Just a Start

This wasn’t much, but it was a start, I thought, a smile across my face. I didn’t need some epic love, a story worthy of making movies or writing novels. No, it wasn’t just that I didn’t need that epic tale. I didn’t want it. As a kid, I probably had fantasies about it, about being swept up off my feet, about becoming so obsessed and invested that love consumed me. But that was the ravings of a child. I grew up. And, in growing up, I found a valuable lesson: those epic stories, those all-consuming loves and hates and fears, they provide nothing but pain and sadness in the end. Now, I wanted a quiet story.

This story had all the makings of the perfect love story. Two people with secrets and private pains. A meeting, completely coincidental, on the street walking to work. An instant connection that no one acted on, yet. It was perfect. That was the exact reason why, when I walked into the office the first time I met Georgia, I didn’t do anything. I simply said, “Goodbye.” I couldn’t afford to be in another perfect story, even one that theoretically was happy. In those stories, something always went wrong, and at this point in my life, I couldn’t afford for much to go wrong. After the last journey I embarked on wholeheartedly, I was still trying to deal with the trauma, the emptiness that had taken root inside me. I’d just gotten my job back. I’d just gotten my life back. I wasn’t about to ruin that again by filling the hole in my heart with anything that might fit.

It happened again, two days later. I’d settled in more, but I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t about to risk it. She, too, seemed interested, but she, too, wasn’t ready. It was obvious. We chatted mindlessly about the weather, and our jobs, and anything to keep each other talking. We maneuvered around our pasts expertly, though since I was probably as obvious as she was, she could have figured out that something went terribly wrong in my recent history. I knew that she was still dealing with stuff compounding for a while. We were perfectly amiable, but little more. However, as we reached my office, I turned to her, and with a slight smile said, “Until next time.”

She smiled back at me, nervous about it. “See you soon,” she replied. And we both walked off in different directions, me into work, and her down the street towards her own office. It was clear to both of us that it took a lot to say even the slightest indication of interest. I focused on my work, and it worked. That, I knew, was a positive indication. Had it taken effort, had it been hard to quell the thoughts, it would have meant that she occupied that darkened hole in my heart as powerfully and riskily as its previous inhabitant. While he was there, I thought of nothing else, and ruined my life in the process. I smiled to myself, as this was a sign to me that perhaps there was a chance this connection wouldn’t consume me in the same way. That, indeed, was a good thing.

That led directly into today. Just as we did a week before, we once again ran into each other at the bus station. She smiled at me. “Took a while longer than last time,” she joked, “That’s not a great trendline.”

I smirked back at her. “I just needed some space after our deep, meaningful discussion last time.”

She laughed at that remark. “Of course. I presume you over analyzed exactly what my discussion of the it being hot outside meant?”

“That? No. I was too focused on the bit about retirement portfolios.”

She nodded along. “Ah, yes. That was a very deep topic.”

“Well, what’s your excuse?” I asked.

She smirked at me. “I was too busy thinking about your discussion of ISP tracing. Got me paranoid about being followed and everything,” she answered.

I shook my head and sighed. “For real, though? I’ve was working twenties the last couple days.”

“God, I’m sorry,” she said, “What’s the event?” The only reason to be working on twenties was to stock up hours for taking days off.

I bit my lip. How could I explain the anniversary without getting into all the messiness? Finally, I answered, “It’s complicated.”

She nodded. “I understand, man. Did you do anything fun while on the twenties?”

“Depends. Got into my boss’s emails, is that fun?” I had. It had been fun, I suppose. Nothing particularly interesting inside, just the affair that was an open secret in the office, and the reviews. I’d done it to check my review. My boss knew well what I would do, because in before my review started in the document, he left a message for me. It read, ‘Evan, I know you are reading this. I do not hold the last year against this one, but it did affect your first and second quarter significantly. Keep that in mind before you crash my computer. Also, don’t read anyone else’s information, please. -Paul Rodgers’. I hadn’t been planning on crashing his system, but it was nice to know exactly how much my boss, a circumvention prevention expert, respected my ability to break into places I wasn’t supposed to go. Thinking about it made me chuckle.

“Oh, so there was something fun, I see,” she said, noticing my chuckle.

I shrugged. “Something. Let’s just say my boss and I see eye to eye on one subject,” I said, still smiling after the chuckle.

She raised her eyebrows but didn’t ask any more questions. “I see,” she said, “Anything besides your violation of basic privacy?”

I furrowed my brow, miming intense thought. “Not really. What about you? What have you been doing whilst I was locked away in the office?”

She laughed. “Well,” she pondered, “Let’s see. I watched a lot of reality TV, does that count?” I raised my eyebrows, a mix of judgement and curiosity crossing my face. She shook her head. “God, you’re gullible,” she said with another chuckle, “Alright, I got drunk with friends. That was fun.”

I nodded along. “So, what horrid secrets did you spill?” I half-way joked.

It was her turn to raise her eyebrows at me judgmentally. “I’m far better at keeping my horrid secrets to myself than you think,” she said, then after a pause, added, “Though I may have mentioned you.”

“Only bad things, I hope,” I responded with a smirk.

Her head bobbed about, as though she were nodding and shaking her head at the same time. “Well, it wasn’t the nicest,” she said, “It was last night. I may have been slightly upset.”

Crap, I thought. “So, which of your friends should I avoid. I’d prefer not to be accosted by an angry mob.”

She waved her hand. “It’s nothing like that. I just might have told a story about a cute guy I met who agreed to see me soon, then disappeared off the face of the earth.”

I smirked as I looked over at her. “A cute guy?” I asked, emphasizing the cute part, “Careful, somebody might start getting ideas.”

She pushed me slightly. “I said acute, like the angle,” she shot back, “After all, you’re clearly not right in the head, and you don’t seem all that obtuse, normally.”

“Of course,” I said, “Though most people I know would disagree.”

She looked over at me, inquisitively. “Do most people you know know that you broke into your cybersecurity expert boss’s email on a whim?”

“No,” I replied, “Though to be fair, it wasn’t really on a whim. It was planned.”

She nodded. “I see. So, what deep dark secret were you looking for in your planned assault on your boss?” she asked.

I made a strange noise, a musical mix of a hmm and an uh. Then, I answered honestly, “Well, whether he was recommending a salary change or not.”

“And was he?” she asked. I figured it was curiosity about whether my skill was appreciated.

I sighed loudly. “Thank god, no,” I said, curious myself about how she would respond to that information.

“Thank god no?” she asked, surprised, “You didn’t want a raise?”

“Who said anything about a raise?” I retorted.

She furrowed her brow. “But I assumed with your skill and the question…” She trialed off.

I picked up where she left off, “You assumed I was up for a raise?” I laughed at the concept. “Clearly, you didn’t know me the beginning of the fiscal year. Or any of last year.”

“Oh?” she asked.

I nodded. “My mind has been, let’s call it elsewhere, recently,” I answered her honestly. Not with the complete truth, but close to it.

“Really?” she mused, “Well, I’d love to know where that is.” Then after a near instantaneous pause, she added, “But I’m guessing that’s complicated, too.”

“You’re almost as clever as you look, you know?” I replied, jokingly.

“Almost?” she mocked offense. Then, she thought about it a moment. “There really is no way to end a statement with ‘as you look’ that isn’t either condescending or an insult, is there?”

I thought about it, too, then said, “Nope. Either you’re insulting their appearance, or their mind, or both.”

She chuckled. “You’re the worst, you know?”

I smiled back. “Oh, I know.” We had gotten to my building. “Um, so,” I began.

“Yeah?” she asked. I could see in her eyes that she knew exactly what I was going to ask. She just wanted me to suffer through the asking process.

“I was wondering if maybe, well,” I began stumbling through the question.

“Hmm?” she interrupted me, “You really should speak up.”

“Oh, up yours,” I shot back, much louder and more confidently.

She nodded. “Exactly,” she said, “Just like that.”

I took a quick breath. Then, standing up straight, I asked, “I was wondering if you would, uh, like to meet up earlier tomorrow and grab coffee before work?” I managed to get the whole question out. I sighed with relief.

“Nope,” she said. She then paused to watch me flounder in the wind before she burst out laughing. “Nah, I don’t have work tomorrow. How about the day after?”

“I think you’re wrong. You’re definitely the worst,” I said, apropos of nothing.

She cocked her head to the side. “Is that I no?” she asked, jokingly.

“Depends,” I said, “Are you planning on stopping anytime soon?”

“Being the worst?” she asked, then not waiting on a response, stated unequivocally, “Not in this lifetime.”

“Good,” I said with a laugh, “In that case, see you in a couple. Six thirty?”

She nodded. “Six thirty sounds good,” she said, “See you then.”

I smiled as I walked backwards into my office. As I said, it wasn’t much. A brief conversation, some light flirtation, a coffee date, small, simple things. But it was certainly a good starting place. And, as I went to work, I was still able to actually work. I wasn’t slowed or lost in my own thoughts. It was everything I knew was right for me.

As it came time to punch out, I walked to my boss’s office. Knocking on the doorframe, I walked in. He was hard at work trying to patch up the hole in our system I’d used to access his email. Looking up, he said, “Evan. Everything alright?”

I nodded. “Yeah, I was just wondering. I know I was scheduled for a twenty tomorrow, but could I push that to the next day?”

He smirked at me. “What, you got a hot date or something?”

I smirked right back. “Something like that,” I replied.

He sighed, then nodded. “Yeah. This isn’t going to affect your work, right?”

I shrugged. “Doesn’t seem that way.”

He nodded. “Good enough for me. You’re still taking next week off, I presume?”

I sighed, nodding. “Yeah,” I said, “Some things don’t move around.”

“Alright,” he said, then added, “Just, be careful, okay? I don’t want you to relapse because of the visit, alright?”

I knew he was just looking out for himself, after writing that review, which was glowing considering how terrible I’d been the first two fiscal quarters this year, but it was still good to hear someone expressing some concern for me. Ideally, a combination of that and hope for a future with Georgia would be enough to pull me back from the brink. I, too, didn’t want to relapse. With a smile and a nod, I turned around and left the office. I needed to go back to my apartment and relax.

#firstperson #story #fiction #modernity #realisticfiction