It's Day 13 of this joyride; it's a good job I'm not superstitious.
Aww, who am I kidding? I'm totally superstitious.
Does anyone have a salty rabbit's shamrock that I can throw over my shoulder, please?
It Must Be The Sunflowers
I sense her presence rather than see her. The scent of sunflowers brings a picture of a summer garden to mind, and the smiling presence of its bearer.
Hello Abbey.
I look up from the internet, and offer my neighbour my best smile. I can’t help it, I like the woman. It’s not her good looks or her unfashionably-together sense of dress, or her from-the-toes laugh. I just feel good around her. Relaxed.
Hi, Indy. Her hand flies to her mouth, and she looks uncertain.
Sorry, may I call you that?
Well... I hesitate. I’ve never cared for it, but somehow it's good on her. I notice she’s gone brunette from blonde;
that's good on her too. I grin,
Please do. I like your hair, by the way. I’m rewarded with a delighted flash of white teeth.
I didn’t hear you come in.
Why, thank you! Abbey blushes, fluffing her locks theatrically. I laugh as she makes a throwaway gesture towards the doorway to the hall.
King let me in.
I frown. I have a vague recollection of stealthy pawsteps on the stairs. This is unusual. He normally crashes about, growling operatic tunes with impressive bass. The only time I ever see the house’s resident lion move quietly is when he’s about to introduce himself to a zebra. Or having just stolen one of my neckties.
He was at the door before I rang the bell. Handsome beast. And very charming.
Putting thoughts of stolen neckties from my mind, I slip
Occam’s Razor from its logical sheath and offer a simple reason for the lion’s welcome.
Well, he has a terrific sense of smell, I say brightly.
He probably smelled you coming. Her face falls momentarily, but she rallies magnificently to the perceived slight. Hands on hips, bare feet planted squarely, her shoulders at a jaunty angle. I recognise the body language long before my gaze reaches her raised eyebrows.
Excuse me?
My mouth works a few times. I’ve not known Abbey for that long; I guess I’m still working her out. I’m unsure how to field this one, so I fall back onto good old honesty.
I just meant that you smell nice? My voice is quieter and less certain than I intended. And where did that
question mark come from? I fumble about for an explanation.
You know... Summery. Sunflowers. Sunshine.
Smell like sunshine? Good
grief, man. Can you
hear yourself?
I needn’t have worried. Abbey steps closer chuckles and drapes an arm round my neck as I sit at the table.
S’okay. My neighbour plants a sisterly kiss on the top of my head apologetically.
I’m just kidding. I knew how you meant it. She moves on.
So. What are you doing?
I shuffle in my chair and turn the screen towards her.
Just checking mail on this dating website. My neighbour leans closer to the screen, clearly interested.
I’ve been thinking about joining up for a couple of years, and so a while back I did.
A little internal voice whispers that maybe I didn’t want to talk to Abbey about looking for dates, but I’m not thinking too clearly. It must be the sunflowers.
If she’s disappointed, she doesn’t show it.
Cool! How’s it going? Any luck? I experience my own disappointment instead.
Nope. Not a thing.
Really? She looks my way.
None today?
I chuckle darkly,
Nope, none at all. In three weeks.
What? Why?! Her shock is perversely uplifting.
What on earth did you write in your profile?
Man, I’m
so not ready for this.
Oh, you know. The truth. She rolls her eyes, like this is the
last thing I should do. But hey, I deserve more credit than that.
What I mean is, I’ve not told any lies. I’ve presented myself well, and tried to sound sane, appealing and... well, decent.
Uh huh. A few intuitive clicks on her part make my defensive mumblings somewhat redundant; she now has my profile in front of her, and is gently edging my butt sideways from the chair with a few expertly irresistible hip nudges.
Would you like a cup of tea? I'm keen to be out of the room for a few minutes. You know, to take a cold shower, or die of embarrassment. Or something.
Yes please, that’d be lovely.
As I’m boiling the kettle, and wondering what the hell she’s making of it all, King wanders past, humming
The Ride Of The Valkyries. I’m too distracted to ponder whether this is some kind of leonine joke, message, insult or warning.
There's a splatter of tiny splashes in the lion's wake on the floor; he’s just got out of the shower, and is off to shake himself dry in the garden. He doesn’t smell as nice as Abbey; wet animals are pretty hard on the nose. Wet lions are also not as magnificent as dry ones, but he’s gone before I get a good look at him.
I hear the back door open and close in the utility room.
The kettle boils. I pour a spot of water into the teapot and let it warm for a minute before making the tea.
Being on the dating site has been rather a gruelling experience. A lot of hours, sifting and sorting profiles, trying to identify women with whom I might
click. Then personal introductions, tailored to the profiles of each, trying to make a connection. Light, informal, pleasant, funny,
interesting. Finally, the buzz, the thrill of clicking
Send, and wondering where it will lead.
Sadly, it’s not been leading anywhere but the void.
Mails have been read, my profile viewed, but silence is all that’s greeted me.
If I wasn’t such a superb, upbeat fella, it could get me down.
I take the teapot through on a tray of china cups and saucers, milk, sugar and cake. Abbey is engrossed with the computer as I pour and stir. I clink the spoon noisily into the saucer to draw her attention, but it’s unnecessary; she’s already closing the lid of the laptop.
She runs a hand through her dark brown locks and shrugs, almost apologetically.
I don’t get it. Nothing at all?
I smile humbly in silence.
Makes no sense. Your profile isn’t perfect, but it’s fine. Confident, optimistic, interesting. Okay, so I tweaked a few words here and there, but... My jaw drops a little, but she ploughs ahead.
And I deleted one of your photos that didn’t do you justice.
You did?
She nods.
Of course. She frowns, concerned, maybe noticing my droopy jaw.
Sorry, you wanted me to lend a hand, right?
Well, I’d not thought about it, but...
And by the way, she continues into my silence,
I thought your mails were nicely done.
She read my mail too?
I thought you’d at least have got a courtesy mail back. A Thanks-but-no-thanks, right?
I nod emphatically.
Exactly! That’s what I thought! I wave my arms, clearly more agitated about this than I realised.
I understand we’re all looking for different things, but every time I hear nothing back I’m surprised. A simple Up yours, ugly doesn’t take much effort. I sigh.
I don’t know, maybe it does. Maybe my expectations are set all wrong.
Abbey comes to sit next to me on the sofa and gives me a hug unexpectedly.
If you were right, I’d agree with you, she soothes,
but you’re not. I’d feel exactly the same as you. It must be pretty grinding. She pecks me on the cheek.
Their loss. Keep at it. You could try a different website maybe, but you’re doing all the right things. You just haven’t found Miss Right yet.
I gaze into her eyes, and time slows. And stops.
But only for a split second. Upstairs again, King starts to roar out the closing verse from
Nessun Dorma as he descends the stairs. Puccini would be proud of him; the voice is magnificent and rather moving.
Which reminds me, sighs Abbey, standing,
I’d best get moving soon. She retrieves her tea and nibbles on a slice of bakewell tart. There’s suddenly something awkward in her manner.
Are you busy tonight? Where did
that come from? I pause, bemused, then blurt,
I was going to ask if you fancied having dinner with me?
My neighbour smiles me a winner, but rebuffs me gently.
I’d love to, but I’m having dinner with King.
Pardon?
My neighbour winks at me,
I wasn’t kidding when I said he was charming.
On cue, there’s a polite knock at the door and King pushes it open. He’s standing his full two-legged height, his mane fluffy and unbraided; the shakedown in the garden did a better job than a hairdryer. He’s sporting a pinstripe suit, crisp white shirt, and my best blue sevenfold-silk necktie.
The bastard.
Abbey goes over, slightly straightens the lion’s tie, and then fusses him behind his ears.
My, don’t you look handsome? she purrs. He growls appreciatively.
I watch from the window as they head out, and sip my tea dejectedly.
The scent of sunflowers lingers in the air.
I sit down at the laptop again and lift the lid.
Looks like I’ll need to keep at it.
Indigo
Continue to Day 14 >>
This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2010/2012
Okay, the train has gone. Which way now?
