Arms Wide Open: a Novella (2 page)

I’m sitting at a small round table,
nervously picking and pulling at the card in my hand as I wait for Victim #1 to
sit down across from me. At the top of the little blue card in my hand is my
number: 11013. Lucky thirteen, I guess. I’m not superstitious but if I were, I
would take it as a sign that tonight isn’t gonna end well and get out while I
can.

Five other numbers are written on my
card—numbers that everyone in the room has assigned to them. If we like each
other, we leave a little check mark by our numbers. It feels like an amped up
version of the little notes we sent to the crush
du jour
in elementary. Do
you like me? Check this box: yes, no, maybe. Even shopping for tampons on a
Friday night suddenly seems more appealing than waiting for a random guy to
appear and we endure five minutes of awkward silence together before scratching
each other off the list and forgetting we met.

I’m startled by someone making an abrupt
appearance across from me. A guy plops down and leans forward eagerly, large
brown eyes almost right in my face.

“Whoa there, pony. Back it up!” I say,
leaning back as far as I can to get a good look at him. Or, at the very least,
get him out of my personal space.

“Hi! My name is Kevin.” His hand grasps
mine, and he pumps it up and down in what just might be the world’s most
enthusiastic hand shake ever. Pretty sure the Guinness Book of World Records
wants to record this one for posterity. His hands are a little clammy in his
obvious—no, make that glaring—nervous excitement, but it’s nothing unbearable.
A few beads of sweat dot his upper lip. Kevin is just as uncomfortable as I am.
This makes me feel a little better, but not much, because he won’t let go of my
hand.

“Hey, Kevin. I’m Lauren Br—”

He releases his eager grip and quickly
moves one index finger to my lips so I can’t finish. He squishes my lips to the
side so the tender and sensitive flesh is jammed between my front teeth. This
is awkward, and uncomfortable bordering on painful. “Ah, ah, ah! We aren’t
supposed to say our last names yet.”

This is already the longest five minutes
of my life.

“Will you please move your finger?” I
ask, sounding like I’m trying to speak with my face jammed against a window. My
eyes are still wide in disbelief.

He jerks his finger back and grins.
“It’s nice to meet you, Lauren. I wasn’t sure about coming here but a friend of
mine convinced me to give it a try. I mean, even if I don’t find
the one
here, I decided I can make a few friends, and you can never have too many
friends in this world, don’t you think? I love making new friends, and I figure
a guy can never have too many, especially female-type friends who can introduce
me to more girls who might end up being the one. So, are we going to be
friends, Lauren?”

Uh...doubtful.

I guess I hesitated too long in Kevin’s
world as I pondered how to politely fudge the truth, because he cocks his head
to the side and makes a
tsk tsk
sound. “Do you have so many friends you
can’t find room in your heart for one more?”

“Sure, Kevin, I’ll be your friend.” I
only say this because I’m not entirely convinced the guy is mentally balanced,
and I don’t want to be what sets off his psychotic break. Been there, done
that, burned the t-shirt.

“So tell me a little bit about you,” he
says, lacing his fingers together and leaning forward with his chin resting on
them. Normal guys don’t sit like this.

Hmm...I’m more interested in asking him
things. My first legitimate question would probably be along the lines of, ‘did
you grow up in
Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood?’
Sadly, I’m not sure he can
handle my brand of honesty. Why didn’t I ask him something first? Twenty bones
says this guy could talk the whole five minutes without coming up for air. Now
I have to be the one to actually say something. I hate this.

“I’m a student. Wait...well, not
anymore. I graduated.” I sigh. “You should probably know I’m really bad at talking
about myself, so just jump in with questions or tell me something about
yourself,” I say, realizing I’m still holding my card. I look down at my first
slot and see his number at the top, matching the sticker attached to his
striped polo. He’s not a bad looking guy, with his close cropped haircut and
full lips. He just happens to look like his grandma dressed him for his first
day of kindergarten. I’m tempted to look under the table to see if he’s wearing
white striped tube socks and Buster Brown shoes with those tan khakis, but I’m
guessing I really don’t want to know the answer anyway.

He leans so far forward his chin is
hovering inches above the cheap linen table cloth. He reaches up and pulls back
and eyebrow to point at something as he says, “Look at my eye. Do you see my
eye?”

Dim ambiance lighting in the shop make
it hard to see what he wants me to see. The flickering shadows cast by the
faux, battery powered candles on the table are probably supposed to make it all
romantic, but it’s probably also to help us avoid getting too close a look at
what we signed up for.

I lean forward and squint. He turns his
face my way so I can get the close up, and as he does I’m treated to what looks
like a collection of ruptured blood vessels attached to the outside of his
eyeball. The skin around it is puffy and swollen, and the white of his eye is
almost solid red.

I jerk back, hoping my lunch decides to
stay put, because my stomach suddenly gurgles angrily, and what’s down there is
threatening to make a break for it. “Ew! What happened?” I swallow hard and
look away.

He sits back, too, apparently pleased
with himself. “I have no idea. Isn’t that so weird? I just woke up this morning
and my eye was all red. I called my doctor first thing and got in to see her,
and she said she’s never see anything like it without being triggered by some
massive injury, like a car accident, or a sports injury without proper
protective eye wear. We talked about it 45 minutes today, and she even
researched it on the web while I was there. She was very thorough.” He nods in
satisfaction, apparently impressed with his doctor’s mad Google skills.

I raise my eyebrows. “And what was her
diagnosis?” I don’t really want to know, but what else can I do? I’m checking
my watch every ten seconds and I still have three minutes alone with Kevin. I’m
not even trying to be subtle about it anymore.

“She had no idea! She sent me home with
four different kinds of eye drops that I have to take at different times of the
day, and she wants me to keep a journal of all the stressors in my life. She
also wants me to record how my eye reacts to the different drops. I hope it’s
not too serious. I have a little too much life to live and I haven’t even met
the
one
yet...”

The one. He keeps saying that. I’ll be
irate if the universe has
the one
for a whack job like Kevin the Eyeball
Guy and none for me. I used to believe in all that soul mate garbage, but then
real life crushed that youthful optimism out of me. I guess I’m not that old,
but all the life I’ve lived in my 26 years has aged me. I’m a pessimist. I
expect bad things to happen and I revel in saying ‘I told you so’ when
something goes wrong. I keep hoping for a reason to be hopeful, but so far life
keeps dealing me crap hands. Being jaded means I’m rarely disappointed.

I used to believe in happily ever after.
For three blissful years I was convinced I’d have my own fairy tale ending.
Perfect boyfriend, life on track, honor roll in college, great friends,
monumental social life...and then I lost everything. It’s all my fault, really.
Why did I let myself believe life would ever be kind to me?

I look up at Kevin, who’s still chatting
animatedly. The occasional nod and closed-lip smile from me has him convinced
I’m listening to every last bloomin’ detail of the great eyeball saga. Part of
me is jealous that he can live in such innocence. He’s so carefree, like having
to take eye drops is really the most pressing concern in his happy little
brain. Life hasn’t scared him off yet with how bleak and depressing it can really
be.

Wait. I think he just said something
that requires a response. “Sorry, can you say that again?” I cup a hand around
my ear and lean over the table. “It’s so loud with everyone talking. What was
that?”

He leans forward too, reaching across
the table. He reaches for my hand and I pull back and swat an imaginary fly
just in time to prevent him from taking them in his own. After the epic
handshake, I’m not sure I’m emotionally able to deal with his hand-holding.

“Sorry, a fly is buzzing in my ear!” I’m
a terrible liar, but he nods sympathetically.

“Isn’t that the worst? I was just saying
it would be great if we could go somewhere quieter to spend a little more time
getting to know each other better.”

I’ve heard enough. I reach forward and
smash my own index finger a little too hard against his lips. Paybacks are
beautiful. “Don’t say it, Kevin. We have to follow the rules.”

He nods. “You’re right, Lauren. What was
I thinking?” Somewhere near the glass front door, a little bell rings to let me
know the first five minutes are up. Hallelujah! If there’s a heaven, and if
that heaven has a choir, that choir is singing its angelic arse off thanking
the maker that my time with Kevin is done.

“It was so great to meet you, Lauren!
I’m marking you down for future contact. We need to get together again soon.”
With a dramatic flourish, he marks the little check box near my number that
says he wants to call me in the future. He points his little golf pencil at me,
and with a wink he grins, “Don’t forget to mark ‘yes’ on 20014! I just know
we’re going to be great friends, and if something blossoms from there...you
never know!” He winks at me before pivoting and jogging back to a corner, into
the shadows of the room.

As he walks away, I tip my head to the
side to check out his socks. Rainbow stripe. Even better! I grasp my own golf
pencil and turn away so he can’t see me marking my ‘no’ in the biggest, darkest
X the cheap little pencil can muster. There’s no way I’d consider round two
with the eyeball guy, but a part of me feels guilty. Saying no to him feels an
awful lot like kicking a kitten.

I think I’m okay for a minute, and I
take a deep breath. I’m drawing a deep lungful of air when it hits me. Hard. I
should have known it was coming. I walk away from everyone, to the rear of the
shop. I lean against the wall and shove my back against the rough texture of
the bricks. I pull my denim jacket tight around me and shiver, trying hard to
control the racing of my heart. I close my eyes and take more deep breaths, the
only thing that will prevent me from hyperventilating. I want to go punch
Harlow in the teeth for making me come, making me try something new. Sweat
erupts on my forehead. It runs down my temples and races down my back in icy
rivulets. I keep my eyes cinched shut and focus on relaxing my hunched
shoulders and unclenching my cramped, curled toes.

I’ll be okay in a minute. Deep breath
in, deep breath out. I’ll be okay in a minute...

They’re getting ready to start round
two, but I can’t do it. I just can’t. I run to the bathroom, thinking I should
probably go ahead and puke so I have a good excuse to bail out. It won’t come,
so I splash my face with cold water over and over. The next four guys will have
to deal with getting stood up—I’m done. I rummage in my oversize orange purse
for...something. I don’t know what. I’m looking for something to get my mind
off my own mind. I now have a master’s in psychology and I can’t even figure my
own brain out. How sad. If pathetic were a video game, I’d currently hold the
world’s high score.

I toss my bag to the ground in
frustration and give it a kick. It slides under the sink. I crank the vintage
faucet handle to full blast and lean over as sobs make me shudder. I keep
splashing water on my face so the people who wander in to fix their lip gloss
and spray down stray hairs don’t see what’s going on.

I feel a gentle hand rubbing my back.
Even with closed eyes, I know Harlow came to check on me. I turn off the faucet
and look up to see her concerned smile staring at me through the mirror above
the sink I’ve commandeered. I catch a glimpse of myself, too, and crinkle my
nose in disgust. My industrial strength mascara isn’t waterproof, which means I
now have black streaks running down my face. No one can rock raccoon chic like
me.

Harlow grins despite herself and reaches
into her bag. “You’ll do just about anything to get out of this, won’t you?”

I smile ruefully. “Including but not
limited to having a panic attack.”

She hands over a travel pack of makeup
remover wipes. When I take it from her, she rubs my back again in a comforting
way, like my sister used to. “Sorry, sweetie. I thought you were ready to get
out there and all you needed was just a little push.”

I scrub the last of my mascara off my
lashes before tackling the black streaks on my cheeks. I bend over the sink
with my neck craned up to look at myself in the mirror. “You were right. I’m
ready, and I did need a push. That doesn’t mean the first time out is easy. It
could have been worse. Considering my first ‘date,’ it’s lucky I didn’t puke
everywhere, too.”

Harlow laughs, the infectious kind that
makes everyone want to laugh with her. “Speaking of first dates, mine went
really well. The guy isn’t really my type physically, but we...I think we
connected on a deeper level.”

“Not your type?” I hand back her travel
wipes and retrieve my bag from its hiding place under the sink.  “You mean he’s
not an underwear model?”

She blushes a little, like she’s
embarrassed. “He’s an engineer.”

“Whoa! I didn’t see that one coming!”
Harlow works in PR for publishing, and she makes her living by looking fabulous
and going to swanky parties to talk potential clients into signing over rights
their first born and everything they possess. In exchange she makes them rich
and famous. She owns the room at these events, the kind of parties where I’m
the temporary wait staff, trying not to get groped by Harlow’s drunk rejects.
Being fabulous is kind of her job, and the guys she dates are almost always
prettier than she is. Engineers don’t scream high-glam lifestyle.

I leave my bag at the sink and poke my
head out, trying to spot the guy. I have him pegged right away, because he’s
the only guy in the room, besides the eyeball guy, who doesn’t have a
metro-urban-edgy look to him. He wears ironed chinos and a plaid button-down,
and his shoes don’t have an extended square toe box. His strawberry blond hair
is receding just a bit, but his light blue eyes pop in his rosy face. He looks
really nice. He is good looking for sure, but he isn’t hot. Dude
looks...normal. He has white picket fence and SUV in the ‘burbs written all
over him.

I almost don’t know what to say when I
close the door and turn back around. “I have to give you props. You came here
to give new guys a chance, and you did. He looks like a really decent guy.”

“I didn’t even realize until I met him
that he’s exactly what I’m looking for,” Harlow says. I can see it in her
glittering eyes...the girl is kind of whooped already. “I’m tired of the guys
who just want me because they like the package. I’m tired of guys walking out
mad when they realize I want more than just a physical connection. I’m amazing,
and I should be more than someone’s one night stand!”

“You’re totally right.”

Harlow reaches into her bag and gets
some lipstick out, letting that shade of red perfect for her complexion glide
over her silky lips. She shoves the lid to the tube back on and drops it into
her bag. “You know what the first thing he said to me was, when he sat down?”
She pushes her purse strap back over her shoulder and folds her arms. She turns
to face me as I rummage through my bag for my emergency cosmetics stash, trying
to repair the damage I’ve done to my makeup job.

“What?” I ask as I reach for my tinted
lip gloss, which is trying its best to avoid me by hiding at the bottom of the
bag.

“He told me I have a beautiful smile. He
looked me right in the eye and said he likes my smile.”

“Really? Not even a quick peek at the
cleavage? Shocking.” Her décolletage is legendary, and all natural.

“I know, right?” She sighs, and she’s
looking very twitterpated. It’s a dumb word but the only one that can possibly
describe the dreamy gaze that’s crossed her face. “I didn’t even know that’s
what I’m looking for until he did that. Then he listened. He asked questions
about what I do, what I like, what I want out of life. What I want in a
relationship. He’s looking for the same thing.”

“I hate to be jaded here,” I say as I
reach into her bag. She always has mascara in there. “But is there any chance
he’s just playing the nice guy to get into your panties? It’s happened before.”

She pulls a face. “I know. But I think
this guy is worth a shot. I have nothing to lose, right?” I nod, and she’s
silent and thoughtful for a few moments as I finish with her mascara and toss
it back to her. “He’s the kind of guy I’d have no problem taking home to meet
the family. And did you see his hair? We’d be breeding the next generation of
gingers. I would make the cutest babies with him.”

Harlow James is talking family and
babies. I think I should check hell’s weather forecast.

I smile at her, and pull her into a hug
as the little bell sounds outside to let me know it’s time for round two.
“Thanks for rescuing me and letting me raid your makeup stash. I think you
should blow this off and go somewhere with engineer boy and get to know him
better before your biological clock becomes a time bomb and explodes on you.”

She bites her lip again, something she’s
done a lot tonight. She never acts this nervous, but it kind of humanizes her.
She seems less perfect, in a good way. “You think?”

I nod. “Yes. Go somewhere far away from
this meat market and spend some time with a nice guy. After all the losers
you’ve collected over the years, you deserve a guy who will worship you. Go
have fun with...?”

“Pete.”

“Go have fun with Pete.” I take a deep
breath.

“Why don’t you come with us? You should
get out of here, too. I can’t believe I talked you into this.”

“And ruin your first date with Mr.
Right?” I shake my head. “No thanks. I’m a big girl and I hate leaving things
half done. I’ll finish off the night and then go pick up a pint of Ben and
Jerry’s on the way home to drown my sorrows with some ice cream therapy while I
lament the tragic lack of decent guys in this town, since apparently you just
snapped up the last good one.”

“Text me if you need rescuing.”

“Hey, if I can survive the eyeball guy,
I can take anything.”

She bursts out laughing. “There’s a
story here. I can’t wait to hear about this one later!”

“I think Kevin goes on quite a few top
ten lists of socially awkward and inappropriate behavior. I wish I’d known him
six months ago. He would’ve made a great master’s thesis.”

“I’m serious, Lauren. Call me. I’ll come
back in sobbing that your mom just got hit by a bus and drag you out.”

“I know you will. You’re a good friend.
Go, have fun! Go be the greatest thing that ever happened to Pete.”

She’s gone in a flash, all radiance and
excitement as she pulls open the ladies’ room door and hurries out. I follow
her, watching as his face lights up at her words. He puts an arm protectively
around her waist to guide her through the crowd and to the door. The people
thin out as everyone finds their tables and sits down. I grasp my card in a
shaking hand as I read the numbers and find my table for round two.

Game face on. Time to conquer my own
anxiety, or at least kick it in the shins and then hide so it takes some time
for it to find me again.