I never have, even up till this point, been with or have kissed a girl. In high school, I had all these crushes. Of course, everyone did. I can remember this specific girl named Alice White. She was stunning; everything about her was just surreal. I never asked her out nor any of my crushes.
It’s not because I had a hard time talking to girls. It’s just that I… lacked confidence. I was a big guy back then, and not to mention that my whole wardrobe consisted of shitty hand-me-downs.
I figured two things would occur if I lost weight and bettered myself. The first being that I would find self-happiness, and the second boiled down to a fool’s paradise. I thought women would finally find me attractive. I prayed even — that I would find that special person. I’m an idiot, I know.
What hurts more than anything else, and I’m ashamed to even admit, is seeing everyone around me happy, joyful, and high-spirited. I’m not bitter. I’m not angry. I’m not even jealous. I’m disappointed because I fuck’d up. I thought I was going to be alone forever. I didn’t like that idea because I didn’t even want to be alone with myself—dark thoughts and all.
But until recently, that notion that I’d set dissolved, waning into the back of my mind. My older brother, Ricardo, found himself a girlfriend on one of those dating apps. He suggested, no – he insisted that I give it a whirl.
“You’re nearly 23 years old. Why don’t you have a girlfriend?” he said a bit harshly.
“In this economy, are you crazy? Besides, I’m single by choice.” I said.
“That choice just wasn’t you’re to make.” I gotta admit that fucking hurt. “Just try the app… shit, try any of them.”
“Fine,” I said.
I downloaded the first app that popped up, called “Anonymous Love.” I made my profile, filling in all that important shit that no one ever looks at. Let’s be honest; people look at the person, not the description. The thing about Anonymous Love is that everything is completely anonymous. And I mean everything; names, pictures, age, ethnicity, height, weight, sex. I don’t even know if they’re in the same state as me.
A few days passed, and I hadn’t matched with anyone yet. But when I did, my hands couldn’t stop shaking. I suddenly felt that childish love I had in high school. I brushed my teeth and took a shower as if we were meeting in person. Stupid, I know, but I was so damn nervous.
You’ve matched with Anonymous User #102599
“Hey,” they texted.
“Hello,” I replied. “I don’t know if I’m allowed to ask this, but fuck it. Are you a girl?”
She sent the girl emoji. Thank fucking God.
“And you?” she asked. To which I replied with the male emoji.
We texted for about a week, and I ended up receiving a message from Anonymous Love asking if I was ready to advance to the level stage. I said yes and was invited to join a call with her about an hour later.
This jitteriness took hold of my body, making every action and movement nearly impossible to perform. I feared that I would drop my phone and the call would pass upon landing on the ground. I didn’t want to mess this up, so I answered, barely having enough time to collect my thoughts. The first thing I said was akin to a nervous child asking permission to go out and see friends. “He… Hell… Hey.”
“Hey,” she said. I had this notion of what she would sound like, but what I’d originally believed seemed vastly fallacious. She sounded like a concept that couldn’t exist, a soft ethereal voice that crawled straight into my soul. Suddenly, I felt all the happiest moments of my life fused into one immeasurable feeling. And when she spoke again, I essentially lost the ability to speak or think.
“You there?” she asked.
“Uh…I… yeah, I’m here. Sorry,” I replied. “I honestly thought you were going to sound different, but I’m just glad to finally hear your voice.”
“I can say the same thing about you.”
I laughed, saying, “You know, I’ve been thinking of asking for your name.”
“Me too, but I’m liking this whole anonymous concept. Also, I don’t want you to go and search me up on Facebook. Kinda ruins the whole experience.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” I lied.
“How about you call me… Parker? It’s from a show called Levera–,” she said.
“Leverage! I love that show. Seen all 5 seasons at least three times, and the reboot at least once,” I said excitedly.
“We’re off to a good start then, so what should I call you?” she asked.
“Simon.”
“Who’s he from?”
“He’s a green lantern that carries a gun.”
We talked for hours about everything that came to mind. We like the same things, with a few exceptions. But that’s normal, right?
“Favorite game is definitely Twisted Metal Black. It’s a classic,” she said, giggling over the phone. “I still can’t fathom how my parents allowed me to play such a fuck’d up game.”
“Shit. And I thought my parents were irresponsible.” I said, “And you?” she asked.
“I have a few games that I thoroughly enjoyed, so it’s kinda hard to narrow which one I would consider to be that best. But my top three would have to be Bioshock 2, Ratchet and Clank going commando, and The last of us Part 2. However, I am in the process of playing The Witcher 3, and holy shit, is that game good.”
“The Last of Us Part 2… You can’t be serious?”
“It’s a good game.”
“Have you had any traumatic experiences?” she asked.
I gotta admit this was an odd question to ask.
“Because I’ve been through a lot.”
“Oh really?” I said.
She didn’t say anything for a moment, but I heard her giggle over the phone. “I have a good one.” She continued, “I keep trying to forget this happened, but I just can’t. I’m pretty sure it’s a core memory at this point. Back when I was learning how to ride a bike, I think I was probably nine or ten years old. Anyways, I was terrible at it. Even with the training wheels on, I always managed to bump into everything.” She struggled to contain a laugh.
“My… uh… My dad. Dear old pops, bless his soul. Wanted to go for a bike ride. I wanted to accompany him, but at the same time, he didn’t want me to slow him down. He came up with a plan that he regrets to this day. I don’t know what they’re called, but a lot of people had them in front and on the back of their bikes. They were like these silver cylinder thingy; I’m getting out of topic. Sorry. I was riding in the front, and not ten minutes in, my entire goddamn foot slipped into the wheel, causing both of us to be jetted into the air. Now, thankfully, I landed on the grass. Although it wasn’t a graceful landing, I came out with only a few injuries.
My dad, on the other hand, well — he landed face first into the pavement. And if it wasn’t for the fact that he was in excruciating pain, I know for certain that I wouldn’t be alive today.” The laugh she’s been trying to contain escaped, and then she added, “I… I haven’t ridden a bike since.”
“Maybe I can show you,” I softly said
I don’t know if it was the loneliest I’d endured for so long or the fact that I genuinely felt seen. But that dismal-love feeling I’d experienced all my life had finally lifted. I always imagine myself in a room encircled by monitors that play alter worlds of the one I’m in. In these worlds, I’m someone better, someone smarter, someone more charming and outgoing. Today, those monitors were all turned off, and I was living a dream I didn’t want to wake up from. I was in love.
After the call ended, her profile picture was slightly unblurred, and I can only assume that the same goes for me. I was also given her age; she’s 24.
Over the next few weeks, we talked almost every day. During those weeks, it was revealed that she’s a Mexican-American, about 5’10, with blue eyes. I also found out her name is Natalia. Her last name is still undisclosed, and even if I had it, I wasn’t going to search her up. She also insisted that I continue to call her Parker. By this point, her profile picture was still a bit blurry, but I could somewhat make out what she looked like. I think she’s standing in front of a house. And I think she’s smiling. But since it’s all still blurry, it looked like she had a distorted grin.
When I finally got the chance to unblur her entire profile picture, I had to clear my throat and rub the sweat off my hands. I then clicked to unblur everything, and I honestly wished I hadn’t. Within a second of seeing what she looked like, I received a message from her. “I’ll see you soon.”
I was looking at myself, dead eyes, pale skin, jaw unhinged with blood cake all around my face. The house I mentioned before was mine, except it was engulfed in flames. In one of the windows, I noticed a silhouette of a person. I don’t know if it was my imagination or the fact that I was freaked the fuck out. But I saw the silhouette wave.
I deleted the app, but that didn’t stop Parker from messaging me. I blocked her three times, but she kept coming back. She sent me a picture of someone in the airport. The next day, she sent another of someone entering an Uber. Just yesterday, she sent a picture of my house, and I looked outside a second after she had sent it. Surprisingly, no one was standing there.
I did try texting her back, but she ignored my texts. She only replies with “I’ll see you.” and “Isn’t this what you wanted.” I thought about calling the police, but I don’t think that will help me at all. As I type this, I’m afraid to go outside and move away from my keyboard. I just wanted to find love. I just wanted someone to fucking love me because this loner shit is miserable.
As of writing this, a sharp, prickly finger crawls up my neck. I can feel my bones rattling against the inner layer of my skin. I noticed a brief flash of light behind me and I received a message a second later. A croaking voice that reeks of death is humming a tune as though to ease my pain or perhaps intensify it.
I continued to write, although I’m not sure why. Maybe if I ignore her, she’ll go away, but that’s not going to happen. Her fingers have made their way into my hair.
Everything has gone silent and dark, except for the glow of my computer. If you think being alone sucks, trust me, it doesn’t. You just gotta learn to be okay with being alone.