Grand Romantic Delusions Chapter 23: The Stalker

     "I think that guy over there is watching us ... I think." Lewis nodded towards a table in the back corner of the deli where they'd met for lunch.

     "No, don't look." Nita grabbed Mary's arm before she turned. She and Lewis sat next to one another across from Mary. "If he is watching us, don't let him know we know."

     "So, it's not just me being delusional?"

     "No, Honey, I don't think it is."

     "Great," replied Mary. "Now you're both making me paranoid. Can you at least describe him, for me?"

     "I'll do you one better," said Nita. "Here, let me take a picture of you with your salad. I'll be sure and get him in the background." Mary snapped the photo with her phone, then handed it to Mary. "Though, I'm not sure it'll do much good."

     The man in the photo was wearing a black wool cap and over-sized sunglasses. He was also holding a magazine, which obscured most of his features. A few stray tufts of blond hair poked out from beneath the cap, but there was little else to identify him. His clothes were baggy—a plain, dark grey sweatshirt and blue jeans. He had a cup of coffee on the table in front of him, and some kind of sandwich, which it looked like he'd barely touched.

Grand Romantic Delusions Chapter 22: The Morning

     O'Keefe awoke to the sound of his phone issuing a text alert. He looked around the unfamiliar surroundings, confused, until the memories of the previous night began to assemble themselves in his pounding head. That'll go away, he thought. Just need to find some aspirin and some protein. That had been quite a night. He was surprised how it turned out. He hadn't intended to sleep with Svetlana, but he had no regrets. He'd really grown fond of her, and well, maybe that was just the emotional release he'd needed. She hadn't seemed to mind, either. The part of him that worried he may have taken advantage of her drunken state was quieted by the recollection that she had somehow appeared to be quite a bit more sober and in control than he had been. Russians! Guess their notoriety for putting away the vodka is well-earned.

     His phone beeped at him again, so he picked it up, and tapped his code on the screen. It was a text from Gary which read:

               found her!

               Mary Dagfridchen

               Hillard  ph 555-2336

               u want address?

     Oh no! Mary! What had he done? How could he say he loved her after he'd slept with another woman? He would have to make amends. The first thing to do was to get the hell out of this hotel room. Where was Svetlana, anyway?

     He stood quickly, scrambling around for the clothing he'd so hastily and eagerly shed the night before. He heard the sound of water running from behind the bathroom door. Must be showering. What should he do? Should he just leave? That was just too classless. He would have to face her, tell her last night had been a mistake. It was the right thing to do—the only thing to do. He hoped she hadn't fallen for him too hard. This was going to be awkward enough without that.

Grand Romantic Delusions Chapter 21: The Dreams

     The cab arrived, and they piled into the back seat together. Having planned for the possibility that she'd have to seduce O'Keefe, Katie had prepared a room at a rent-by-the-week motel that was about halfway between his house and her downtown base of operations. This was the address she gave the driver.

     During the ride, she leaned into Seth, head resting on his chest, listening to the rhythmic sounds of his heart and his breathing. She wondered about him. He really was unlike anyone she'd ever met before. He was confident and cheerful one moment, then worried and paranoid the next. He could be flirtatious, and he clearly liked her—no, he clearly liked Svetlana—but, he declined to act on his feelings beyond a certain point. She supposed he must be like her—living a double life. He must be. But how could he be so good at it? How had she not broken through his façade? She revised the balance of her mental calculations: he wasn't quite the fool he had initially appeared to be. So was that all an act? Could he be playing her the way she'd planned to play him? Was he really that good?

Grand Romantic Delusions Chapter 19: The Date (pt. 2)

Part II

     "OK," said Seth, leaning across the table. "I told you where I work."

     "Yes," replied Katie. "You work in this secret laboratory. But this is not so unusual. You said to me that you only clean the place, yes?"

     "Yeah, I only clean up, but I still see things, you know?"

     "What kind of things are you seeing?"

     "Things I … I'm not sure I understand them. But, there are weird things going on there all the time."

     "But if this work is for government, do they not already know of strange goings-on?"

     "Yeah, but maybe they worry about how much I know, and whether I'll tell the wrong person."

     "Did you talk to wrong person, you think?" Now she was finally getting somewhere—this is what Hanlon had hired her to do.

     "No," he replied. "I don't really talk much about work—at least not with people outside of work."

     "Then if government watches you, and knows you have done nothing wrong, you have no reason to fear, yes?"

     "I guess it depends …"

     "Have no others asked you about this work? Friends or family?"

     "I don't have any family to speak of—and few friends."

     "Besides," Katie said, "you are only worrying without proof. American government does not do such things like Russian—"

     "Wait!" Seth interrupted her. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small electronic device. "This is my proof."

     "What is this thing?" Katie recognized it immediately as a data snooper. She reached out a tentative finger, as if she wanted to touch it but was afraid.

     "It's a snooper," said Seth. "It tracks electronic data signals that go through a particular device."

Grand Romantic Delusions Chapter 18: The Date

Part I

     There is a certain class of dining establishment that is ubiquitous across the American landscape. These are the "mid-range" restaurant chains that sprouted up across the nation in the 1980s and 90s in order to serve the tastes of the aspiring yet faltering middle classes who had neither the time nor money to spend on higher quality fare, but wanted an option they felt was better than fast food and more "upscale" than the local mom-and-pop eateries that had supported the entertainment economy for so many decades. These chains not only drove many local restauranteurs out of business, but pulled the overall national food quality levels into line somewhere between mediocre and bland.

    After Katie and Seth exchanged a few text messages, arrangements were made and he had naturally chosen one of these godawful chain restaurants: that tribute to the lowest common denominator in American Cuisine known as Crabbapple's. Oh, and look! The walls were covered with re-creations of trinkets and signage from the Great Depression through the 1960s. Quelle suprise! Never mind the fact that O'Keefe had probably been exposed to all sorts of interesting cuisine from all over the world—no, he just had to choose the blandest among America's many bland dining offerings. The worst of it was that even though it had been many years since she'd been to the Columbus area, Katie knew it was full to the brim with high-quality dining options. Oh well—at least they have a bar.

          Katie walked into the abominable excuse for a restaurant, ignoring the hostess and going straight for the bar. She had chosen to wear a bright blue cocktail dress with a mid-thigh hemline and a deep-cut front. She hoped that with the combination of strong drink and a bit of flirtation she'd succeed in keeping O'Keefe distracted enough to talk freely.

Grand Romantic Delusions Chapter 12: The Call

     "Why you think I would know of such things?" Katie asked, after several pregnant seconds of pause.

     "Well," Seth replied, "because you're from Russia. Isn't the government pretty much always surveilling everyone there?"

     "Is not always way things seem in American media."

     "How do you mean?"

     "You are thinking of Soviet Union," she said. "And not even under communists was it as bad as Americans always think. Or so my parents tell me. I was born in Soviet Union, but grew up with glasnost and under Gorbachev and Yeltsin."

     "But what about Putin? I hear he's a control freak."

     "Putin cares for power," Katie responded. " He does not concern about peasant goings-on and the like." They sat for a moment, sipping their coffees, before Katie asked. "Why do you ask this?"

     "Oh, no reason."

     "I think you have reason, but do not wish to be sharing." She pouted.

     "Oh, all right," Seth said. "I suppose I can tell you." He paused and looked around the café as though he were expecting someone to be listening in on them. He nodded to where Nita was sitting and whispered, "I think she might be listening to us."

     Katie turned to look. Nita was busy looking busy. "I do no think she has been paying us any mind."

     "Someone has been watching me. It's the government, I think."

Grand Romantic Delusions Chapter 10: The Contact

     The late-September sun shone through a break in the trees, nearly blinding Katie as she sat in her car watching a group of young men playing disc golf. They were laughing and drinking beer, which was, she was fairly certain, illegal in the park—the beer, that is, not the laughing. Or the disc golf—though watching the way these men behaved gave her the idea that maybe it should be. Or perhaps that was just the effect the beer was having on them that made the whole lot seem so intolerable.

     A black convertible roadster wound its way slowly down the gravel drive. She flashed her lights just as it crossed her line of sight. The car pulled up next to hers, facing the other way and the driver rolled down the window.

     Katie rolled her own window down and, without looking at the man in the other car, sent a text to the number she's been given by Gavrilo. It read, "That you, Fritz?" She could hear a tone go off from the other car.

     The man sent her back a message reading simply, "Miss Cavell." Katie turned in her seat to face him.

     "Thanks for meeting me here, DuQuesne," she began. "I believe you have something for me from Gavrilo."

     "Yes, Miss Cavell," the man replied. He was a man of very dark complexion and slight build with a close-cropped hair-cut. He was dressed in a dark coat, black shirt and hot pink tie. He turned to Katie and regarded her through his reflective cop shades. "And I believe you have something for us, as well."

Grand Romantic Delusions Chapter 09: The Roommate

     "Why can't I come along?" Lewis was using his anxious voice. The one which usually got him his way where Nita was concerned. 

     "Because," Nita replied, "I really need time to focus." She wasn't having any of his guilt-trip tactics this time.

     Nita's was the kind of room that left one with a feeling that just another couple of feet in one dimension or another would make it work. It wasn't cramped, exactly, but it wasn't quite big enough, either—especially for two people to share. There was a queen-sized bed, a tall dresser, a bookshelf and a very old desk and chair. None of this furniture matched. The state-of-the-art flat-screen TV on top of the dresser certainly looked out of place, as did the pychedellic paint job and the posters featuring bands from the 1960s and '70s.

     "I can be quiet. I'll just sit," he said. "And be quiet."

     "No, you won't." Nita had had far too much experience with Lewis to believe him. "I know you'll mean to, Honey, but I don't think you're actually capable." She could tell he was about to get into one of his down moods. She really couldn't afford to babysit him tonight, though—she had far too much work to do.

     "But—"

     "Listen, Lewis," she interjected, before he could really get going. "This is really important to me. Besides which, I want you to do me a special favor." 

     "Wait." Lewis was a bit surprised by this development. "What sort of favor?"

Grand Romantic Delusions Chapter 06: The Venture

     Seth pulled the beat-up Camaro into the driveway of his small house. It was a side-split, only about 1,200 square feet, with siding painted in the most eye-watering shade of green imaginable. He drove over the half a dozen or so issues of bagged community newspapers that lay in the driveway as he parked.

     Grabbing the book he ran up the front steps and unlocked his deep red front door. He figured the people who had owned the house before him must have been huge fans of Christmas, or something.

     After grabbing a beer from the fridge, he plopped himself and the book down on the couch. He needed something to take his mind off Mary and how he was going to find her. He often found that the best way to solve a problem was to take a break from thinking about it. He was very Zen like that.

     He turned on the TV and grabbed a game remote. This guy Gary at work had been telling him about a new game called "Venture" or something like that. It was one of those downloadable console games you could get for, like, ten bucks. It was supposed to be a sort of "art" game you just had to experience to understand, he'd said. Of course Gary was quite the stoner, so his opinions were hit-and-miss. Still, Seth had plenty of points in his account, so he thought he'd give it a shot. After logging in and starting the download he stood up, downed the rest of his beer and headed back to the kitchen, book in hand. He dropped the book on the counter next to the fridge, grabbed another beer and went back to the living room. 

     Something felt … odd. He pushed the front curtain aside with one finger and peeked through the small gap he'd made. There were a couple of kids playing in the yard across the street, and one guy a couple doors down washing his car. He could hear the sounds of a lawnmower and those of a couple of dogs barking … pretty much just a typical Saturday afternoon on Cortona Road.

     He sat back down. The download was finished so he started up the game. He was greeted with a title screen which included a shadowy character floating about and making ghostly chimp-like noises while soft piano and synthesized flute music played over the sound of wind and crickets. Yeah, this looked like something Stoner Gary would get into.

     Seth was completely unprepared for what happened next. After hitting the start button, he found he had control of one of the ghostly shadow characters and he was floating through some standing stones on a hilltop in the middle of a foggy moor. It was dark, with only the barest sliver of a moon, but in the distance there was a faint light, so he moved his avatar in that direction. Quiet music rose and fell as he glided across the landscape towards the source of the light. It seemed to be coming from the base of a tall tower at the top of another hill. 

     On his way there, he started playing with the controls to see what functions they had. One button made him leap into the air. Another made him glide more quickly. A third caused his character to vocalize—making chimp-like noises. He found that if he tapped this button he got a simple ook-like sound, but that if he held hit down the sound became more of a squeal. If he held it long enough the noise was like that of a chimp screeching after having had a banana taken away or something. How could any of that possibly be useful? The fourth button didn't appear to do much other than make him squat down and raise his hands up. Weird.

     Seth shrugged and held down his sprint button. His character floated at double speed towards the tower in the distance. He downed rest of the second beer and went to pause the game so he could get another. It wouldn't pause. Weird … so apparently you have to play this game in real time? He quickly went to the kitchen and grabbed two more beers (the remainder of his six-pack), as well as the bottle of Jameson's and a glass tumbler from the top of the fridge for good measure.

     When he returned, he noticed that the faint light that had been at the base of the tower was now a little brighter … and a little closer. In fact, it appeared to be moving towards him. Suddenly he remembered a key point that Gary had mentioned about the game.

     "It's multi-player—online only. But you can't actually talk to the other players. You can only communicate through noises and gestures," Gary had said. "And you can't pick your partners. It just randomly teams you up with someone else who's playing the game."

     So, that light coming towards him must be another player's avatar! Cool, he thought. I can get into this. After taking a swig out of the third beer bottle, Seth set about moving towards the other player. As they neared one another, he could see another ghostly figure, similar to his, but white and glowing rather than dark and shadowy. When they came together, the two characters did a little dance around one another. 

     Seth tapped his vocalize button a couple of times. Ook! Ook! The other player did likewise. OK, well we can sort of communicate, Seth thought. But what do we do now?

     The white character willowed back and forth a couple of times then ooked at him three times and turned away, back towards he ruins of the tower from which she'd come. (Something about the way the white figure moved made Seth think of a woman, though he knew there was no way to know who was on the other end.) He followed.

     Suddenly it became a race. They each moved towards the tower as fast as they could. Seth realized that he could only sprint for so long before his character slowed down, and that it took some time before he could sprint again. However, as there was no "energy bar" or other indicator on the screen, you just sort of had to get a feel for when you could sprint again. So the two of them traded leads until they were almost there, when suddenly the white figure pulled ahead and touched the tower first. She must have been conserving her energy, thought Seth. Of course, this person had probably played the game before.

     The white figure began spinning around and jumping, ook-ooking the whole while. What did she want? He imitated her, spinning his avatar around, alternately tapping the vocalize and jump buttons. Sure, the dancing around and chattering senselessly at one another was kind of fun, but what was the point of this game?

     Suddenly the other character began bumping into him—sort of pushing him forward, guiding him around the tower. Once they were at the other side, Seth noticed that the tower had a large open doorway and inside there were alternating stones sticking out from the walls like a spiral staircase, but with big gaps between the individual steps, and the bottom step far higher than their characters could jump. This must be what she wants me to see!

     Seth finished the third beer and popped open the fourth and last bottle. He had a big gulp then turned his attention back to the game. OK , he thought, it's a puzzle. We have to find a way to the top of the tower, I guess.

     The white character began spinning again, then jumping. The more she spun, the higher she seemed to jump. She appeared to be trying to reach the bottom stair, but couldn't quite manage it. He tried the old Mario double-jump, but that didn't work at all in this game.

     Then the white character jumped on top of him and squatted. She held the position for a moment then sprung up into the air … but only slightly. This clearly wasn't going to help them reach the stairs, either.

     After landing in front of him, the white character squatted again and made an ook sound. Seth imitated her. She gave him two ook sounds this time. Then she squatted again and held the position. He pressed his squat button and held it. She ooked twice then jumped up. He did likewise. She stopped in front of him and ooked once, then stepped away and squatted again.

     Seth wasn't sure what she wanted at this point. He stepped towards her and squatted. She ooked twice … and he released the squat. She gave him one ook and stood still. Suddenly it dawned on him She wanted him to hold the squatting position!

     Seth squatted again and remained. The white figure ooked twice then began her spinning jump until she was on top of him again. She ooked. He sat there in his squatting position, unsure of what to do next. She ooked twice. He still didn't get it. Then she started shrieking. He remained in position, holding the squat button for a good thirty seconds or so … her shrieking rose in frequency and intensity. Finally, she jumped back down in front of him and shrieked some more. He stood up.

     She alternated between bouncing and squatting and shrieking, over and over again. Then she jumped on top of him once more. After several minutes of this, Seth finally got it. He squatted, she jumped on top of him, and he released the squat button and flung her into the air, high enough to reach the bottom stair … but in the wrong direction. So the squat button was really a throw button, apparently.

     Seth finished the fourth and final beer then grabbed the whisky bottle and poured himself a double-shot into the glass tumbler. He took a couple of sips. Nothing like trying to solve a co-op puzzle game while drunk, he thought.

     He moved towards the bottom stair, facing it, and ooked at the white figure. By this time he was sure it was a woman on the other end. He tried to imagine what she was like. She was probably patient. One had to be patient to play a game like this—especially with such limited communication. With patience came kindness, of course. He tried to imagine a pair of kind and gentle eyes. He thought they would be a light brown color, like Mary's—when you could see them through the glare of her glasses, that is.

     Seth squatted and let the white character jump on top of him again. This time he threw her accurately and she climbed onto the bottom stair. She hopped to the next step, then the next, but fell off the one after that, so he squatted and threw her again. 

     Wouldn't it be hilarious if it was Mary on the other end of the game, he thought. He knew fate was bringing them together, but wouldn't it be something if after trying to find her through the library, he ended up playing with her online? He finished his whisky, the cool warmth flowing down his throat and hitting him in the chest. He poured another.

     He watched as the white figure leapt from step to step until she made it all the way to the top of the tower. OK … what now? How was he supposed to get to the top? She disappeared through a trap door and then he heard a "click" and suddenly the walls of the tower began to rotate in sections, each section moving opposite from the way the section above and below it moved. The whole tower was like a big clockwork. As the sections rotated, more stairs popped out of the walls and then it stopped. Now he could climb right up to the top and join his companion without the need for jumping. 

     Once he reached the top and climbed through the trapdoor he stood next to the white figure and looked out towards the horizon. The tower was quite tall and they could see a fair distance away as a result. It was a beautiful, haunting kind of game world—especially with the soft New-Agey music and the wind and frogs sound effects. It felt like they were really outside in some mysterious and alien world. The sliver of moon lit the rolling hills and moorland about them just enough that he could make out the contours of the surrounding countryside without seeing any of the details.

     His partner began ooking again and spinning around. She stood on a pale circle of light on the roof of the tower. He stood next to her and ooked back. She moved to the other side of the tower and he followed her again., then she screeched at him.

     He wasn't sure what a screech meant. Was he supposed to follow her, or was he doing something wrong? She stood on another circle on the other side of the tower. He went and stood next to her again. She circled around him and pushed him into the circle and ooked at him twice. He squatted. Am I supposed to throw her somewhere?

     She crossed the roof again and he followed. She shrieked and he went back to the circle and squatted. Ook ook! She went and stood in the opposite circle while he remained. Suddenly the entire roof of the tower lifted off and floated away, carrying them with it. So that's the trick, Seth realized.

     Suddenly he knew it was her. That's right … it had to be. The universe was bringing them together, one way or another, and what better way than through the incredible shared experience of this otherworldly game?

     Oh Mary, he thought. If only I could find you in OUR world!

     They went on like this for hours. They explored the world, finding new landscapes, new puzzles and collecting various kinds of gemstones. Seth guessed that was the real point of the game: collecting the gems. Each time they found one, they were treated to swelling music and a new vista. They searched the moors and then a desert and then a barren snowscape. One doorway apparently led them to the moon—everything was grey and lifeless and starkly beautiful.

     Every step of the way they worked together as if sharing one consciousness. They would arrive at the new location and she would guide him through each puzzle —patiently, lovingly. Seth had never experienced anything quite like this.

     With each new discovery he was more convinced that it was Mary with whom he was playing. Who else could it be? Who else could he just click with on such a deep level, without even needing language to communicate? He knew instinctively that it was his soulmate on the other end of the network. And with this knowledge he was more confident than ever that he would manage to find her. He just had to be as patient as she was with him in the game.

     At the end they were in a jungle, exploring the ruins of some sort of step-pyramid. By this time Seth was so drunk he could barely sit up straight and hold the controller, but he was not giving up. He needed some water. He ooked at his companion a couple of times and jumped up—too fast. He fell forward before ever really getting to his feet. He was suddenly very glad he didn't own a coffee table.

     Seth stood and staggered into the kitchen. He grabbed the water jug out of the refrigerator and brought it back to the couch in the now-dark living room. He managed to pour himself a tumbler-full of water without spilling more than a couple of cups worth on himself  or his couch.

     He downed the entire glass of water in a couple of lusty gulps and poured another. God damn, I'm thirsty. He picked up the controller again and noticed that Mary was jumping up and down again, ooking at him like mad.

     He moved towards her and ooked back twice. She led him up the pyramid to a little room at the top. Again, they each had to press a button on either side, but this time instead of floating away, the entire pyramid inverted, collapsing in on itself—the top sinking below the level of the bottom—and they were suddenly in a chamber deep under ground.

     Everywhere was dark. They had only the soft glow of white light issuing forth from Mary's avatar to see by. She led him away from the little room into the deep dark chamber. In the distance there were colorful lights and he could see more ghostly figures like theirs—some dark, some light—dancing in a great circle. It was like a homecoming!

     There was a loud bang from somewhere behind Seth, which scared the living shit out of him. He jumped up, controller in hand, and pulled the console off its shelf. The TV screen went to blue. Disconnected!

     Heart racing, he quickly checked the wires in the back of the console, but realized he could barely see anything. The clock on the cable box said it was 11:30. Fuck! How long have we been playing? He jumped up to hit the lamp and almost knocked it over before he managed to get the light on. Goddamn neighbors! There was always someone in this neighborhood setting off firecrackers or target shooting or something.

     He checked his console now in the harsh glare of the lamplight. The cables were all connected, both to the console and the back of the television. He hit the power button on the console and it blinked on, then off. It wouldn't stay on, no matter how many times he pushed it.

     Seth howled with rage. He'd have to get this fixed. Shit! Probably cheaper to buy a new one. At any rate, he knew he was done for now. He'd get the damn thing looked at tomorrow.

     One thing he knew for sure: he would have to find Mary. He wanted to talk to her about the game. He wanted to finish playing it with her. He wanted to stare deeply into her eyes over a cup of coffee and talk about all the feelings they'd shared tonight. He wondered if she knew it was him she'd been playing with. Tomorrow, he told himself. I will find her tomorrow.

     Somewhere south of Phoenix, Arizona, in an adobe-style ranch house sat a heavy-set, unshaven man in his mid-forties. He wore an ill-fitting black tank, cut-off denim shorts and a trucker hat which read "Horny Old Bastard" —and he was not wearing it ironically. He scratched his ass as he stared at his TV screen, controller in one hand, can of Bud Light in the other. He began screaming at no one in particular.

     "That stupid sunovabitch! Took me for freakin' ever to finally drag his dumb ass to the end of this game, and then he fuckin' quits on me?"

Grand Romantic Delusions Chapter 04: The Breakdown

     It's a terrible thing, the public eye. 

     Once you have its attention, your life is no longer your own. It scrutinizes you with its x-ray vision, digging into your past, affecting your future, poring over your very soul—and invariably, it finds you wanting.

     The mainstream media or MSM* is always looking for a narrative to catch the interest of the reader, viewer or (more likely these days) the half-listener. And if your life doesn't live up to those expectations, you're a disappointment to society. So what were we supposed to do? After all that happened to us; after the rescue efforts and the TV coverage, we didn't really have a choice. I think we both knew it wasn't the best decision, but at the end of the day, we knew we had to get married.

     I don't know ... does anyone ever feel like things are all right? I used to imagine that other people did. Now I'm not so sure. Maybe I'm not so different from other people. After all, in our own minds, well ... as the old expression goes, we're all the protagonists in our own life stories ... or something like that. (My memory's not what it used to be, and I'm too lazy to look it up.)

     I guess that makes my story a tragic comedy, because the protagonist is a hapless fool.  In order to really explain what happened, I guess I should introduce myself first:

     My name's Celia Wright, and I was a loser.

     Now, if when you first hear the word "loser" you immediately think of someone who's failed out of school, lives with her mother, and never helped anyone or did anything worthwhile, you're on the wrong track. I guess I'm what you'd call a "successful loser" in that I graduated college with honors, excelled in my field, made decent money, got married to a nice and attractive guy, had a really great kid—all the things that are supposed to mean success in our society. But it wasn't enough. Or rather, it wasn't right.

     Lewis and I met in College. I was in graduate school—earning my Ph.D. in Education, while he was still working on his undergraduate degree with an eye towards an MBA at Haas.

     The details of our meeting aren't important, nor are they remarkable. We met at a party, both of us a little tipsy on cheap White Zinfandel (everybody was drinking that crap at the time), and just got to talking the way people do when they find themselves together in social situations. He walked me home and promised to call me the next day, which he did. Next thing I knew, we were a couple.

     We'd been dating a few months, when we decided to move in together. I'm not sure whose decision that really was. It just seemed like the thing to do at the time, since he was spending most nights at my place anyway. And then, a year or so after that, I think we were both starting to get a little tired of each other. It wasn't anyone's fault or anything, but you know how relationships just sometimes get stale? It was like that.  If things had continued on, we would probably have gone our separate ways before too much longer. 

     But that was before the Big Earthquake.

     Lewis and I were in the mall when it hit. As anyone who's spent any time in California knows, no matter how many times you experience it, it's still a gut-wrenching feeling when the ground starts to shake. We immediately ran for the exit, but got separated in the rushing crowd.

     Most buildings in California are built to withstand some pretty major quakes, so it came as a surprise when one section of the mall actually collapsed. Apparently there was a small problem that somehow slipped past the building inspectors. I managed to get outside, but couldn't find Lewis anywhere.

     If you lived anywhere near the Bay Area in 1994, you might even remember me. My fifteen minutes lasted just under two days, and were spent agonizing over Lewis and talking to community papers and local TV news:

     Do you think he could be alive and trapped in there? 

     Have you given up hope? 

     The community is praying for you! 

     If you could talk to him now, what would you say? 

     For two days they searched the rubble—and I must have been interviewed twenty times in that same span. The big story was all about the "young couple who were torn apart too soon." People held vigils. Vigils! They sent me flowers and gifts. Donations came in. The whole thing grew out of anyone's control.

     Then, when the emergency workers found Lewis it was quite the spectacle. Once they got him on a stretcher and pulled him out—before he'd even had more than a sip of water—some reporter was in his face with a microphone and a camera, and television lights. She told him how the whole community had been waiting with me, and how everyone was so happy for us, and then asked him what his plans were for the future and how glad he was to see me.

     So the big dummy just up and asked me to marry him right then and there. He could barely speak, but there he was on live TV proposing. So what was I supposed to say? No?

     We were married in February the next year. And in the end, it turned out to be almost as big a disaster as the construction on that mall.

     Now, Lewis wasn't a bad person, per se. Nor was he inattentive—if anything, he was too clingy. At first, the renewed attention was kind of nice. I'd had a few bad relationships before him—you know the kind: the guy's all about you when nothing else is going on, but as soon as some of his buddies want to come over to play video games, or go out and do "guy" things, he acts like your very existence is somehow more inconvenience than he can handle. Yet, as soon as you want to have some time with your friends, he's asking, Why would you want to go out without me? Don't you love me? Are you seeing someone else?

     My first hint of trouble with Lewis, though, came during the planning for our wedding. Most guys just want to know where to get their tux and when and where to show up and say, "I do." They leave the bulk of the planning up to the bride—and/or her mother—or so I've been told. Not Lewis, though; he insisted on being involved in every aspect. The biggest problem was that even though he wanted to help make decisions, he could never make up his mind! He very nearly drove my poor mother into an asylum. Ultimately, I got my own way in just about everything. I think he mostly just wanted to feel like he was part of it.

     The first couple of years were actually rather nice. We had each finished our respective studies and started careers. We had a daughter, Isabella, the November of our second year married. The third year was a bit difficult—we were first-time parents, after all—but we struggled through it. Things were a bit easier the next two years; Lewis was always a caring, loving man. He made a good father, too, and he really doted on Izzy.

     My career took off. I was on a team which published a very important and acclaimed academic study on early childhood learning disorders. We moved north when I was hired at the University of Washington as a research professor.  Lewis got a job in Marketing at a local publisher—nothing terribly exciting, but he brought home about as much money as I did. We bought a nice, older house in Lynnwood and worked to fix the place up. We lived quite well, in terms of physical comforts.

     It was after we'd been married about five or six years that things started to change. I don't know if it was a case of Is this all there is? setting in, or if it was simply a realization that we didn't really quite fit together, or what—but we started doing more and more things apart. We spent more time at our jobs or hanging out with our respective work friends. I know Lewis didn't really enjoy his job. He also started drinking noticeably more. 

     Lewis had always displayed a tendency to over-think everything he did, but it started getting worse. It got so he spent a half hour every morning just lying in bed and agonizing over whether he even wanted to get up and go to the office. He always did go, of course, but by the time he'd make up his mind, he was always running late.

     Then, one Saturday morning when Lewis was sleeping in, I went to check on Izzy. She would have been about five or six years old at this point. I listened to her play-acting with some of her toys. Her teddy bear, Mr. Snoofles, was having an argument with Stinky the Skunk over what they wanted to do that day. The dialogue that Izzy came up with really shook me up. Stinky was berating Mr. Snoofles for changing his opinions to match whatever the skunk wanted. I knew right then that our relationship in general, and Lewis's neuroses in particular, were having a negative effect on Izzy's development.

     I talked to Lewis about it, but the whole thing just seemed to make him worse. It was like he suddenly worried that every minor decision he made was going to hurt his daughter, too. He couldn't handle it. Within a couple of months he would suffer a mental break-down … but, more on that in a moment.

     Lewis started disappearing for days at a time. He just needed, Time away to get my head straight, or so he said. I never thought he was cheating on me, or anything like that. Hell, that would have been easier to handle! He said he liked the freedom of the open road. I think he mostly just liked the idea of making simple decisions like which way to turn at an intersection. It wasn't until later that I found out he was heading far into the Eastern countryside—into places with long stretches of road where intersections were rare.

     Then one day I received a phone call from the police. Lewis had stopped the car right in the middle of the intersection of 45th and Eleventh—one of the busier intersections in town—and wouldn't budge. Every time an officer approached the vehicle, he started screaming nonsense about how "What's done can't be undone," and how did they expect him to decide where to go, when any direction could cause a breakdown in his life stream, or some such nonsense. He'd also blow on the horn and shout threats on occasion. He had something in his hand, and they weren't sure if it was a gun or some other sort of weapon. (Lewis was driving my X3 that day, so it had my plates and my U-Dub parking permit, so they contacted me quickly.)

     By the time I arrived, the police were routing traffic around the area, but it was a mess. Lewis was sitting in the car—the ignition was off and the windows were down, and he was crying. As I approached him, I saw that he had a calculator in his hand, as well as a small notepad and a thick black Sharpie.

     And, of course, there were the news cameras, and they wanted their story.

     "Lewis," I said. "Honey? Is everything all right?"

     "Probably not," came the response, in between sobs. "It's hard to know, though." He fumbled at a couple of the buttons on the calculator with a finger. I remember noticing then, for the first time, that his fingers were kind of short and stubby for a grown man.

     He continued; "It's assigning meanings to the values that's so hard."

     "OK, well, maybe I could help you with that. Would you like that?" He looked up at me, confused.

     "You could do that?" He didn't seem to notice anything of the chaos around him.

     "Of course, honey," I replied. "You know, we could just go to the coffee shop over there, and—"

     "No!" He interrupted me. "Don't want to go to any shops … too many possibilities … options … menus."

     "All right, then. How about we just go home? I'll order a pizza and we'll sit down together and … and assign meanings?"

     "Yeah, that would be nice."

     "Great — that's all settled, then. Why don't you just scoot over, there, and let me drive?" 

     Not that the Seattle PD had any intention of letting us just drive away, obviously. Not after what he'd pulled.

     The minute I had him distracted and he'd held his hands up into view long enough for them to see it wasn't a weapon in his hand, an officer had eased up to the passenger side of the car. As soon as Lewis unlocked the car and began to scoot over she pulled the door open and hit him with the taser. Two more officers ran up to assist her, and a third came up behind me and pulled me away. Clearly Lewis wan't a threat to anyone, but they were all very frustrated, and weren't about to take any chances.

     Once we were all on our feet again, the news crews rushed the scene, yelling out questions. I just repeated "No comment" until I found myself in the back of a squad car. I could hear Lewis trying to answer their questions, though, and even asking some of his own. He was pushed into another car and we were driven downtown.

     After hours of questioning, they finally let me call Gina—Izzy's sitter—and explain to her what had been going on. Of course, she'd already seen the whole thing on the evening news.

     Once it was all over, and we were released, I got Lewis in to see a really good therapist, but he resisted. Even when he did go—and he was under a Court Mandate, he didn't seem to want to work with the doctor. After a year he finally managed to do the bare minimum required to get himself released. And then, he started taking his long trips again.

      I just couldn't take it any more. After ten years of marriage, I finally filed for divorce.

     Sometimes, I feel guilty about the whole thing. I ask myself whether I could have done something differently, or why I hadn't really noticed the warning signs. I wonder to myself whether our lives would have been different if I'd paid more attention. What if I hadn't taken the job at U-Dub? Would he have found work that better suited him? What if we hadn't gone to the mall that day? What if I hadn't gone to that party, and we'd just never met? Would he have married someone else? Would he still have had his breakdown?

     It's then that I realize I'm starting to think like Lewis: over-analyzing the past and worrying about every decision I've ever made. That way lies madness, and I have been witness to it.

     Since then, I've re-married. William is a really wonderful, level-headed man. I'm much better off and, I think, so is Isabella. She is almost old enough to drive herself, now. She hasn't shown any signs of her father's neurosis, but I'm keeping a close eye on her just the same.

     As for Lewis … Well, the last I heard he met some woman on one of his long drives through the desert. They moved out east somewhere—Indiana or Ohio, I think. I tried to keep track of him for a while, but eventually, I just gave up. For a man who has a problem making decisions, he sure has moved around a lot.

*The acronym MSM is also frequently used to refer to Mechanically-Separated Meat. This product bears an uncanny allegorical resemblance to the product produced by the other MSM.

I'm a Lucky Guy

It was nineteen years ago to-day that I joined the privileged ranks of Very Lucky Men. On that day, my wife and I were married.

That's not what made me so lucky, though.

We'd been together for nearly four years (since our senior year in High School) and whether we were going out to do something exciting, or just hanging out or even talking on the phone, I'd always enjoyed her company. It seemed like no matter what I did, everything was better because she was there.

But, that's not what made me so lucky, either.

You see, lots of people meet other people with whom they enjoy spending time. And there are lots of attractive, caring, fun people with lovely smiles (though, to my mind, none quite so lovely as hers). And lots of people get married, too. There's like this whole huge industry around it.

No - what made me lucky, and why I still count myself lucky to this day is what was still to come.

What made me lucky was her love, and devotion and time that we would spend together from then until now, and on into our future together. What made me so extraordinarily lucky was that I'd truly found a soulmate - a partner in life - someone to whom I could commit my life, without fear or question, and who in turn, would commit her life to me.

And I got two really awesome kids in the bargain, too! (Two awesome kids who are quickly becoming awesome adults, I should add.)

And now here we are, nineteen years later.

I look back on that time, and like anyone, I have my share of regrets - some things I wish I had done, and some others I wish I hadn't. But, there's one thing that stands out like a beacon - the one overwhelmingly correct decision I've made in my life - and that was marrying my wife.

Whenever I've had a rough day, sometimes all that keeps me going is remembering who's waiting for me at home. And when I come in the door and see her beautiful smile, the weight & frustration are lifted, because I now have an evening to spend with the woman I love and with the children that we love and have raised together. No matter what else happens, as long as we have each other, we'll get by.

Happy Anniversary, Sweetie, and Thank You for a Wonderful Nineteen Years.

Grand Romantic Delusions Chapter 02: The BMV

Part I:

I first saw her in the queue at the Bureau of Motor Vehicles Deputy Registrar Agency. She had stringy dishwater-blonde hair. I would say it was her eyes that first caught my attention, but I couldn't really see them due to the glare of the overhead fluorescent lighting on her glasses. I guess it was just the idea of her eyes that caught my attention. Also, the way she wore her baggy, shapeless grey sweatshirt.

I surreptitiously let the man between us cut in front of me, in order to get closer to her. He had two little girls with him, so I'm sure he was eager to get out of the interminably long line as soon as he possibly could. Why do some people insist on bringing their kids to the BMV with them? That must be a huge pain in the ass.

Anyway, pretending to look over my shoulder out the window at the front of the office, I stole a glance at her. I think we may have made brief eye contact, but it was hard to tell. The glare again.

"Next!" One of the women at the counter yelled. The line shuffled forward. We were all one space closer to the counter.

Women love guys who are musically-inclined, so I started whistling a jaunty tune. I took my phone out of my pocket and pretended to read a text. In order to make it more authentic, I texted myself. I allowed myself a small laugh, shaking my head as if someone had just texted me something amusing.

Finally, I did one of those half-turns, like I was leaning against the wall, so I could give her the opportunity to interact with me. There wasn't really a wall there, though - just one of those pole-and-rope thingies that's meant to keep the line orderly, but almost never quite does the job. I almost stumbled backwards, but caught myself. I did drop my phone, though.

I gave her a half-smile and picked up my phone. She turned away. I think maybe she was looking outside for someone she knew. When she turned back, I tried the smile again, but with a little nod this time.

It was time to step up my game. I opened with, "Don't you just hate waiting in line?"

Of course she hated waiting in line. Everyone hates waiting in line. At least we wouldn't start our relationship with a disagreement, right?

One of the little girls in front of me was attempting to climb her father like one of those walls you see at "family fun center" places. The other one was reaching into his pocket. Looking for loose change, I guess. The man had that defeated, dead-eyed look that people develop whenever they find themselves dealing with the government. Maybe he had candy in there. He didn't seem to notice either of his kids, in any case.

"Actually, I find it kind of relaxing," she said. Dammit! I should have known not to start on a cliché!

"Next customer please," said a man behind the counter. The line shuffled forward another space.

"Well, yeah," I countered. "I mean, I suppose if you want to let yourself go, in a Zen kind of way. But wouldn't you rather be, I dunno ... anywhere else?"

"It depends," she said, finally looking at me.

I was dressed in faded blue jeans and a plain black t-shirt. My hair was a bit wind-blown, as I'd driven to the BMV with my car windows down. I'd never stand out in a crowd on my own, so I had to make this conversation memorable - entertaining, even - if I was going to get anywhere.

"Depends on what?"

"Mostly," she replied, "on whether I can ignore any distractions around me."

"Oh," I said.

She turned around again, towards the big window in front. She must be waiting on someone, I thought. I hope it's not her boyfriend. She then pulled a paperback book out of her purse and opened it to a place she had marked with a dog-ear, turned back in the direction of the line and began reading. Clearly she was interested in me, but wanted me to work for her attention.

Oh, yes. I knew this dance.

"What'cha readin' there?"

She pretended not to hear me, so I tried again, this time a bit louder.

"What are you reading?"

The line moved again Step, drag, shuffle.

"Umm ... Twilight: Another Lunar Cycle." I hadn't heard of that one.

"I haven't heard of that one," I said. "Any good?"

She ignored me again, so I repeated myself.

"Is it any good? I haven't read any of those books, but I hear they're supposed to be really good."

She closed the book, marking her place with a thick finger. I noticed her hands appeared to be very large and strong. I decided that I like that in a woman.

"Huh? Oh, yeah. It's ... uh ... very romantic," she said. "And I like the supernatural elements."

"Oh," I responded. "Sounds interesting. I always liked those Anne Rice books. Did you ever read any of those?"

"No." She lifted her book and continued reading.

I soldiered on, "I bet Lestat would kick Edward's ass, though! And look cool doing it."

She glared at me. Or maybe it was the glare from the lighting again. At least now I had her attention. The climbing girl had reached her father's neck. She appeared to be strangling him from behind, but in his institutionally-induced zombie state, he didn't take any notice.

"Either that, or he'd rock Edward's world - make him totally forget about that Betty chick."

She glared at me again. I think. It was still difficult to tell, with the glasses. The pocket-foraging girl had come up with a piece of bubble gum that looked to have been chewed and re-wrapped. She set about separating the used gum from the wrapper, with her teeth.

The line moved forward, with an almost audible air of resignation. I was next to the wall, now, so I leaned casually against it.

"You know, because of the Vampires in those books all being kinda gay."

"I understood what you were implying," she said. "You don't need to spell it out."

"Oh. OK. I wasn't sure."

"And her name," she continued. "It's Bella. Not Betty."

"Oh, sorry. Like I said, I haven't read any of those."

"Uh-huh." She began to read more pointedly, lifting the book up to block my view of her.

I started whistling again. Trying to think of what to say next. I noticed the title of the book was actually Twilight of the Gods, and it was by some guy with umlauts in his name. Erich something. She was turning away from me again so I didn't get a good look. Must be German or something.

"Hey," I started again. "Isn't it funny how the word "umlaut" doesn't actually have umlauts in it?"

She dropped her hand again and regarded me with what I assumed was interest and maybe admiration.

I went on. "You know, like, shouldn't the first "u" in the word umlauts have umlauts? I guess then it would be pronounced like ueumlauts or something, though, huh?" I really did my best at drawing out the "ü" sound, towards the back of my throat. Women are usually impressed by men who understand foreign languages.

"Yeah. That's funny." She turned around and looked out the window again. Maybe it was her boyfriend, she was looking for, and she was afraid he'd see her talking to me and go into a jealous rage. It would be sweet if I got a chance to impress her with my fighting skills. I hadn't been in a fight since high school, but I was sure I could handle myself.

I flexed my biceps a bit, but I wasn't sure if she noticed. She had her nose buried in that book again. I noticed the heading under the title was The Mayan Calendar and the Return of the Extraterrestrials. Weird. I didn't think there were any aliens in the Twilight books. There was supposed to be some kind of Indian werewolf tribe, or something, though. Were they Mayan werewolves, maybe?

We all shuffled forward again, as the next person in line was called to the counter.

"Hey, so ... you really think the world'll end in 2012?"

"What, now?" She was clearly intrigued. Maybe even a little turned on. It was hard to read her expression. I'd have to figure out a way to get rid of those glasses.

"You know ... that whole Mayan thing. Like in your book." I gestured to the cover of the book. Suddenly I recognized the name. It was by that Chariots of the Gods guy - the one who thought aliens were responsible for, like, all the mysterious buildings and drawings from ancient times. Like the Great Pyramids and Stonehenge and Easter Island and stuff.

She looked at me with a what the fuck are you talking about kind of expression, before she turned the book around to look at its cover. Her face fell. Then she started to laugh.

"Guess I picked up the wrong book," she said.

I gave her a big smile. "That's OK. I do that all the time," I lied. No sense in embarrassing her. "So, are there, like, any vampires even in that book?"

"I don't know," she confessed. "I haven't actually been reading it. It's not even my book. My roommate asked me to hold on to it for her, and since I hate making small talk with strangers, I pulled it out just to have something to do."

"Oh yes, I understand." I nodded sympathetically. "Waiting in line can get boring."

"No, you don't. I wasn't bored. I don't mind lines. It's people I don't want to have to deal with. I wasn't reading the book. I was using it as a prop, so I could avoid talking to other people. Get it now?"

I gave her a knowing look. "Sure, I get it." I lowered my voice to a whisper. "I don't usually like to talk to the kind of people you meet in the BMV, either."

Her jaw dropped. She must have been shocked to discover we shared such a connection. It was almost as if we were mind-melding right there. She took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes, then her temples. Her eyes were light brown and they tilted down at the sides. They gave her that I'm almost always sad look. They were a little bloodshot, too.

Everyone in line sauntered forward again.

"You look tired," I said, patting her shoulder. "Have you been having trouble sleeping?

"I will tonight." She pushed my hand away.

"Yeah, days like this really take it out of you." I used the excuse of putting my cell phone away to put my hands in my pockets. I guess she just wasn't ready for our relationship to move to the patting on the shoulder level yet. Still, there was an unmistakable warmth in her touch. She was probably just not comfortable expressing herself in public.

"Um, yeah. They certainly do." She put her glasses back on, obscuring from me the full glory of her visage. "Erm ... would you mind doing me a favor?"

"Oh, not at all!" What could she want of me? Did she need help moving a couch or something? "Name it."

"Well, I'm in kind of a hurry, you see ... would you mind if I jumped in front of you?"

Damn! Her favor didn't involve me needing to know where she lived after all. But I'd already committed.

"No, go ahead." I shuffled sideways to let her past.

She gave a small wave to the little girl who was now perched on her father's head. Then she started playing peek-a-boo with her using her copy of Twilight of the Gods. It was going to be difficult to carry on a conversation this way.

Everyone stepped forward. The man with the two girls was up next to be served. I was going to have to act fast, if our relationship was going to make it past the BMV.