This Modern Love

by Ray Hecht

  The effect wasn’t grand, but it was a ritual.

  All the while, the moon watched.

  Most of her friends, when pressed to admit (far as Carla was aware), preferred to smoke up before sex. In order to get in the mood. But she preferred the experience after a good self-induced orgasm. The two feelings overlapped each other well and brought a euphoric sense of organic peace. Nothing better when stressed.

  Once sufficiently relaxed, she shut the window and hobbled over to the computer.

  The feeling was perfect.

  Next up, time to write.

  She typed away, and hurriedly recorded all that was fresh in her mind’s eye. Time passed in an odd way when under the influence, and with neither boredom nor blockage the words flowed freely. Some raw, some unedited, but words nonetheless. It turned to a thousand, as the word count assured. A story was forming, and Carla looked forward to tomorrow’s edits and subsequent share for her treasured reading community.

  As she wrapped up the chapter, more than a little proud of herself, she noticed something out of the corner of her eye. The phone was blinking.

  Who?

  Carla was perplexed. Her friends from City College weren’t the nightly texting sort. She wasn’t expecting a message from anyone. Couldn’t be a guy, could it? It had been ages since she went on a date.

  Perhaps it was only the side effect of paranoia, and Carla asked herself that as well, but for whatever reason the curious mixture of the emotions left her stomach in swirls. She stared at the intermittent light as it popped in and out of existence, and pressed forward the time to see who it could be. Her thoughts were not cohesive enough to imagine some threat, at least, not cohesive enough to imagine anything in the real world.

  That was it, she realized. She was too stuck in the other world, the world of stone and ice.

  One last time, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she cracked her eyelids open, the world was getting to a normal wavelength again, and she picked up her phone with no fear.

  – Hello, said a mystery number. Followed by: – I’m Sharon. We met earlier today. I hope I’m not being weird by texting, just wanted to say hi.

  Who could that be? The mystery deepened. It was a quiet day. She hadn’t met anyone. She stayed in all morning, her sister dropped by, and the only time she went out was for yoga class.

  Yoga class! That was when she met the girl asking questions at the end. Her? What was her name again?

  – Hello, typed Carla. – From yoga class, right?

  – It’s not a bad time is it? replied Sharon, almost instantly.

  – No way. How may I help you

  – Just wanted to say hi

  – Haha, just hope this isnt pertaining to any stretching injuries anything like that!

  – Nah, To be honest I was in the mood for a girl’s night out. Sure its a weeknight, but I thought who better than my yoga teacher. Like, if thats cool…

  Carla had to think.

  – Sure why not. I’m down

  Surreally, Carla sobered up and made plans to meet at one of those coffee shops that doubled as pubs after a certain hour. She paused the music, slid on some pants, buttoned up a modest top which only slightly accented her chest, slipped on some flats, packed her purse, and exited the security of her bedroom universe.

  Outside, Mama and Abuela were watching a reality television show. The two stretched out on the sofa comfortably, enraptured by tales of celebrity housewives in catfights.

  “I’m going out,” Carla called, to little acknowledgment.

  Everyone in their own world.

  As the night winds struck her gently, with it struck the realization that she was ecstatic to get out of there. It was wonderful to have somewhere to go at this time.

  * * *

  Carla and Sharon arrived at the coffee shop at precisely the same time. The mood seemed appropriately transitionary as the sultry barista mutated the coffee menu into a more elegant selection of cocktails and house wines. It smelled of chalkboard eraser.

  Sharon insisted on paying for the first round of red wine, and they sat at a corner table facing the window. “I really appreciate your coming down on my account.”

  “It’s no problem. I was free. So, how was your practice again? Are you sore?”

  “I’m good. Legs a bit stiff, but I’m improving. Now that you mention it, I do think my practice is going very well. Ashanti is great!”

  “Yeah. We know you have many choices in yoga studios, and we thank you for your patronage.” Carla was trying out an airline joke, and it didn’t connect.

  “When I moved here,” Sharon continued, in an attempt to segue into a personal story, “a yoga studio was the first place I looked for.”

  “Master Samara is great.”

  “How long have you been?” asked Sharon.

  “I’m not really on the payroll, as it were,” Carla admitted. “I’m on a trainee program to get my certification. You know.”

  “I had no idea. I thought you were a professional for a long time. You’re so flexible.”

  “Ha! Yeah right. Flexibility is easy with daily practice.” She paused to ponder. “Or near-daily.”

  Sharon added several more compliments, which Carla took in stride. It wasn’t easy to explain that verbal instruction was the hard part; far more difficult than getting used to the breathing and posing routines.

  But they only talked about yoga the minimal amount, and both knew that the purpose of the night was escapism. The daylight life may have brought the two women together, but later hours were meant for another lifestyle altogether.

  Carla, however, needed her curiosity satiated before moving on to the hedonistic topics sure to come.

  “May I ask how you came across my number?”

  “I’m sorry,” Sharon said, and bit her bottom lip. “Was that too much?”

  “No worries, really,” Carla assured. “Just wondering.”

  “It wasn’t hard,” Sharon blurted. “I went to the Ashanti site. It said your full name, Carla Diaz, and I did a Search. Turns out we have a mutual friend of a friend. Or, I think, a friend of a friend of a friend. Wasn’t long until I found your blog. Good writing by the way. One of the comments had a link to your social network profile, and your phone number was listed.”

  “Oh my. I feel like a celebrity.”

  “I should have just friended and messaged you. But, I dunno… I had a bad day at work. Yoga helps, but I need some urgent advice. Like, it’s time sensitive.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Sharon didn’t answer. They finished their wine, and she insisted on another round, which presently consisted of lime margaritas. “It’s not the healthiest beverage for a couple of yoginis,” Carla said. “But I’m always down.”

  “I’m sorry. Should we get juices or something?”

  “I was joking!”

  “Oh.”

  “Seriously, girlfriend. No worries. Where were you?”

  After a big gulp, she continued: “I just hate my job so fucking much. Moving here to this city, doing restaurant work. I’m such a cliché. I can do better. But it’s so hard, you know? To figure out what to be?”

  “I feel you.”

  “So I thought about it, and I want to teach yoga! Like you!”

  “Oh. Hmmm. Sure. That’s easy. Doesn’t the site have info on the teacher training program? It’s a crowded field to be sure, but I would recommend you or whatever."

  Quietly, Sharon said her thanks.

  “It’s cool,” Carla continued. “Best of luck to ya. And I know it’s hard when you’re new somewhere. A couple of years ago I was traveling, and I was new everywhere.”

  “It is a challenge.”

  “It is indeed sometimes. Yet, people are surprisingly nice.”

  “Is that right?”

  Carla went on about vagabonding in Southeast Asia, and her adventures on BNB websites and the people she met on the road. Her new friend listened aptly. It was refreshing to
relive those experiences, although the darker parts were left out. Towards the end of a particularly stressful story about the time she had no place to go after a curfew in Vietnam, she decided to throw something out there. “The trickiest part, if I can be honest, was getting bud.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Like, in Thailand it’s no problem. In Laos you can forget about it.” After an awkward gap, she added: “Sorry, I don’t know if you smoke or whatever.”

  “Hey, I’m new to the area, but I am in the service industry. Pretty much all my coworkers are stoners. What’s it like in your field? You don’t seem the hippie type, but we do both work evenings…”

  “Actually,” Carla disclosed, “I was a little high when you texted me today.” With that, she felt she had finally crossed the threshold from initial acquaintance conversation to full-on honest friendship. Pleased, she smirked naughtily.

  “I knew you were the four-twenty-friendly teacher!” Sharon said to accompanying giggles.

  “Most are!”

  The barista—now bartender—glanced at them. The drinks , with thin film of green liquid cascading across the bottom of the glass, were running low.

  “Another round?”

  “I have a better idea.”

  Carla paid her half, rated the establishment on Yipe, and took her new friend out for a ride.

  The ride to her dealer was only somewhat perilous. “How many ounces you want?” and Sharon raised two fingers. “And is that all you want…?” Carla asked, and Sharon’s eyes beamed full of possibility and wonder.

  “Can you get any E?”

  “Why not.”

  Carla’s drug dealer was punctual for a drug dealer, but they still ended up waiting a good thirty minutes at the southside apartment parking lot before being told it was cool.

  The girls talked about the poor state of music on the radio, and it felt very natural on this night to be waiting in preparation for such a business deal. Sharon’s purse was bloated with tip money, and she was happy to exchange it for the promise of alleviating a hard day. It was the proper payoff. Like a reward. Like a child receiving a present after passing a test.

  Eventually Carla got a text and went to sneak inside the grimy complex, leaving the other to entertain herself with only a phone.

  Sharon felt lonely, but distracted herself well. The stillness outside the window was like being in deep space, except with less interesting scenery.

  Apps tend to be useful to pass the time, and hers were no less thoroughly entertaining. More than a few rounds of a chocolate puzzle game were played. After getting stuck, Sharon decided to swipe her Minnderrr.

  “Sorry that took so long,” Carla suddenly said as she tried to inconspicuously slide back into the driver’s seat. Her style was forced and causal, and she only barely glanced from side to side before starting the car. “It’s usually faster, but with the E—”

  “Oh my God!” Sharon interrupted.

  Carla was taken aback. Heart skipping one powerful beat, she worried that there was trouble. “What is it?” she gasped, fearing violence. The car stayed in place.

  “Hell. Sorry. No big deal. Just looking at Minnderrr.”

  “Whoa,” Carla was supremely relieved, and got the hell out of that neighborhood. “You scared me for a second. I had to find my calm center all over again.”

  “Sorry. It’s just that you wouldn’t believe the guys that are on here.”

  “I know…”

  “I saw my coworker. Jesus, what a creep.”

  “Really?” At a red light, Carla stole a peek of the screen. “Let me see.” Indeed, the coworker looked exactly like an escaped prisoner in cheap disguise by way of oversized sunglasses and a badly-grown beard. It was incomprehensible that such a picture could ever attract.

  “It’s so weird when you see people you’ve met in real life on Minnderrr. Totally ruins the whole thing.”

  “Men are lame,” Carla said, cynically. She couldn’t wait to begin the serotonin high. “Everything is lame. Life is lame. Jobs are lame.”

  “Yoga teaching is positive. It must be more rewarding than working at a restaurant.”

  “That’s not saying much,” she said, thinking back on her days behind the counter.

  “True. But, like, compared to acting or modeling or all that shit. Even computer stuff. It’s positive. I mean, like, so many people have all these big deal jobs. And yet everyone else in this town is so… I don’t know how to put… They’re not real.”

  “I guess I know what you mean.”

  “I don’t know,” Sharon said forlornly. “Maybe I’m too negative. I just feel a spiritual path would be better than all that usual crap in life.”

  “It’s nice,” Carla continued, eyes on the road. “But it’s still a job. Everything sucks when it becomes a job. Fuck. A. Job.” Both girls laughed.

  “People should just be allowed to do whatever they want all the time, what’s wrong with that?” This was followed by more laughter, nods of agreement, and the offer to pop while driving.

  “Sure.”

  The outside layer of the capsule was a coated with a bright lavender plasticity; it looked candy-coated, and within the shell rested ten thousand bleach-white particles of methylenedioxy methamphetamine. The methylenedioxy methamphetamine particles patiently waited for the chance to work their magic upon the human nervous system, to rearrange and redistribute hormone levels to a purposeful effect.

  Particles were ingested. The ride carried on.

  “That tastes like the worst medicine.” She smirked.

  “I’m sure there’s a water bottle somewhere,” said the driver, and dug around the dashboard until a bottle was procured. “Where is a spoonful of sugar when you need one? Ah. Here you go.”

  “Thanks.” Gulp.

  “Not the best chaser, but it’ll do.”

  “Hey, speaking of chasers…”

  * * *

  The girls discussed it, and Magicpark just wasn’t worth going to on a weeknight so early. Hence they returned to the latenight hard coffee shop.

  “Feel anything yet?” asked Carla in a whisper.

  “Not really,” answered Sharon.

  “Hope I didn’t get ripped off.”

  “Just wait.”

  Sharon took out her phone from her purse, and curiously swiped downward at some male head.

  “What are you doing?” asked her companion. “I thought this was a girl’s night out.”

  “It is. But if we’re not going to a club yet, let’s find some guys into to join us.”

  “Sharon. Come on. If we’re going to have a magical night, or something, shouldn’t we give the night a decent chance? It’s not right to use an app to get guys to come. It’s cheating or something. Like, if it happens, it happens. And with that, it shouldn’t be forced. If I want to meet guys, if that’s the thing to do, then let’s do it the old-fashioned way.”

  “The old-fashioned way?”

  “The real way. Life is supposed to be more real. Isn’t that the feeling we are seeking?”

  “Fine. You make a valid point; let’s be real.”

  Carla was surprised that she could be so persuasive. “I do? We will?”

  “Yeah…”

  Just then. “Whoa. I feel something kicking in.”

  She promptly took the outdated Grapephone, and gently placed it in the purse. “Shhhh.” she murmured, finger to lips.

  A spell of dizziness twirled inside her head. It wasn’t fun. It was uncomfortable, weird, unnerving.

  Carla stood up from the barstool and circled around the establishment. Dark colors struck at her eyes. She wished she wore sunglasses. The background music, an electronic pop hit from the previous decade, was too loud in her sensitive ears. She leaned against a wall and tried to catch her breath.

  She looked around. So many couples.

  She hated them all.

  A scene of an older lady with a young black man grabbed at her attention. The older, whiter woman dran
k with such confidence. The younger black man was trying to keep up. No doubt they would end up in another place as the evening progressed. Those happy, stupid, ignorant people. Their attempts at happiness and distraction was so pathetic. So doomed. Death was coming. Didn’t they know?

  Those ignorant masses busying about their lives, futile in their sorry tries to enjoy brief existences. What a waste. Bet they didn’t read books or anything.

  It was something of a rollercoaster to feel such negative emotions so sudden.

  When she saw the lonely girl in glasses, the chemical process shifted within her and the hatred somehow turned to compassion.

  A hiccup. A yawn. A swirling of warm energy up the spinal column.

  She looked at that poor girl. Sitting all alone. Staring at the table. There wasn’t even a phone to accompany. It was a most pitiful sight.

  Something happened to the girl. Something unfair. Something powerful. Perhaps she wasn’t as empty as the rest. Perhaps none of them were so empty.

  For this particular human, Carla felt empathy.

  She approached. “It will be okay,” she said as she knelt down. Her hand ever so slightly patted the girl’s shoulder. An electricity connected the two.

  “Thanks,” the girl said.

  “I’m sure he isn’t worth it.”

  “He’s not. But. You know.”

  “Take care.”

  “You too.”

  Enough was said.

  When Carla returned to Sharon, the latter was already in mid-conversation with a random gentleman. The guy came out of nowhere. Carla didn’t even look at his face. He was no individual. Not one to empathize with, nor a negative stereotype to disparage. He wasn’t even an archetype. To her, he was merely an abstraction taken form; a need fulfilled, a plug in the hole of reality.

  “That was fast,” she mused.

  The faceless gentleman introduced himself by name, which Carla immediately forgot, and she giggled uncontrollably. At this point the serotonin and dopamine in her bloodstream were coming on heavy. Certain agents in the brain caused hormonal discharges as well as the prevention of reuptakes of said discharges, and this left her in a very good mood.