Dry Spell

Swipe, swipe, swipe, her thumb moved right to left across the screen as if it had a mind of its own. No, no, no, none of these motherfuckers will do. With a grunt of frustration, she held her thumb down over the app icon: "Remove Tinder"? For the third time this week, she tapped "yes". Back to the drawing board.

Things weren't going great for Alice, she'd been single since the year before. After going through all the motions of feigning acceptance and even celebration of her own singleness, it was getting old. She was cold and lonely and couldn't wait to share her life with someone special. Except... where were they?

Since the inception of her sexuality, she'd always had someone. In middle school, best friends that she'd fool around with. High school, some poor bloke at work who would buy her cigarettes and beer and then fuck her in the car listening to The Postal Service. College, always someone. Even all throughout her twenties, boyfriend here boyfriend there.

But now, early thirties, in a global pandemic, with a three year old, crickets. Sure there'd always be someone sniffing around on Tinder or her Instagram page, but no one special. No one who could discuss the state of the world and her mind in one breath. Sure, so and so was NICE and KIND, but she needed more than that.

With a sigh, she rolled over in bed, grabbed her vibrator from the bedside table and turned out the light. "Guess it's just me and you again tonight."

The next morning, she was awakened early by her daughter's cries "mommy, mommy, I awake". A tear rolled down Alice's face as she considered the day. It was game time. Get out of bed, make the bed, potty, coax Día out of her jammies and into her clothes for school. A snack, a sippy cup full of water leaking onto the floor, a half eaten apple. Sneak out to start the car, feed the dog, out the door.

After dropping Día at school, Alice was feeling indulgent, as we so often do in moments of desperation. To the coffee shop for an oat milk latte. As she waited in line, she stared at the form in front of her. The back of his neck was covered in tattoos. He wore a tight black shirt that stretched thin across his body. She listened as he ordered: "Hi! Black tea with a splash of whole milk please." She fantasized him coming in her mouth.

After collecting her latte, she walked over to the table where he was furiously typing into his computer. He looked up, startled and curious. She felt suddenly at a loss for words: "Oh, hey. How's your tea?"

"Um, it's fine. Nothing special. How is your....?"

"Latte, with oat milk, because the high fat content steams nicely." With that comment she giggled loudly and then felt her face and neck flush.

"Ah, good to know." He glanced back at his computer, seeming slightly annoyed. "I'm kinda in the middle of something."

"Okay, well here's my card. Call me if you want to hang out. I'm Alice." She mustered all the confidence and gumption she could and held her hand out, holding a card toward him.

He took it: "thank you, I have a girlfriend. But, thank you."

With that, she turned and left. In the car, she pulled out a flask and tipped it up. Another single tear rolled down her face. The loneliness crept in like an old friend, uninvited but familiar. More tears followed. There's no relief to this feeling, only longing. She pulled out her phone and tapped on the app store icon. "Download Tinder?"