Dating For Decades (3 page)

A message comes through that one of our servers is down. I don’t want to deal with this right now. I came over with the full intent of enjoying Shannon’s company, but, as usual, work calls. I forward the email onto the supervisor, Julian, at the help desk with detailed instructions on how to handle the situation. Yes, I’m aware my supervisor can manage this without my assistance, that’s why I hired him, but I don’t want to have to end up going into the office to fix this if he misses a step. I ask him to email me when he’s done.

“Do you ever put that thing down, Cassie?”

“What? My iPad? Sure.” I open a few more emails before deleting them. Then I toss my tablet on the seat next to me.
 

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” I reach for my purse, which is on the couch.

“Don’t get your phone. You’re trading your iPad for your phone, which, honestly, is basically the same thing. Shut down every once in a while.
Unplug
.” She pulls her dark hair back and twirls it to one side.

“I do. From about midnight to five.” I dig in my purse and pull out the phone.

Shannon pushes off the couch and grabs my cell from me, not saying a word as she tosses it back into my purse. With her free hand, she picks up my purse and brings it back to the sofa with her, clutching it at her side.

“What are you doing?” I need my cell. If I can’t stay connected to work, something can go wrong and I can’t fix it. That device is my lifeline.

“Taking control. Shutting you off. Take a half-hour to unplug. Please. I didn’t invite you over to visit with the top of your head.”

She’s right. My job requires me to be available and online, but I can take a minute to appease her. “Okay. Sorry. Let’s chat.” I place my hands on my lap like an attentive student, though my mind keeps racing, wondering if Julian has responded to my email yet, or even seen it for that matter.

Shannon places her coffee on the arm of the sofa, her hand gripped around it. “This is a little weird, now, I must admit. Your devices are like an additional limb on your body.”

Am I
that
bad? Everyone is like this these days. People take their phones everywhere. The bathroom, shopping, out to dinner. I even witness joggers checking their phone. Shannon is a rarity —
I’m
the norm.

“My boss hired another manager this week. Well, his fresh out of college nephew who’s supposed to help me with the big project I’ve been devoted to for the past three months.”

“I hope you held yourself together.”

“I did. I’m
really
pissed, though.” She knows me so well. I’m sure she expects me to paint a picture of myself as a fire-breathing dragon, but even I can tame my emotions when necessary.

Shannon shushes me and points over to her boys, who are still wrestling.

“Mom, we know that word,” Jake unlatches from his brother to say. “We’ve heard you use it plenty of times.”

“What! I have not!”

I smile at her. Busted. She used to have a mouth like a trucker, but when she had the boys, she cleaned it up. She doesn’t fool me, though. She still uses her fair amount of f-bombs and other not suitable for children words.

“You two go upstairs. Now. Let me visit with Aunt Cassie.”

I’m actually not their aunt, but I’ve known Shannon since high school, so I might as well be. She’s like the sister I never had. “Bye, guys.” I wait as they race each other up the stairs.

“You need to limit your phone time. Put it down. Find a hobby, for God’s sake.”

Are we back on this again? First, Aunt Ella corners me with the insatiable need to marry me off, and now Shannon insists I shut down my technology. “I
do
have a hobby.”

“Walking on the treadmill while you watch TV on your iPad is not a hobby. Put yourself out there and
do
something. You might meet a guy.”

“I meet plenty of guys.” I’m not shy about dating. At all. It’s June and I have five relationships under my belt. Of course, by relationships, I mean hook-ups. All nice men. All ready to commit. I’m too busy for something serious. Who wants to deal with a clingy man who has to spend all his time with me? My personal space is important to me. Casual hookups are the best. No commitment. No one gets hurt. Especially me.

She puts the coffee down again. “Look. Enough with your one-night-stands or whatever they are. Find someone to marry already.”

“Maybe I don’t want to get married.”

Her eyes widen like this is the first time she’s hearing this. “Who doesn’t want to get
married
? A huge wedding and a flowing gown? Everyone’s attention on you for the entire day? And presents. Lots of presents.”

“Plenty of people. Take George Clooney, for example.”

“He
is
married.”

“Yeah, but consider how long it took him. I’ve got at least ten or fifteen more years before I’m his age.” Committing to another human being for the rest of my life? No. That’s not natural.
 

“I’m not saying you need to meet the guy you’re going to marry, but Cassie, stay with one person for a while. You’re kind of ...”

“Kind of what?” I know what she’s thinking, but I want her to say it.

“Well, if I’m being honest –”

“Please, be honest.”
Do it. Say it. I dare you.

“Trampy.”

And she said it. Even if I was sure that was what she was thinking, hearing the actual words sting a little. “I’m thirty-nine years old, Shannon. I’m not some high school hussy who slept with the entire football team.”

“It’s been
at least
a football team.”

“So you’re judging me now?” I never brag about the guys I meet, but I always sensed a bit of jealousy from her. She met Ben in college and they got married right after graduation. But commitment is her thing, not mine. She always wanted to have a Prince Charming and become a suburban housewife.
 

“No. Not at all. I think you’re married to your work, though, and you may be a little less stressed out if you stayed with a guy a little longer than a few weeks. Isn’t that why you started that support group?”

“I created the group to meet other women like me. And along the way, I realize I’m happy how things are. I keep it going for the others.” Even though I don’t want to commit to a man, I commit to other things in my life. When I started Dating for Decades a handful of ladies joined and they need me and each other. I can’t let my girls down.

“Well, that’s great then. But why not do something else with your free time? I mean, keep the group going, but maybe do some volunteering? Something in your field.”

The thought crossed my mind before. For one, it would spice up my resume. I’m not looking to switch jobs, but in the event I do, this will only push my visibility. Second, I love technology and this gives me another reason to work with my passion.

“I’ve got an idea!” Shannon practically jumps from the couch. “The library. I always see flyers with people teaching things there. Why not teach some sort of a class?”

“I guess I can do something like that.” I shrug and take a drink of my coffee. It’s not as sweet as I’d like, but I’ll force the java down. “What could I teach, though?”

“Why don’t you go to the library and talk with someone there? I’m sure they can help you.”

I could use a distraction from my situation at work and this may prove a good way to do that. I can’t deny the possibility that I may learn something, too.
 

“When, though? My weeknights are usually jam packed with work and on Saturdays I have yoga.”

“So move yoga to Sunday. Problem solved.”

Of course she had an answer ready. Shannon will do anything or say anything to push me out of my comfort zone. She always has. Not a visit goes by where she doesn’t try to pop my work bubble and get me to do something else.

“Fine. I’ll try it.” She smiles and her eyes light up. “For you.”

“Thank you. You’ll
love
doing something for someone else.”

Maybe, but I’ve spent my entire life focusing on me and bettering who
I
am. Do I even
know
how to help someone else?

I guess I’ll find out.

•••••••

The last time I set foot in a public library I waited for hours for my mom to come pick me up. She dropped me on a Thursday after school and told me she had to work and would be there by eight to pick me up. The books kept me busy for a while, then by 7:45 I began to worry. What if she didn’t come back for me? What if one of her “boyfriends” convinced her to be with him and leave me behind? She told me never to call the police if she ran late. Just wait.
 

So I did. Three minutes before the library closed, and about thirty seconds before the librarian planned to call the police, my mom strolled through the revolving door, her hair a ratted mess and her lipstick faded and smeared onto her skin. She apologized and explained her shift at the restaurant ran late because someone didn’t arrive on time. I knew she wasn’t working. Her appearance told me all I needed to know about why she almost forgot about me.
 

I haven’t been to a public library since.
 

The library sure changed since the last time I was in one. I’m impressed by how they’ve moved forward with technology. There’s a self-checkout station, a big screen television showing events they’re putting on, and even a security checkpoint so books aren’t stolen. Do people steal books? Is this an ongoing problem?

In my sightline, I notice a four-tier shelf with books for sale at a quarter apiece. A woman with a backpack searches through the DVDs to the left. It seems you can find everything here.

A librarian sits behind the circulation desk typing on the computer. I wonder if she’s checking in books, or surfing the internet. I’m not sure what else she could be doing.

“Excuse me?” I interrupt her.

Without a second thought, she stops typing. “What can I help you with today?”

Her name tag says Sophie. She’s younger than me, and her hair is short and in spikes. “Hello. I want to speak with someone about teaching a class here.” I swallow and my saliva catches in my throat. Approaching people comes naturally to me, so why is this so difficult?

She smiles widely. “Sure! I’ll page Mr. Lin. He’ll be excited a community member wants to help out.”

She’s too perky for my taste, but I’m glad she thinks this Mr. Lin man will be on board with my teaching a class. Sophie picks up her phone and pages for him to come to the circulation desk. I wait patiently until a middle-aged, Asian gentleman approaches me.

“Good evening. I’m Bryan Lin. What can I do for you?” He has a welcoming smile and a full head of graying hair. I touch my hand to the back of my hair. Are my grays noticeable yet?
 

“I want to discuss the possibility of volunteering some of my time here.”

“I’m always happy when someone wants to help out.” He turns and waves me with him. “Walk with me.”

I meet his stride and he leads me up the stairs. I don’t consider myself out of shape, but the two sets of stairs do me in. I catch my breath when we reach the top. Bookcases go on for ages to my left and to the right a few tables are set up on a balcony overlooking the circulation desk where Sophie sits. Directly in front of us is another librarian.

“That’s Kiki, our Adult Fiction librarian.”

When I was a kid I remember there were children’s books and novels. Now everything is divided into juvenile, middle-grade, teen, young adult,
upper
young adult, adult, new adult. I can’t keep up. Since when did we feel the need to segregate all the books? In my eyes, a book is a book.
 

“We have a lot of different programs here. Since I took over as director, we have added reading sessions for children, story building courses for young writers, and genealogy instruction, which is probably our most popular course. They’re all free to library members.” Mr. Lin continues his tour as we move past Kiki.

Before moving through the aisles of books, we pass a roundtable filled with computers. Almost every station is occupied. I glance at the screen of a young man as we walk and he’s playing some sort of a game. People come to the library to play video games?

We reach a large room with double doors. “This is one of our community rooms, which is handicap accessible via the elevator. We try to hold children’s programs downstairs and adult upstairs. This way it’s quieter.”

The library has an elevator? Why didn’t we take that? My legs are begging me to use it on the way back down.

We enter the room and it’s clearly set up for the genealogy class. Poster boards are scattered around the room with different old-time pictures, and a white board lists different search engines. Computers outline the area.

“This is a huge room. How many are in this class?”

“About twenty. We can’t have more than thirty in the room. So, what sort of skill do you want to volunteer?”

I walk the room observing everything around me. All I need access to is a computer. “I’m not certain. I work in IT and would like to do something with that.”

“We receive a lot of requests for teaching the Internet to those over sixty-five. Most people want to use Facebook.”

Facebook. I’m a high-level manager and I’m supposed to teach old people
Facebook
? Why are they on there anyway? What is there for them to do?

“Well, I know the ins and outs pretty well, but do you receive any requests on how to use spreadsheets or anything like that? Maybe even security issues?” I’m a whiz at Excel and enjoy showing others the incredible things you can do with the program. I can’t think of what someone in his or her seventies would
use
Excel for, but learning it may be a fun experience.

He thinks for a moment, crossing his arms and running his thumb against his jaw. “I’m sure we receive
some
, but I’d love to utilize you where your skills are needed most. This is what our patrons have requested. Do you think you’re interested?”

Shannon is in my ear telling me to do it. I’m patient (for the most part) and I know I should. But teaching old people to use social media? I’d have an easier time giving up technology altogether. Yeah, right. Who am I kidding?