The Blind Date

She paints an adorably sexy picture. Even though I don’t know what she looks like, I’ve been imagining her more and more. The face is always a blur, but I picture her blonde hair atop a curvy figure, her feet kicking in delight every time she sends multiple smiley faces. I wonder if her breasts are full or small, filling or spilling out of my hands. I wonder if she has freckles that I can trace with my tongue. I wonder if she’s ticklish. For some reason, I feel certain that she is. I wonder if her heart is as genuine as it seems and her mind as quick because she keeps me on my toes, never knowing what she’s going to say. As someone who thrives on structure and needs predictability, that should drive me mad, but I somehow find it amusing and refreshing.

M: Once upon a time, there was a boy who lived in a vast kingdom with his mother and sister. The boy’s mother worked hard, but times were tough and she often went without so her children would have enough. The siblings saw this and did everything they could to make it easier for their beloved mother, often telling her they weren’t hungry so she would have enough dinner herself.

R: That’s so sad. And sweet of them both, the kids and the mom, looking out for each other.

M: But it wasn’t all dire straits and meals of cheap rice and beans. The mother was wonderful and would play games with the children every night, even when she was asleep on her feet. Her favorite was hide and seek. Years later, the boy realized it was so the mother could close her eyes for at least thirty seconds while she counted, but at the time, he and his sister didn’t know that. They would run and hide, giggling the whole time. You there?

R: Yes. Please go on.

M: One time, the boy hid in the garden next door. It wasn’t a fancy garden with vegetables but rather an empty lot, overgrown with weeds. The boy ducked down in the grass, curling up as small as he could so he wouldn’t be found. Soon, he heard his sister helping his mother, both of them trying to find him. He shrank back even deeper into the garden, his back against the fence. Still as he could be, the only thing he moved were his eyes. That’s how he saw . . . it. Awake?

R: OMG! Yes! What did he see?!

M: You’re supposed to be relaxing, going to sleep. Maybe this isn’t working?

R: It’s working. It’s totally working. Now tell me what the boy saw! Please!

Another smile takes my lips. I touch that word—please—in her message. It’s not begging. More of a demand, honestly. But I can sense her desire to know me, talk to me. Not some hotshot executive, not some rags to riches story, not the grumpy workaholic. Just me.

That’s why I’m sharing this story with her, though I meant to keep it light and easy. But this? It’s important, it’s where I came from, and I think she knows that too and wants every tidbit she can get from me the same way I’d love to know how she became who she is. What makes someone grow into an adult and still have this exuberant spirit that finds so much joy in life like Rachel does? I want to know, and so I continue my story.

M: The boy saw a brown paper bag lying in the grass. It was crumpled up like someone had thrown their empty lunch sack away, but it was stuck on the fence. Something about the way it didn’t move made the boy think there was something inside. He never told anyone this, but in that moment, he hoped it was food. He was hungry. He was getting older and hungrier all the time, but he would never take food from his mother’s mouth. Desperate as he was, he told himself that if there was a sandwich inside that bag . . . if it didn’t look too bad, he’d eat it and never tell a soul.

R:

M: But there wasn’t a sandwich in the bag.

I pause, knowing she’s awake because she just sent me the emoji message but wanting to get this next part right. It was the moment that everything changed. Everything. Not in an instant, there was still hard work to be done, but it’d taken the edge off my family’s situation.

R: Mark?

The name, not mine but of this other man I’ve become, is what gives me the strength to tell the rest.

M: I’m here. Just making up the next part of the story.

R: Okay, take your time.

I’m not making up anything. I think she knows that too but is giving me the time and space to decide what I want to divulge.