Purgatorium (8 page)

“No,” I find myself saying flatly. Covering my sadness, I muster, “I don’t run anymore, but who cares? Why dwell on the past? Especially when success isn’t just to be had in running races.”

“Well,” she says, “I am quite sorry to hear that.”

“I gave my all to running, for sure,” I say, “and maybe there are faster runners out there. I may have stopped running, but I sure as hell haven’t stopped winning.” I smile, thinking confidently of future wealth and power.

“You loved running, but you just gave it up because someone was faster?” A look crosses her face that I don’t know how to interpret; it’s sad and frustrated, somewhat disappointed. She continues, “What about the next race? What about a second chance? Giving up guarantees you won’t win.”

I feel myself getting angry and stifle it down. Trying to be polite with the amount of sudden, inexplicable anger coursing through me, I say firmly, “I just wasn’t fast enough, okay?! Can we drop it?s! I didn’t continue asking about the picture in your snow globe, did I?”

She sits back in her chair, out of my space, and eyes me warily. She’s scared of me, I think. “Sorry if I scared you. I’m just not into running anymore is all.”

She nods and replies almost hesitantly, “Do you believe any of the quotes you can recite? Or are you just saying them because they make you feel superior?”

For some reason, this shocks me. I didn’t know I could feel this way. The words continue to tumble out of my mouth.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” I say.

She shakes her head, trying to stifle tears.

“Gah! No,” she says, snuffling. “It’s okay. It’s me. I hate that I’m like this.” She takes a small package of tissues out of her pocket. “I cry so easily—I happy cry, sad cry, angry cry. I’m always crying.”

I reach over, open the package, take one out, and offer it to her. She laughs a little.

“I’m sorry,” she says, very quietly. “I’m embarrassed. I’m not sure what to say.” She pauses as I say, “What did Adam say on the day before Christmas?”

She shrugs.

“It’s Christmas, Eve.” She laughs gently. I feel a distant sense of gratification at her show of vulnerability. I know she’s vulnerable, and that maybe she is warming up to me.

I smile and say, “I somehow knew you liked that.” I nod towards her bag.

She sees my glance and leans toward it before turning back to me. She removes the Good Book from her bag.

“You carry it around everywhere you go?” I ask, hoping to keep it light.

“It’s what gets me through most days,” she replies. Her whole demeanor shifts to serious.

“Oh,” I think quickly, “So…where do you work?”

She looks at me and I can tell she knows that I know she is avoiding the subject. After a few seconds she says, “Well...I’m very busy about half the time. I teach children how to sing at church,” she continues. “But I’m also a student and I run the choir practice at night.”

“I knew while you were singing a minute ago that you had some skill. You sing beautifully, even if it was hard to hear. I would really like to hear it again, if you don’t mind?”

“Sorry,” she says. “I have a fear of singing in front of strangers.”

“But you sing in front of a hundred people every Sunday, right?”

“Singing for one person and singing for a hundred are two different things,” she says. “Besides, when I’m in a choir, I imagine myself singing to the Lord.”

I notice myself smirking and feeling glad that I am not as naïve or gullible as her.

Noticing my patronizing smirk, she asks firmly, “What do you do?”

“I’m in sales,” I say. “At least at the moment.”

“At the moment? What is it you want to do instead?”

“Well, I like to write.” I try to swallow my words, to take them back.

“Oh!” she says, excitedly. “What do you like to write about?”

“I don’t know,” I respond. “So far I’ve just been dabbling.”

“Dabbling is the start of something,” she insists.

We both look at each other and for a moment, I see that she has let out a big smile towards me. I am lost in that smile. I can start and end my day with that smile.

“What were you looking for when you came on this blind date?” she asks. “I mean, you didn’t even have a face to go by.”

“That’s true,” I reply.

“I could have been repulsive,” she jokes.

“Well thank God, that wasn’t the case.” I see her blush as I look to her, knowing she is something special. “But not to sound too self-indulgent,” I say, “I want a girl that can surprise me.”

The woman nods thoughtfully. “What would be a good surprise for you, then?”

“She could give me a pack of candy for all I care.”

“That’s pretty sad. Who are you dating?” she asks.

I shrug sheepishly. We both laugh, but her laughter turns to sniffles.

“Don’t tell me your reason was the same as mine?” I sarcastically say to her.

“Sorry, I told you it’s a bad habit I have,” she says, wiping away her tears.

“It’s okay. Are you crying from something I said?” She looks down, as if holding back her words, then suddenly looks and says, “I wanted to find a face to call home. A person that will always be there for me and never leave me. It’s stupid thinking, isn’t it?”

I search my memory. A face to call home—the phrase reminds me of something, but I can’t remember what. It’s achingly familiar.

I smile. “Sounds nice.‘A face to call home.’ I like that.”

I hand her a napkin from the dispenser. “You really do cry a lot, don’t you?” I kindly chuckle trying to make her perk up.

“Shut up,” she retorts, embarrassed. “Ever since I was young, I’ve always dreamed that I’d meet this super-amazing guy… my ‘knight in shining armor’. The whole thing would be like fate or something.”

I finish my coffee. “So…you want the fairy tale. Not anything that starts with an online date anyway. You want the romantic story you can tell the kids when you are older. I bet you’re the kind of girl who wants a big wedding inside a big church.”

“Just the opposite! I had a dream about my wedding when I was a little girl. It was going to be really small, outside, with an amazing view, an assortment of beautiful lights scattered everywhere and—” She abruptly stops.

She zips up her bag and drinks the rest of her tea. I see the Good Book is still lying on the table.

I insist by saying, “And what?”

“And…” she turns toward the window, dreaming of that moment. “And…It’s snowing. It’s silly! I know. You really are sweet. Don’t get me wrong, but I just—”

“Can’t,” I reply. I smile, maintaining my pride.

“I should have never done this online dating thing. I am so sorry for wasting your time. I really should leave now.”

“So if we never met online and… Oh, I don’t know,” I stammer. “What if we just met by…” I pause. “I mean…What I guess I am saying is…Do you... believe in second chances?”

“I do, if the situation calls for it,” she replies, rising from her seat. “It was really nice to meet you.”

I stand up and walk her to the door, not wanting her to go but knowing I have no choice. We stop at the door as our eyes meet once again. I can see her almost tearing up again as I can only think of one thing to say. “I hope you find your face to call home.”

“And I hope you find your surprise,” she says as she walks out the door. And just like that she is gone.

I wistfully hope that the drooping of her shoulders when she left meant regret.

I sit back in my chair and casually lean back. I am so frustrated with myself, unable to stop what comes out of my mouth—sure I ruined it. I wish I could have intervened instead of just observing. But deep down, I know it would have ended the same way.

I watch myself look down at the Book on the table, wondering if she left it there on purpose. I open it to the inside cover… “Property of Madi.”

A puzzled face comes over me as I speak. “My blind date’s name is Jessica. Who is Madi?”

I run a hand though my hair, tilting my head back, and see a strangely familiar man standing at the door with sunflowers in his hand.

I know him, I think. He looks exactly like that crazy guy in the restaurant! What was his name?
Jehudiel
! But why is he here; why is he holding sunflowers? Didn’t Madi say that she was wanting sunflowers?

“Get you another cup?”

I hadn’t noticed the waiter standing in front of me with a coffee urn. I shake my head quickly and lean to the left to see the man that looked like Jehudiel approaching a woman sitting alone, quietly reading her book.

“Sorry I’m so late. I believe you asked for this,” the man says warmly as he hands her the bouquet of sunflowers. The woman looks at him, puzzled but seemingly charmed by the gesture. “Madi, is it?”

Madi?
I think to myself.

The woman closes her book, shaking her head no to the man, who stands there surprised. I can’t quite see her face.

“You’re kidding, right?” the man says to the woman, laughing nervously. I look at the man and think, he may look like Jehudiel but he doesn’t act like him.

“Madi? My name is Jessica, sorry,” she responds, turning away from him and shrugging her shoulders at the gentleman still standing next to her blocking her face from my sight.

The man, shoulders slumped in defeat, walks across the room to the coffee bar close to where I am sitting. He slowly puts the bouquet down on the bar counter. “I can’t believe I got stood up. I am never doing online dating again,” he mutters out loud to himself.

With a look of slowly dawning realization, I look back down at the Book.

Madi? I jolt upright in my chair. “I was on that guy’s online date,” I say excitedly. “Madi must have thought I was her online blind date! That means...”

I jump up out of the chair, grab the Book, and rush out the door of the coffee shop looking around as I exit. My heart is pounding. I run out into the snow trying to catch a glimpse of her. She’s not there. I look down the street both ways and then across to the park. Finally I run down the street trying to look inside the passing cars for her face. I realize regretfully that I probably won’t find her.

Saddened, I slowly turn and walk back to the coffee shop holding her book tight in my hand, hoping she will return for it. Or maybe... just for me. Wouldn’t that be a surprise? I smile at the thought.

I suddenly hear a beeping sound in the distance and everything once again breaks away like puzzle pieces sending my consciousness back into the darkness.

The sound of a subway train is getting louder, and then the brakes squeal on the rails. I open my eyes. I am sweating. The sound of my watch beeping is still going off.

45 Minutes

I look to see that I am back on the subway car but lying on the floor. The doors open. Michael leans over and helps me stand up. I clamber to my feet and feel some return of control over myself. I no longer feel like I just watched myself act out a script. There are no whispering voices either.

“How was it strolling down memory lane?” asks
Michael
.

I try to speak but still can’t make a sound. The feeling of control is replaced by a growing panic. My head starts to spin.

“The voice leaves as the memory fades away. Tough break, kid. You’ll get it soon enough. The first time gets a little dizzy so don’t do any sudden movements.”

Wait, did he slip me a drug or something? Was any of it real or was it all just a drugged out dream I had? But it felt so real. Either case, I need to get away from him. I quickly jump through the sliding doors just as they start to close, leaving
Michael
inside.

As I climb the stairs out of the subway and look up, I see the glowing color of green in the sky. It always seems to calm me down. I walk towards the old iron bridge, lined with Christmas lights. Halfway across, I see the billboard on the other side with Madi’s face on it.

I recall my conversation in the coffee shop with her, the seeming fate of it all. I think wistfully about her, not knowing if I was just dreaming or whether I had really met her. Remembering the time, I look down at my watch. I must keep moving.