elle or nothing at all ...Part 2

I'm still carrying a torch for Elle but now as best friends she thinks I should troll internet chat rooms in search of a kindred spirit.

I want to tell her I've found my soul mate, but I've taken that tack before and look where it's gotten me.

I'm high, dry and nowhere

Friday night, Elle and I stay late at work. I suggest dinner at the bar, but she wistfully smiles. That boat has sailed, I suppose.

We part on the rainy corner outside the firm—she heading home to her lake view condo, I to my reno near the park.

On a whim, I bought a painted lady—a dignified old Victorian manse that had seen better days, but I liked it. In a way, it was like me. We both had a past. Not much of a future though, as far as I could see.

I was tired of scaffolding and perpetually discovering new caches of knob and tube wiring. It was exhausting. I confess—nights like these, I envied dead people.

On the way home, I stop by a liquor store and buy a bottle of Yellow Tail, and then, on to the supermarket for a t-bone, a russet potato and the fixings for a salad. Somewhat healthy, I console myself.

Once home, I squeeze past the scaffolding in the hall, run a minefield of power saw, drill and sander to make it to the kitchen. While the gas oven’s heating, I make coffee and get down the salad bowl—that’s when I realize I’ve forgotten to buy milk.

Coffee on— Milk gone. Such a sad life and fading.

Never liked Donovan—maybe, but then again, never much liked myself.

I pour a large glass of wine and soldier on. Famous for it. Why not? I’m a survivor—just forgot to live.

Later, I watch rain trails trill down the window and dream a little dream of Elle.

Now, my self-pity is even sickening me. I get angry. I go into the study, turn on the computer and go to the chat room Elle suggested. Almost immediately, I get a hit.

A girl named Ekeivn responds to me. I’m not thrilled by the name—especially the first three letters, but she seems friendly enough and we begin to talk. An hour later, we’re still on-line, pouring out our souls.

I feel she probably thinks I’m some frustrated husband posing as an eligible young guy—my wife doesn’t understand me, and all that rot.

She, on the other hand, seems really sweet and sincere. I’m not sure if I am, but it’s been so long since anybody flirted with me, let alone listened to me, and I’m letting this take me wherever it leads.

By 3 am, I feel I’ve known her all my life. I go to type a sentence, and she answers before I begin.

Finally, I jokingly tell her, forget the typing—just think the thoughts—it’s quicker. She laughs—tells me to go to bed and dream of her.

I do. I will never forget that dream. I think I've just met my soul.

© 2017, John J Geddes. All rights reserved

Photo: https://goo.gl/images/xi4IR4