was a reason I believed in its magic for all those years before Denise. If I let this moment pass me by, I’d simply miss out on my reason for being. I’d have to wait another thirty years for a moment like this—if it ever came again. There was no uncertainty about this, just a duty to believe in love one more time. There was no way this couldn’t be. There was no way two people could be so open talking about love without an interest to see if it was possible for them. I couldn’t wait to get back out there. I missed her scent. I missed her voice. I missed her touch. I missed her smile. I even missed the way she stomped her foot at me. I just missed her already…A woman I had just met.

Don’t we all have our moment eventually? When all the things that never made sense in our lives finally did? When the road less travelled suddenly took us on the right path? Was it possible I’ve just met someone who needed to believe in love as much as I did? How could our painful pasts and paths be explained otherwise? She was beautiful on the outside, but I believed an even greater beauty existed within her. I thought of many questions to ask, wanting to know more things about her so I could plan a great date for us. As I made my way to seize the moment, I held back the excitement in her revealing the beauty in what these things were. Our connection felt like an out of body experience, unworldly; the kind that hopes, wishes and dreams were made of.

Feeling like a part of the human race again, I was twenty feet away when I saw Mitch with his arms flailing about, engaging in an animated conversation with Anya. After exposing the foundation of all I believed in without judgment or shame, Mitch threatened to destroy what we just discovered. When I reached them, his voice only got louder.

“Show him!” He barked at her.

“I was goin’ to…” She whimpered barely enough to be heard.

“Hey, what are you doin’? Calm down.” I said to Mitch, pushing him away from her.

“Show my friend.” Mitch demanded. “Show him.”

As if it was all in slow motion, Anya raised her left hand upwards as if to wave good-bye. She then twitched her finger begrudgingly back and forth, particularly her ring finger—exposing one of the most stunningly lavish diamond wedding rings I had ever seen.