Haley, 31

Chapter 5 - Full Graphics included at The-BProject.com

There are times in life when you are presented with multiple choices and there’s really no upside or consequence to which you choose. Red shirt or blue shirt? Unless you’re planning on walking through hostile gang territories, or you get caught in a bull run, it’s safe to assume that at the end of the day the choice bears no significance. There are other times you must decide between different options and the impact, either positively or negatively, is known right away. Maybe I didn’t decide that she was the chosen one, but it was my decision to allow fate to choose my path and so far, it was a beautiful decision, and I owe fate a debt of gratitude. 

Haley, 31 is a short and slender blonde with eyes you can get lost in, and a smile that lit up the room the second she walked through the door. She hugged me when she was within arm’s reach, which is a good sign that she’s the physically affectionate type because that’s super important to me. Now we’re sitting at the bar, almost through our first drink and the conversation so far has been nothing short of scintillating. 

“So, where do you teach?” 

“Roger Williams in Providence,” I say, sure to make good eye contact, not that I have much choice in the matter. Her eyes are enticing, a real spectacle to behold. 

“Nice. When does school start back up?” 

“Tuesday.” I try not to complain on first dates, especially not as a teacher who hasn’t worked since June. I know it’s a bad look, and I doubt anyone outside of teaching could empathize.  

“Sorry,” she says with an adorable giggle. She gets it. That little light-hearted apology shows me a lot about her, that she understands how people should feel about work. Even if it’s work they love doing, it’s still work, and no one in their right mind ever really wants to go.  

“Thanks,” I chuckle. I suppose I can vent a single complaint, so long as I qualify it with something endearing. “It’s just tough going back after being away so long, but I do miss my students.” 

“I can imagine,” she sighs, a glowing smirk on her face. 

I doubt she can, so few can - but it’s nice to hear. I do miss my kids, and can honestly say there have been a handful of students over the years for whom I’d a take a bullet through heart without a second thought, just as I knew Mrs. Cad would have done for me, but what I love even more than those students is that for two and a half months, during the most beautiful time of the year, when everyone else is grinding their asses through ninety-seven degree days - I don’t set my alarm. I get up whenever I want, lounge about in air-conditioning, go to the beach, read and write or sit on my a*s staring at the TV all day. I do what I want, even if what I want to do is nothing because I don’t have to do anything. Then, I stay up late, until hours that between the months of September and June are ungodly and unfathomable… All that, and I still collect a paycheck.

I finish my drink and set down the empty glass just as she finishes hers. Haley and I look at each other and I’m lost in the sea of her eyes that almost looks blue-grey in this light.

“You want another one?” She asks, and the word definitely instantly comes to mind, but I don’t say it right away. I can tell from her tone, the look in her eyes, and the general complexion of the night that she’ll have another if I say I will �" but there may be a better move in the playbook, one that strategically positions me for my next set of moves, the first of which is getting to know her better. Sitting at the bar is loud and filled with distractions, and we are side by side now rather than across from each other like we’d be at a table. Being at a table would better allow me to show my interest level, which at this point is soaring �" and would also let me better gauge where her interest level sits �" and we can talk, and I wouldn’t have to strain or be so obvious in my attempt to stare into those gorgeous eyes. 

Time to make my move. “Do you want to move to a table and get a drink there?”  

Her smile widens, the words “of course” roll beautifully off her tongue and hearing it confirms my suspicion that this date is going swimmingly. 

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I’m back at the same booth where I sat earlier with Lucy, but facing the opposite direction, and I feel as though I have a whole new perspective on things. The same waiter takes our drink order, his eyes questioning what I’m up to, and I’m hoping he doesn’t mention anything about me being here a few hours ago with a different girl. My eyes, which earlier begged him to rescue me, are now silently urging him to keep his silence… but I see something in them that tells me this man can be trusted, as though he knows precisely what I’m up to, but that my secret is safe with him. 

I lean across the table, gaze into eyes that have transformed to sea green in this lighting.

“So, Haley. What do you do with yourself when you aren’t working?” 

She sighs, “Sometimes it feels like all I do is work. Like, I go to work all day, then go home and it’s like the work never ends. Between cleaning up, cooking, showering and getting myself ready to do it all again, there’s about fifteen minutes of peace and quiet. It’s like one endless cycle of work. Know what I mean?” 

“Sure do,” I sigh, nodding my head to let her know I know exactly what she means, but not wanting to call any attention to the fact that over the last two-and-a-half months I’ve nearly forgotten. The waiter drops off our drinks, maintaining our silent accord. 

I’m about to ask Haley something that I’ve asked my students. Every day, right as class starts, I give them a “do now” question. The questions are usually pretty basic. It can be something as simple as “Tell me what you did this weekend” or “What’s your favorite word, and why?” That’s one of my favorites.

They usually aren’t related to anything we’re doing in class but they serve two key purposes - first, to get their asses in their seats and working right when they walk in, and second, to get to know them better. They’ll share things in their writing that they wouldn’t in a million years consider saying out loud. After three years of teaching, the list of questions in my back pocket is massive, and I’ve learned that they work just as well with adults as they do with students. This one’s a bit more complex, but is one of my favorites.

“What if money was no object and you were set for life, what would you do with yourself?” I leave out my usual requirement of five complete, well-written and detailed sentences. Her eyes glisten in the light, appearing as the reflection of twinkling stars asea, as she drifts into deep pondering.

I smile the whole time I wait for her response. I’ve heard so many different answers to this question when I ask it on dates. Kenzie, 34 literally pulled a hand-written bucket list out from the bottom of this insanely deep bag of hers, then started rattling off about fifty things she’d do with all that extra time �" but to be completely honest I got lost after the first few because my mind was captivated by that bag. 

It had everything you could possibly imagine in it. Earlier in the night she asked me if I wanted a piece of gum and she pulled out about eight unopened packs, all different flavors. When we talked about high school, she just so happened to have a yearbook from the class of 2003 with her. 

At one point, and I don’t even remember how it came up, I mentioned being short on one set of AV cords in my apartment �" and she said “hold on a sec” and reached into that magical bottomless contraption and pulled the exact wires I needed. It was so wild. It was the craziest, sexiest coincidence �" and led to one of the casual sexual encounters of yore I wouldn’t feel shame or embarrassment in boasting over �" if not for the fact that she was an extreme hoarder. 

Our second “date”, which began at her house, turned into an impromptu “escape room” scenario, and I was trapped, surrounded by walls of old newspapers and magazines, and shelves of Beanie Babies. There were two dozen hammers, a treasure trove of old electronics, nine more of the same AV cord I needed, and countless power tools. There were three chainsaws in her living room.

Thankfully I made it out before she showed me her collection of old toenail clippings, or chest hair from all her exes - or paranoia set in and made me feel like I was reliving Texas Chainsaw Massacre. 

“Wow… This question is tough,” Haley adorably sighs. She cutely scrunches her face and her eyes morph into a deep sea blue as the lights dim and she ponders the riddle.

I drift back away, and remember Jackie, 28. Everything had been going perfectly up to the point that I asked her this question. She was smart, funny, attractive, successful �" but she completely broke down and it sent her bursting into tears just thinking about all the time she’d have to spend, and I quote, “…cold, alone, and miserable without having to go to work every day”. Depressing, huh? But a part of me understood where she was coming from because there’s been days being single that I would’ve said the exact same thing. Maybe it’s ridiculous, but sometimes the self-conjured fear of being alone for the rest of my life painfully real. 

Jackie wept inconsolably for about two straight hours at the restaurant before inviting herself back to my place. Then she got mad and vented to me for the next two about everything that had ever gone wrong in her life, then she spent the next two asking me questions and looking to me for wisdom like I was some life guru �" and because I’m a teacher to the core I, while I pretend not to like giving advice and lecturing, the truth is I f*****g love it, especially when I think someone’s truly listening, so I told her everything I thought. Then in the morning, after miraculously processing all stages of the grief cycle in the span of a night, she came to some great epiphany, had sex “thank you” filled sex with me, then decided she was going to forgive her husband for cheating on her… because now they were even. I didn’t see that coming. Still, both nights ended in sex…

No Karen! God d****t, it’s relevant to the story. Point being, I’m not expecting that tonight, and I’m not sure I want that with Haley because I really like her. Haley’s mouth opens and I stare into her striking eyes, and the feeling comes over me that whatever she’s about to say is going to be beautiful.  

“I don’t know,” she shrugs “I’d probably sleep in every day, go out to breakfast, and just… relax. I mean, I’d be productive and everything when I have to be, but it would be nice to not have to do anything if I didn’t want to. Know what I mean? What about you?” 

I’m speechless. I’ve asked that question at least a dozen times if not twice that much, and it’s the closest to a perfect response I’ve ever gotten in return. The teacher in me wants to give her a gold star and tell her she earned an A+ but the man in me wants to lean across the table, kiss her, and see if sparks fly �" but as tempting as the urge, I know it’s too early for that.

“The same,” I tell her, “I’d follow my passions. Reading, writing, art, and DIY projects, but I’d never “work” again.” I feel like a total nerd for using air quotes as soon as I do it, but it’s almost an involuntary spasm as a result of teaching. She doesn’t seem to notice. 

    “Amen to that,” she says, holding her drink out. Mine meets it with a clink. When we set our glasses back down, both are empty. I’m about to ask her if she wants to get another, but when our gaze meets, I see something in her face. Her eyes transform again into a blend of greens and blues, and seem to hone in like there’s no one and nothing else around but me. The glimmer in them appears a twinkling diamond. 

There are two quick bats of her eyelashes, a slight upturn on one side of her mouth �" a shy little smirk, maybe. A subtle, soft sigh tells me everything I need to know. I haven’t always been the best at spotting the signs, but there’s no doubt about this one. I suspect I could lean in, kiss her right now and I have little doubt she’d kiss back. Could this possibly be going any better? 

“You’re cuuuute,” she says. Yes, it can - and now I’m guessing a kiss wouldn’t be the extent of it. Don’t do it, the angel on my right shoulder whispers. It sounds uncannily like my mom. Kiss her, dumbass, the familiar voice of the demon, my father, on my right whispers.

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… we’re still here, a few sips into our third drink, and everything’s changed. Why, you ask, did I not make my move? 

It’s not the first time this situation has come up. If a date is going well, there’s something strange that happens to me sometimes. I don’t know why - maybe it’s the over-analytical side of myself rearing its ugly head, or that small part of me that I forget exists most of the time, that loathsome side that’s a glutton for punishment and self-sabotage �" but it happens from time to time when things seem to be going extraordinarily well. This voice comes to me. It’s unconscious and appears out of nowhere, but by the time I realize it’s talking to me, it’s too late to stop it because I’m already talking back. 

Here’s a recap of my inner monologue over the last fifteen minutes.: Wow, this is going so well. Too well. Stop. She’s amazing. Why is she still single then? I don’t know, maybe she just hasn’t met the right person. Why though? Is there something wrong with her? Not necessarily. I haven’t met the right person yet and there’s nothing wrong with me. Really? There’s nothing wrong with you? 

            Let me pause right there. This is the point at which I should have become aware of my spiraling descent in the black abyss.

See what happened there? It started off being all about her and her amazing qualities, then it turned around on me. I see that clearly now, but ten minutes ago, like so many times before I could do nothing to control my nosedive �" then things got a little… foggy. 

The fall continued and inevitably, I landed at the same momentary thought that I always do when I’m in this deep into the mucky trenches, one of regret. I told myself I never should have left Elaine in January, that maybe things weren’t perfect between us, but that if I stayed there’s a chance it would have gotten better �" and then I tried to remember all the good times we had, I searched and searched, scoured the annals of the almost seven year timeline we shared, and then I found them, the great times, the wonderful memories together, and I basked in reminiscence.

Then this urge came over me, the inner monologue returned and told me what I must do. You should call her. But I’m on a date. What if it’s too late? You’re right. What if I don’t call her right now and she finds someone in the next two hours? Exactly. What are you waiting for? 

I recognize the irrationality of this side of myself now �" but in the moment that’s where my head was. There was this sense of urgency that bordered on pathetic desperation. As I was about to excuse myself to the bathroom to call her (despite a recent declaration that I would never again set foot in a public restroom, but that’s another story for another time), I snapped out of the Elaine trance. 

It used to be so much harder back in the first few months after I left her. I used to go crashing headlong down, smashing into jagged rocks on my descent like I was Ambrosio from Mathew Lewis’s The Monk - crippling myself then struggling to claw my way out before the insects devoured me. I’ve almost called her so many times… 

But I haven’t and won’t, because I always remember how unhappy I was and how bad things had gotten at the end - how “the end” itself wasn’t just a single moment, but a period that lasted years in which we could barely stomach the other’s existence and we were just roommates going through the motions of being in a relationship. And I always think of the freedom and the liberation I finally felt weeks or so after I left her when I got my own apartment, started eating again, lost more weight, started writing again, got my s**t together, and overcame the fears that I’d made a grievous mistake. I remembered how being single is infinitely better than being in a bad relationship. 

There’s absolutely no doubt in my mind that’s true, and it’s that reality that I clung to like a rope as I rose up from the depths and silenced my harshest, fiercest, most loathsome critic �" myself. 

That’s what happened tonight - but by the time I was out of my pit, the momentum was lost and now we’ve fallen into these uncomfortable few minutes where neither of us really knows what to say to each other. 

“So…” I sigh. 

“So…” She mimics. 

Awkwardness lingers in the air between us, but I have another move, one of desperation. When all seems derailed, I have an ace up my sleeve. No, it’s not another “do now” question, which I’ll save for dates two and three. This is a guaranteed move to get this train running again. I reach into my pocket, ready to put Leia’s adorability to the test to get this date back on track. I pull out my phone, whose memory capacity is jammed with little more than Leia pictures. I’m about to take Haley on a journey through her first two months with me... 

“Want to see some pictures of my puppy?” I ask. 

She shakes her heads, makes a face like she’s just eaten a lemon then whispers, almost apologetically, “I don’t really like dogs.”

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I’m back home cuddling with Leia after a pitstop downstairs to guzzle down some wine and rehash the events of the night with Steven and Nelson - which has become a pretty constant routine anytime I find myself venturing in bizarre territory.

 I attempted to reenact Lola’s phone call, which led to an hour of giggling our way through an impromptu over-dramatic face-making competition, and trying to come up with explanations for the meltdown.

 When I told them what Haley said about dogs, Steven gasped so hard I thought he was going to faint. 

“What’s wrong with that b***h?” Nelson snapped, as he consoled Steven, “Was she dropped on her head as a child?” 

This response prompted an hour long, multiple bottle of wine, deviation into all the signs that can instantly tell you someone is evil - people who don’t like dogs, or music… people who don’t refill the toilet paper… people who don’t think Bill Murray is funny… just to name a few, and while I’ll likely wake up feeling like s**t in the morning, a ponderous nugget of advice came out of Steven’s mouth before the night was through. 

“Listen Pete... You’ll find someone. Just keep at it… and stop worrying so much about what they say about themselves. Everyone lies in their profiles. You’re reading into it too much. Just go with your heart,” he said, eyebrows raised as he glanced over at Nelson. “This one wrote that he loved to read. Tell me babe, what was the last book you read?” He didn’t wait for an answer, “Mmm hmm… but I don’t regret it. I followed my heart…” 

As they lovingly bantered back and forth, arguing over who lied about what in their profiles - I wondered if Steven was right. I find myself getting way too hyped up over little things I see in profiles that might not even be real. I don’t know if people lie intentionally, or if they simply embellish the truth a little to present themselves in their most positive light, but maybe I’m putting too much stock in what they say about themselves. Maybe I just need to follow my gut instinct. 

><><><

Staring down at Leia’s adorable face, I find myself wondering what she’d say about the whole situation. I’ve given up trying to make sense of Loreen or Linda’s dramatic reaction after the phone call earlier. And in Haley’s defense, she did explain that she has severe allergies to dog fur, and after double (more like quadruple) checking her profile, it was written right there, clear as day - so she may yet not be pure evil, but still, nothing could ever come of us. 

Turns out Alana wasn’t all I hyped her up to be either. She flooded me with about two hundred messages while I was out with Haley - the last one twenty-three minutes ago and promising death awaits me for ignoring her. Maybe twenty five is too young after all… 

“I wouldn’t give you up for anyone, or anything,” I whisper to Leia as I pet her belly. It’s almost midnight, and I’m wide awake. I could scroll through Match and look for some more new women and maybe line something up for tomorrow night, but for now I’d rather settle for puppy love.  

“Who could not love a beautiful face like yours?” I ask Leia.

“Thanks Leia,” I sigh. “Anything to add, Luke?”

I’m not quite sure why I decided he was Jamaican, but he does seem to swim a little more coolly when I put reggae on. He’s a big fan of Toots and the Maytals. He’s also a yellow, orange, and red betta fish, so I thought it made sense. 

Yeah… I know it’s weird, and maybe I have spent many hours online searching for common Australian and Jamaican slang - but I’ll bet you talk to your pets, too. 

“Come on Leia. Let’s get to bed.” 

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    Left swipe. Left swipe. Left swipe. Hello, Samantha. My finger hovers over the screen… She’s hot… but she’s twenty five… Hmm… Maybe I should flip a... never mind…