Chasing Fireflies (Power of the Matchmaker)

by Taylor Dean

  “I’m not shy, I’m an introvert.”

  Why fight it? I am shy. I like to think of myself as more of an introvert than anything else. Social situations sometimes exhaust me. Not that I don’t enjoy them. I do. Absolutely. But afterwards I need space, time to regroup and recover from the effort. For some reason, social situations take a lot out of me and I can only handle them in small doses. But it doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy them or need them.

  Saige huffs. “Aren’t they the same thing?”

  “No, not really. Small talk with strangers wears me out, that’s all. I’m not anti-social, I just need my downtime. I enjoy interacting with people I feel comfortable around.”

  “Exactly. And you feel comfortable around children.”

  Okay, so that’s true. I do. Somehow the fact that I work well with children feels like a cruel joke. And the joke is on me.

  “I admire your employment choice, sweetie. A job like that requires a lot of patience and love,” Saige says.

  Perhaps that was the point my mom had been trying to make. She wanted me to choose a life filled with love to make up for what I lack. Teaching children certainly requires a measure of love. I would feel as though I’m making a difference in other people’s lives. My job needs to provide that extra something I’m missing at home.

  And I’ll always be missing it if I don’t find Paul. Where is he?

  Saige interrupts my thoughts. “I know what you’re doing right now. You’re mulling everything over in that overactive brain of yours. You’re thinking it out before you say a single word.”

  I smile. “How’d you know that?”

  “Because I watched my shy and quiet sister grow up. Don’t get mad at me for calling you shy. It’s not a character flaw, you know.”

  On the contrary, I don’t mind my quiet demeanor. Nevertheless, I don’t enjoy situations where I feel at a loss for words. Every once in a while, I find myself searching for words and not finding them. That’s when things get awkward.

  I was a painfully shy child and I’ve fought the label ever since. As an adult that shy feeling sometimes haunts me. For the most part, I’ve learned to shake it off and speak up. It has taken effort though. Socializing does not come natural to me.

  A baby’s laugh takes me out of my reverie. I look up to see my former fiancé, Paul Ellis, and his very pregnant wife strolling past.

  Immediately, I feel my spirits plummet. The mere thought of Paul Ellis makes my future seem bleak. His actions had completely altered my search for Paul.

  Paul’s first child gurgles happily in the stroller, occasionally letting out an adorable giggle of delight.

  “Saige, I have to go. I’ll call you later.” I click my phone shut, smooth my hair, and sit up a little straighter.

  I shouldn’t have bothered. Paul doesn’t notice me. Most people don’t. That’s all right with me, I don’t enjoy being the center of attention. I like to observe and listen, it’s the niche where I feel most comfortable. Besides, I opted to wear my recently purchased glasses instead of contacts today. Plus I had my hair trimmed into a new style. Of course he doesn’t notice me; he doesn’t recognize me. It’s a classic Clark Kent moment. That’s all.

  Who am I kidding? My magic cloak is in full working order. He can’t see me.

  I frown as the memories of Paul Ellis wander through my mind. After dating for two short months, Paul had surprised me with a sweet proposal. It was very unexpected, yet most welcome. One week later, after a very serious and belated conversation, our engagement died a quick death.

  I killed us. Our entire affair was a yellow-tape-bordered crime scene. That made me a murderer—a murderer of love, a killer of dreams.

  Guilty as charged.

  That’d been a horrible moment, an eye-opening moment. You might even say I changed from a rose-colored-glasses girl to an adjust-your-dreams woman in that moment. The unexpected devastation on Paul’s face, the utter disregard for my feelings, the lightning fast choice he’d made—all of these things have haunted me and changed me.

  But I now know what to look for in a man. Lesson learned. The hard way.

  Paul and his little family walk by, so close I could reach out and touch my former fiancé. My fingers twitch from the impulse to say hello, but I can’t make my arm move. Verbally greeting him sits on the tip of my tongue, a forced smile and a sweet hello. Perhaps a How are you? and a Good to see you. Maybe an I’m so happy for you would be appropriate. Anything to let him know I wish him well and hold no grudges. Instead I sit there like a woman made of stone, just part of the architecture. I hate the disconnect between my brain and my tongue. It’s an innate part of me that I can’t seem to fight, no matter how hard I try.

  The words stick in my throat and he walks past as if he were a stranger. Someone I had never known, never kissed, never almost shared a life with. He wouldn’t have heard me anyway. I have the softest, tiniest voice known to mankind. It never carries and will certainly never break glass the way those opera singers can.

  It doesn’t matter. He isn’t the Paul I’ve been looking for anyway. For a time I felt sure it was him, and marveled at the happenstance. But . . . no. It wasn’t him after all.

  My eyes wander the great expanse of the UT campus; the meandering sidewalks, the leafy trees, the green grass, the students walking with purpose. I watch as Paul Ellis and his little family choose a spot on the grass and sit down to picnic; a blissful picture of perfect family life.

  It should’ve been my life.

  The thought niggles. And burrows. Forages in my heart. I don’t let it take root. I don’t plan on letting bitterness overcome me.

  No, instead I need to find the real Paul. He’s out there somewhere, I just know it.

  With a deep breath and a heartfelt sigh, I grab the newest edition of the campus magazine, ORANGE, from my backpack. I need a distraction. As I flip through the glossy pages, I glance at my watch. I still have forty-five minutes until my next final. I studied until two a.m. last night and now I just want something light to read.

  Wait. Did the name Paul just catch my eye or am I imagining things? Slowly, I thumb backwards, page after page, until I find the right article.

  Yep, there in big, bold letters is the name Paul.

  The article is about a man named Paul Brooks, an alumni of the University of Texas. He’d graduated only five years ago with his Master’s in Business Administration and now he’s considered quite the successful entrepreneur in China of all places.

  Hmmmm, we’d been at UT at the same time for a short period. Somehow our paths had never crossed. Had the Paul I’ve been looking for been close by all along? When choosing a college, Texas had fit the bill when it came to “far and wide.” At least, after growing up in Maryland, it had seemed foreign to me. Somehow it had felt like the perfect place to find Paul.

  I stare at his picture, feeling a little wave of anticipation tingle through my veins. The sight sends a shockwave trembling through my body. I feel drawn to him, pulled in by an unseen force. His picture alone compels me to come closer, begging me to enter his world.

  A most unusual reaction to a simple picture.

  His handsome face photographs rather well, no doubt about that. He’s wearing a suit that fits him perfectly. It’s obviously been hand tailored to hug his body in all the right places. If he hadn’t been successful at business, he could’ve had a career as a model.

  But there’s more to him than that. He isn’t just a handsome face in a fancy suit.

  He exudes confidence and appears to be a man who knows what he wants in life. He’s standing in front of an architecturally amazing office building, a briefcase in one hand, the other hand tucked into his pocket. He isn’t looking directly into the camera, instead his eyes look into the distance as if he can see something no one else can. Like he has vision.

  His dark brown hair is slightly windblown revealing brown eyes and an ever so slightly furrowed brow, as if he’s deep in thought, planning his next business s
trategy.

  I stare at his picture for an embarrassingly long period of time, lost in his perfect physique, his tanned skin, and his debonair appearance. He’s a handsome man, no doubt. Yet the purpose in his stance, the underlying determination in his features, draws me in like nothing else. He seems like a fascinating man, a man of substance.

  Could he be the Paul I’ve been looking for?

  My eyes scan the article, seeking more information.

  Orange: Your résumé is impressive, Mr. Brooks.

  Paul Brooks: Thank you. I didn’t want to just design buildings and hope my plans would see the light of day in the distant future. I wanted to see them through to fruition, to design and build them.

  Orange: I see you majored in Architecture, then went on to get your MBA.

  Paul Brooks: Yes, it took me a little longer, but the effort was well worth it. I also spent every summer working as part of a housing construction crew. I learned the ropes, hands on. Best thing I ever did. I still love to be out in the action to this day.

  That explains his bronzed skin. This isn’t a man who sits at a desk all day. He’s still hands on.

  Orange: Your American company has done quite well. Why branch out in China?

  Paul Brooks: I have a love for anything Asian. I find their culture fascinating. In its major cities, China loves to build upwards. They love bold and daring when it comes to architecture. I love the way they embrace my designs. It seemed a no-brainer to extend my company to their shores.

  Orange: As an American, is it difficult to become a business owner in China?

  Paul Brooks: It was certainly a long process. A lot of paperwork, applications, and proof that my business was already successful and thriving here in America. I also had to learn the language, which turned out to be a much easier endeavor when I was faced with total immersion.

  Orange: Is it true you live in China on a permanent basis now?

  Paul Brooks: I do. I travel back and forth frequently, but my home is now in China.

  I frown. Fat chance of arranging a meeting with Paul Brooks.

  Orange: What about your family here in the States?

  Paul Brooks: My parents have both passed on. I don’t have anything to hold me in the U.S.

  Orange: What about a Mrs. Brooks?

  Paul Brooks: I’m extremely focused on my career. At this point, a family would tie me down and, frankly, distract me.

  Huh. Interesting. Perhaps this is the kind of man I need. It’s not an alluring trait, but at least he’s honest. And it solves several problems for me. It’s time for me to adjust my dreams and face reality anyway.

  Too bad he lives half a world away. Searching “far and wide” for Paul can’t possibly include China, can it? That’s asking too much of me.

  Enough daydreaming.

  I close the magazine with a slap, stuff it in my backpack, and spend my remaining time perusing job offers.

  What to do? What to do?

  No more watching, Savannah.

  Feeling no closer to a decision, my mother’s final words ring in my ears once again. How can I change from a watcher of life to a participant in life? It isn’t in my nature to be an outgoing participant and I’m okay with that. I admit, self-pity occasionally rears its ugly head and sometimes I feel a little left out, but watching is what I actually prefer. Invisibility is my talent.

  And that’s exactly why Saige is right. I ought to pursue a job teaching children. I don’t need my magic cloak when I’m with children. I feel as though I can be myself without reservation. They’re the one group I actually feel comfortable speaking in front of. My tongue feels loosed and I let go of my innate shyness. Even my soft voice works to my advantage. The quieter I am, the calmer and quieter the children remain. It’s a technique often taught in education, but it’s rarely implemented.

  All right, at least I’ve made one firm decision. It’s a step in the right direction. I toss my backpack over my shoulder and pick up my pace as I meander through the maze of hallways. I curse myself for having spent thirty non-replaceable minutes of my life staring at a magazine picture just because the subject was named Paul.

  I must find Paul. I must.

  How can I move forward until I find Paul? Finding him is the driving force in my life. Without him, nothing else matters.

  Suddenly, from the corner of my eye, I notice a new poster on the bulletin board across the hall from my next class.

  TRAVEL ABROAD.

  Hmmmmm . . . go somewhere, anywhere, and search for Paul. Sounds enticing. Traveling abroad certainly equates to searching “far and wide.” I approach the poster, my heart rate picking up at the mere thought of traveling to someplace exotic.

  EXPERIENCE LIFE IN A DIFFERENT CULTURE.

  Yes, please.

  AN OPPORTUNITY NOT TO BE MISSED.

  Sign me up.

  TEACH ENGLISH TO THE WORLD.

  My eye’s quickly scan the poster. The SPEAK ENGLISH NOW (SEN) program is looking for young single adult volunteers to travel to other countries and teach English to elementary aged children for one semester. A small monthly stipend will be granted to each teacher for incidentals. All expenses are covered, to include travel, housing, and food. SEN further emphasizes how impressive voluntarily teaching English in a foreign country will look on a résumé.

  Perfect.

  The program sends teachers to several countries to include: Romania, The Dominican Republic, Thailand, Ukraine, Russia, Lithuania, Mexico, and China.

  China?

  My mind comes to a screeching asphalt-staining halt.

  China. The place where Paul Brooks lives, works, eats, and sleeps. This is just too much of a coincidence to ignore. Fate is telling me where to go and what to do next. One minute I’m reading an article about Paul Brooks and China, next I’m perusing a poster with an opportunity to actually go to China. An opportunity that falls into my line of employment perfectly.

  Life doesn’t work this way. This can’t be happenstance. Divine Providence has intervened. An opportunity has just been placed in my lap like an exquisitely wrapped gift. The magazine and the poster are no accident. I’ve been wondering how to find Paul and what to do with my life. Then, poof, the answer stands in front of me.

  My restless heart now knows what to do.

  Somehow, someway, I’ll finagle a chance meeting with the handsome business entrepreneur, Paul Brooks.

  Why not?

  Maybe he is the Paul. Stranger things have happened.

  Chapter Three

  August

  I RIP OPEN my packet of peanuts and down them quickly. Then I ask the stewardess for one more package. She obliges with a pleasant smile pasted on her face.

  Here I am, on the first leg of my flight to China. It’s now mid-August and I’ll be spending a little over four months in China. I feel like I should pinch myself, just to make sure I’m not dreaming.

  I almost feel naked without my cell phone, but SEN discourages teachers from bringing them. The apartment building where we will be housed provides a landline phone for our use. SEN feels it’s best to purchase a calling card for occasional phone calls to loved ones at home. Or we can just communicate through email.

  I guess I can live without a cell phone for four months. Somehow, it feels freeing, even though I feel a little . . . undressed.

  My decision to go to China feels so very right. Fate further intervened into my life when I found out I was being sent to Zhongshan, (jong-shan) China.

  It just so happens to be the exact city in all of big, beautiful China where Paul Brooks makes his home.

  I don’t need any further signs. It seems obvious he is the Paul I’ve been looking for. No doubt about it. Some people would probably call it coincidence.

  I call it destiny.

  The plane rumbles and groans and I grip my arm rests with white knuckles. I hate turbulence.

  Both on planes and in life.

  I’ve spent my life hiding from turbulence. My gut clenches tigh
tly. The path I am about to follow feels miles out of my comfort zone—and has the potential for major turbulence. The flip side leaves me optimistic. More than likely, I’m about to come face to face with Paul, the man I’ve been searching for forever. At least it feels that way.

  The pilot’s static filled voice announces we’re about to land. Next stop: LAX.

  I’ll soon meet with the group of fellow teachers I’ll be traveling with on an international flight to China. I don’t do well with groups and my nerves are getting the best of me.

  Can someone who purposely wears an imaginary magic cloak to keep herself invisible really enjoy this undertaking? I frown. I want to shake off any signs of debilitating shyness and be the friendly girl hidden deep within the depths of my soul.

  The desire to be sociable and outgoing have always been present. The ability to execute such mannerisms are beyond me. I watch others do it flawlessly, but I know I’d feel gauche if I tried. It just doesn’t come naturally to me.

  I overheard a conversation once between two girls during freshman English class. They were speaking of a shy girl in the class who never said one single word. She didn’t even make eye contact with fellow students. So what was the difference between us? I always try to pretend I’m not shy or uncomfortable in social situations, even though I am. This girl didn’t even have it in her to try and I felt for her.

  “I can’t stand her, she’s so stuck up.”

  “I know, right. She thinks she’s too good for us.”

  Having much in common, I sparked up a friendship with this girl, finding her sweet and friendly once I breached her barriers. Until that moment, I had never once realized the perception a shy girl unknowingly portrays.

  I made a vow to always try to be friendly, even when it feels awkward—which it always does. The last thing I want to do is appear to be standoffish or stuck up.

  I try and fail every day of my life. Outgoing isn’t part of my genetic make-up. Instead I find a smile goes a long way and I often hide behind facial expressions. Sometimes my magic cloak feels as though it has claws that dig into my skin painfully with a tenacious hold. Sometimes it feels tight and uncomfortable around my neck, as if it’s similar to a superhero cape caught on something and it’s constantly strangling me.