Unwelcoming Date with Fate

“Ding-Ding-Ding”, Rang the, repetitive, jingle of my alarm clock; that sung it’s consistently annoying tune. Tearing me, abruptly, back into consciousness, every morning. But not today, I’ve been awake for hours, staring at my ceiling, laying in a pool of the cold sweats I've accumulated over the night; inconclusively caused by either anxiety, or my body not knowing what to do with the half a bottle of NyQuil I downed. Today was the two year anniversary of when I lost him, and just so happens to be an unfortunate arrangement that the first date I’ve had since then, shares the day. Serendipity? Or perhaps a sign that maybe I’m not ready, a mental trial so vigorous, that the jury decides to convict Coincidence, the culprit that we use to convince ourselves that we’re over analyzing. Last week, when the man approached me, I felt almost hypnotized into saying yes, There was this weird conscious gravitational pull of captivity, that somewhat allured me into agreeing. In hindsight, he wasn't conventionally attractive. Though, at the time, that wasn’t even a factor I'd sacrifice a thought for.

I break my fixed stature, sitting on the edge of my bed, as I turn over to look at the clock; realizing now that seven hours have passed since what felt like a couple seconds ago, while looking at this clock. My whole day has been a blur, and the only two aspects that felt real are right now, and looking at this same clock seven hours prior. I look down at the only half-way decent dress that I own. Throwing it on, after my work clothes. “God… What am I doing?” I mutter to myself, as I begin to run through potential cancelation excuses in my head. I then hear a knock, I walk to my bedroom door and put my hand on the knob. I blink, followed by me beginning to open my front door, vaguely remembering the steps in between. The man waits there for me, saying something my brain doesn’t register, he ushers me out as I blankly close the car door that seamlessly followed reaching for my house's doorknob. I feel bad for the guy I’m now riding shotgun to, if he ever told me his name, I can’t say that I remember.

“You know Jimmy?’ His subtle Italian voice pulls me back to reality. I’m sure these were the first words he said to me since my front door. We've been seated already, under a gold chandelier with crystals hanging from the three levels that progresses in size. “I-I’m sorry? Jimmy?” I respond. “He runs the joint, neighborhood favorite, known this man my whole life.” He says. “Oh. no, I don’t know Jimmy.” I go on. “The point bein’ I’m somewhat of a string puller. I know Jimmy, I can get you any drink your little heart desires. I know Lorenzo off of 29th I can get you ANYthing your little heart desires, understand?” He responds with a smirk. I didn’t exactly understand, but this was the first time today that I was having a conversation that didn’t result in my eyes glazing over. Attempting to break the ice, I say, “Well, I’ve always been somewhat of a Merlot kind of gal myself.” He smirks again and goes on to say, “I’ll make you a deal, I’ll get you that merlot if you promise to never let me hear you say that again, hows that sound?” Taken aback slightly at that response I find myself reciprocating the repartee, “You’ve got yourself a deal.” I say. The man gestures over to the waiter “Aye! Ragazzo! Qui!” The waiter, appearing very young, meanders over holding a vase of water. The man continues, “Go get Jimmy!” The waiter hurry’s off to fetch the body synonymous with the name Jimmy. The man then looks over to me, “He's a good kid… good kid. Not sure of his name, but he’s going places.” I let out a chuckle, before Jimmy appeared. The man leans into Jimmy’s ear, and whispers something while gesturing over to me, they both turn their heads in unison towards me, as the man lets out a subtle wink. Jimmy scurries off and the man begins, “You know, I don’t take many women out, but when I saw you that day.” He exhales slightly out of his nose with a chuckling rhythm, “I knew I just had to have you.” My heart drops as the vibrations of the comment pierces my ear drums, and I feel my hands clam up with a freezing sensation in my fingertips. My posture shifts; now sitting up straight, with crossed arms the discomfort making itself very apparent. The awkward silence fills the open air with a thick cloud, I respond as a feeble attempt to cut it, “yeah…I uh…-” Jimmy then returns, holding a bottle of Merlot wine. The sight itself, accompanied by relief eases my discomfort. “I'm more partial to Disaronno myself, I must admit, but tonight is all for you.” The man says while Jimmy pours me a glass, and I immediately take a swig, holding it out again for him to top me off. I figure the quicker it hits me the quicker the awkwardness goes away. “Woah, take it easy there, alright? not a race.” He lightly smacks Jimmy and begins to laugh, Jimmy follows just a second after with a disingenuous seeming chuckle. The energy then comes to a halt as they both drop their smiles, compelling me to take another swig.

After a while, the man begins talking less, and I’m about halfway down the bottle, as he sips on his water, due to his “liver not being what it used to.” I begin to acquire a clammy sensation In my palms. The man begins, “So, Elaine, do you uh-.” I interrupt him, “It’s Evelyn.” He takes a second staring at me with a gaped open mouth, masquerading a toothy smile, snapping into his character, “Oh, you’re gonna have to excuse me, the name Elaine is of my mother. May god rest her soul.” His words trail off in my mind as I get distracted by the worsening nausea that developed in my stomach just a few seconds ago working it’s way up my throat. I attempt to respond, “I’m sorry I don’t think I- I got your-“ my vision then gets excessively bright as I stand up. The man frantically looks down at his watch which impulsively makes me gaze upon the clock on the wall behind him, the time 8:30 echoes in my head, as I fall to the ground.

I lie on the floor, while seeing projections of the lasting images of the man on the inside of my eye lids. My tongue then begins to move around in the seemingly endless confines of my mouth. My body feels as if it’s going up a rollercoaster, while an extremely loud whistle climbs in pitch. The blinding light breaks away at my eyelids more by the second, until I open my eyes with a jerk of my body, to find a white abyss now surrounding me. I notice a door a few feet in front of me, I open it before even having the time to think about the action; every decision feels like it’s being made for me. Not like before however, this time it felt safe, comforting. Every little intricacy that went into my existence felt as if it was driven by fate itself. I walk through the isolated frame of the door, stumbling into a carnival. I’ve never been to a carnival, though the image was accompanied with this sense of nostalgia, every single detail I was witnessing felt as if it was played a thousand times over. The joy I was witnessing felt distantly familiar, whilst I progressed to a gleeful run. Taking in all of the sounds, the music, the chatter, the rain, the footsteps, the thunder, that’s now engulfing my brain, all the sounds devolving into an anxiety inducing whirlwind, until all I can hear is the repetitive crash of the thunder that began to morph into a psychotic banging. The image of the carnival fades deeper and deeper into the darkness as I run holding my head in my arms. I then smack into another door, stopping me in my tracks, I examine the door. I feel every decision made being done self-consciously, the sense of fate guiding my movements was gone as I was left with full responsibility over everything I did. while placing my hand slowly on the knob of the door I open it. Greeted by the image of a forgotten element that frequently kept me up at night. The dark orange evening lighting cascading in the bedroom attic, dampened by the blackout curtains, the dusty walls with old, tattered, Nirvana posters; and finally, the star of the show, the love of my life hanging from the wooden support beam. I hear a shockingly shrill scream, as I bear witness to my body rushing over to his lifeless corpse. The detached image of myself grabs on to his pendulous body, initiating a loud cracking sound followed by the body drooping ever so slightly lower. I watch, as my past counterpart scurries around the room in a panic, devoid of the slightest hint of what to do, before settling on crying beneath him, wrapped up in a ball. I walk over to my predecessor, taking her place by sitting in the spot underneath him. I look up at the drooling carcass, “why, why did you do it?” I say. The corpse maintains the lifeless look in his eye as his mouth abruptly claims, “if I told you, would it rewrite the scripts of our belonging? Would supplying an answer alter anything other than your entitled need for justification.” Served with a calm inflection. “I just miss you is all.” I respond. The corpse retorts, “I’m not him. And he’s not me, I’m just a byproduct of your subconscious’ universal energy being shuffled into a perceptible existence. But you have to go back now, you’ve existed too long in this extension, and your space is needed elsewhere.” I’m then greeted with another door, I stand up and brace myself for the door, going through it into the bright, blinding, light.

My vision then adjusts, finding myself on the floor of the restaurant, barely hearing the voice of the man “Jimmy you moron, you gave her the wrong stuff, does she look unconscious to you!?” I look at the clock, 8:45, I get the sense that I should be leaving, so I stand to find the restaurant had been cleared out of all the remaining occupants. I again hear from the kitchen, “she’s out there, havin’ a seizure or something! God, what did you give her?!” I make my way over to the exit, attempting to be as fast as possible while maintaining a sense of inconspicuousness. Suddenly the inertia of my body shifts, as I’m greeted with the man, he goes on to say, “I truly am sorry, I was hoping you didn’t have to be awake for this'' I slap the man as hard as I can, making his neck twist in response; he quickly snaps his head into place. His face, snarling with anger, resembling a french bulldog. He grabs a fist full of my hair before I hear a blaringly sharp noise as my face is coated in warm liquid. I feel the man fall as I’m greeting with the sight of Jimmy standing not even ten feet away holding a gun with tears streaming down his face. He says, “you’re the third one this week…” I stand there, petrified as Jimmy breaks down into tears; I then slowly walk out of the establishment and down the street with blood dripping from my chin.

Gonna call it good on the dating game for a while.