I think that, misguided as it is, we are trying to connect. It’s just that we don’t know how, and maybe we can’t stop ourselves from trying in this way. I know that the answer to my loneliness won’t be found on a computer screen. And yet here I am. Reaching out. I wish I knew if anyone was reading this.
—LBH
Dear Universe,
Tonight I’m trying something new. I heard a psychiatrist talking on the radio. She said that writing out our feelings can not only help us understand ourselves, but can help take the pain from us. So here I go with my own experiment. Starting tonight I will begin the task of chronicling the life of a lonely woman. A woman who desperately wants to love and to be loved. I don’t know if anyone will ever read this except me and God, but I’m trusting the psychiatrist. At least for now. It’s that or Prozac.
—LBH
Whoever this woman was, I was taken by her sheer vulnerability. Or maybe it was her honesty. Is there a difference? I bookmarked the blog and then got ready for bed, her words stuck in my head. Is anyone out there? Can you hear me? Her words were perfect. I wanted to write back, I know what you mean. Or maybe just, I am. Where are you?
That’s what I was thinking when I finally fell asleep.
CHAPTER
Four
The next day was Saturday and I slept in, waking a little past nine. I woke still thinking about the blog. I got out of bed and went right to my computer and pulled up the site. There was a new post.
Dear Universe,
Tonight I read an article where a reporter asked a scientist if he believed there was life on other planets. The scientist replied, “The only thing more frightening than the possibility of there being extraterrestrial life out there is the distinct possibility that there’s not and we are alone in the universe.”
I suppose that’s exactly how I’ve felt most of my life.
—LBH
Tonight? I had been on the site at 2 a.m. Either she didn’t sleep at night or she lived in a different time zone. Somewhere out west. Could it be in my sales region? Oregon? Washington? California?
As I sat there thinking, a notification popped up on my computer.
Alex,
We have some matches for you!
Below the words were pictures of six women. If I had wondered whether people fudged the truth on the questionnaire, I now had my answer. The women all looked ten to fifteen years older than me. One of them looked like my late aunt.
They had also all described themselves as athletic and fit, but I couldn’t imagine any of them running more than a few yards without collapsing. Perhaps their definition of athletic was watching golf from their couch.
When I logged in to the dating site I found that all of the women had already messaged me. I wasn’t attracted to any of them. In admitting this I felt a twinge of guilt. No one really wants to believe that physical appearances are such a big criteria—but they are. To both men and women. It’s psychology. One study showed that attractive people got less jail time than unattractive people. These feelings start young. It’s why Cinderella is pretty and her stepsisters are ugly, so we’ll naturally pull for her. It’s also why Prince Charming is always . . . well . . . charming.
I went back and reread my mysterious LBH.
CHAPTER
Five
The next Monday, the twenty-first, I met up again with Nate and Dale at lunch. We all came in from different places. It was raining, and Nate was soaking wet. He didn’t look too happy about it.
“It’s raining,” I said.
Nate glared at me. “You think?”
Dale said, “Sometimes, when it rains, I find my wife just standing by the window with a sad look on her face.” He paused, then added, “It makes me think that maybe I should let her in.”
I shook my head. “I have no idea why she stays with you.”
“It’s my sense of humor. Women love a sense of humor.”
“That must be why she married a joke,” Nate said.
“That was cruel,” Dale said. “But speaking of jokes. Here.” He dropped a bumper sticker in front of me. “I bought it in the Newark airport. It reminded me of you.”
Dear Algebra,
Stop asking us to find your “X.”
She’s not coming back.
“Thank you,” I said.
“Don’t mention it. How goes the hunt?”
“I think people might lie on those dating sites.”
Dale laughed. “Everyone lies on those sites. A friend of mine met someone online. He talked to her for several weeks before he finally flew out to meet her. When he got there, he didn’t recognize her. The woman had chin hair and had put on more than ninety pounds since the photo she’d posted had been taken.
“When he asked her why she’d lied to him, she said, ‘Would you have come if you knew what I really looked like?’ Which would be like me saying to a client, ‘Would you have bought our product if you knew it actually counted clouds instead of cars?’ ”
“That’s reassuring.”
“It’s human nature,” Nate said, “Everyone lies when it comes to describing themselves. Sometimes without even thinking about it.”
“Then why did you send me there?”
“You were wallowing, man. You’ve got to start somewhere.”
“Look at this,” Dale said, holding up his iPhone. “This confirms my point. This article says that the vast majority of dating site users lie. Men are more likely to lie about their height, and women are more likely to lie about their weight. Both lie about their body type, with almost eighty percent saying they are athletic and fit—a number far exceeding the national average of athletic and fit bodies.”
“That would be my experience,” I said.
Dale continued. “It says that women are more likely to lie about their age, rounding down to the nearest five, while men lie about their job and income, generously giving themselves huge raises.” Dale looked at me. “Did you lie?”
“I said I was a consultant instead of a salesman.”
“That’s not lying,” Dale said. “That’s selling.”
“What’s the difference? I asked.
“You should always round up,” Nate said. “Like how did you rate your looks?”
“Eight.”
“Snap!” Dale said. “Failure alert.”
“See, that’s your problem right there,” Nate said. “In the real world, outside the Clooney-Pitt matrix, you’re a high nine, pushing ten. If you sold our software the way you just tried to sell yourself, you’d be out of a job.”
Dale nodded in agreement. “You’re underselling, man. Way underselling. Those women are rounding up a five to an eight. You’re rounding down a ten to an eight. Now there’s a five-point gap.”
“You’re a salesman,” Nate said. “You should ace this thing.”
“It’s not the pitch,” I said, “it’s the product.”
“You know better than anyone that’s not true,” Dale said. “A good pitch can sell a bad product and a bad pitch won’t sell jack.”
“You need to rework your pitch,” Nate said. “Pronto. Does the dating site let you revise your profile?”
“I’m not sure it’s worth the effort.”
“So the first day out fishing you threw some back. No big deal.”
“Was there anyone of interest?” Dale asked.
“I found someone interesting. Just not on the site. She writes a blog.”
“A blogger,” Nate said.
“What does she look like?” Dale asked.
“I have no idea.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just what I said. There wasn’t a picture. Just kind of a silhouette.”
“You mean she purposely shadowed her face.”
“Yes.”
There was a b
rief pause, then Dale said, “Now, there’s a Texas-size red flag. Beautiful people always post their pictures.”
“Vain people always post their pictures,” I said.
Nate said, “Vain or not, I’m with Dale on this one.”
“Look, she’s beautiful, okay?”
“How do you know?” Nate asked.
“I read her blog.”
They both looked at me like I was taking crazy pills. Finally Nate shook his head. “That’s admirable, man. Really admirable. I’m just happy for you that looks don’t matter. That’s going to swing the opportunity door wide open.”
“I didn’t say that looks don’t matter. They’re just not everything. Jill was beautiful on the outside. This time I want someone I’m attracted to inside and out.”
After a moment Nate leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his neck. “Well, like I said, don’t worry about it. It’s just the first week. Believe in the process.”
“And my blogger?”
“You’re a salesman. It’s another lead. Doesn’t matter where it came from.”
Dale glanced down at his watch. “I’ve got to go. I’ve got to finish up the paperwork on the Newark sale before the holiday. Ciao, ragazzi.”
After he was gone Nate asked, “What are you doing for Thanksgiving?”
“I don’t know. Probably watching football with a frozen turkey dinner.”
“You’re breaking my heart, man. Why don’t you spend it with Ashley and me? You know the woman can cook, and I’m deep-frying a turkey. It’s going to be epic.”
“By epic do you mean disaster?”
“Eating a TV turkey dinner alone at Thanksgiving is a disaster.”
“Is Ashley okay with it?”
“It was her idea. She was feeling sorry for you.”
“Now I’m pitiable.”
“Yeah, you are.” He hit me on the shoulder. “This too shall pass.”
“When?”
“I don’t know. That’s up to God.”
“I meant, when is dinner?”
He grinned. “Oh. Three. I think. I’ll get back to you on that. You ready to go back?”
“I’m going to finish my lunch,” I said.
“Yeah, you talk too much,” he said, standing. “See you at HQ.” He leaned against his cane and limped out into the rain.
That night there were two more dating suggestions. One of them looked a lot like Jill. It took me a minute to realize that it was her. I was tempted to read her self-description but deleted it instead. I guess Clark hadn’t worked out. It wasn’t seeing her there that bothered me most, it was that she might have seen me there. Why did that feel so humiliating?
I clicked off the site and then over to LBH. I was happy to see that she had posted another blog entry.
Dear Universe,
Last night I came across yet another study about loneliness. You, being a sane person, might ask, “What kind of person does a study on loneliness?” I’ll tell you. The same kind of person who spends her nights looking up those studies—a lonely person. And I’m starting to believe that there are more than a few of us.
This study showed that chronic loneliness impacts our bodies as negatively as smoking two packs of cigarettes a day. Not the same way, of course, just the life risk part. And there’s more bad news. The article went on to say that lonely people had worse reactions to flu shots than non-lonelies (I think I just made up that word; my computer put a red squiggly line under it) and that loneliness depresses the immune system. In other words, if you’re lonely, not even your body wants to be around you, so it tries to off itself.
Maybe that’s why I feel like I’m coming down with something tonight. I wish I had someone to rub Vicks menthol on my chest and tuck me into bed. Actually, if I had someone to do that, they’d be in bed with me. Or bringing me hot honey and lemon tea. That would be heaven. But then, if I had someone who loved me like that, I wouldn’t be lonely. Then I probably wouldn’t be sick.
Sometimes I would still pretend I was.
—LBH
Whoever she was, I was dying to meet her.
CHAPTER
Six
The next day Dale was out of town so I went out for sushi with just Nate.
“Any more leads?” Nate asked before popping a piece of spider roll into his mouth. I think he was more interested in my dating site experience than I was.
“A few. One of them was Jill.”
“They tried to match you up with Jill?”
“Yes, which, for the record, makes me doubt the site’s credibility.”
“Small world, man. Or maybe it’s not a mistake. Maybe Jill’s subconsciously still in love with you and she’s looking for someone like you.”
“Yeah, right,” I said, though some twisted part of me wanted to believe it.
“Any other females of interest?”
I shook my head. “Not really. One gal has seven children.”
“Wow. I’m surprised that she was forthcoming about it. That’s the kind of news you drop after the fourth date. Maybe fifth.”
“So, she was being honest. She seemed nice.”
“Seven kids? That’s not nice you’re sensing, it’s desperation.”
I broke open an edamame. “Yeah, that’s a bit too much of a lifestyle change for me.”
“What about your blog lady? LOL.”
I shook my head. “It’s LBH. She posted another blog entry.”
“Did she leave any clues to her identity?”
“No. Just her initials.”
“Good luck with that,” he said. “Oh, I told Ashley that you’re spending Thanksgiving with us. She was pleased.”
“Thanks. I’m looking forward to it.”
“And if my turkey doesn’t work, at least you won’t be alone.”
That night I made myself a protein smoothie for dinner, watched an hour of television, and then, as had become my habit, I checked the blog. There was another post. Two, actually.
Dear Universe,
Tonight I was thinking about something my father said to me when I was a girl. My father was German; he had an accent and everything. One day he said to me, when the time comes for you to want a man, wait for the one who brings you edelweiss. I asked him what edelweiss was, and he said, it’s a small white mountain flower from the old land. I asked him why, and he said, edelweiss grows very high up in the mountains in rocky terrain. It takes great faith and commitment and courage for a man to pick edelweiss and then bestow it on his love.
I’ve never forgotten that. I miss my father. He was such a good man. Where are the men like that? Where is my man with edelweiss?
—LBH
Again her words were beautiful. Was I a man who would bring his love edelweiss? I thought I was. I hoped I was. I read it over again before I started on the next post.
The second entry had been posted an hour before the other.
Dear Universe,
Great (I type sarcastically). I just discovered more science working against me. There was a study that showed that loneliness actually makes people colder. Not just feel colder, but actually be colder, like making skin temperature drop. It seems like a cruel irony that the coldest people have no one to warm up with.
It’s so cold here. Tonight the snow keeps falling, covering everything beneath a silent, cold blanket. The mountains look so pretty painted white. The weatherman says that we might get several feet tonight. The world outside is abandoned. My world inside is abandoned.
I feel so cold tonight. I wish I had someone to hold me.
—LBH
I wish I had someone to hold me. I wished that I was holding LBH. Was I crazy to feel this way about someone I didn’t know? I wanted to take her edelweiss.
Then I realized that she’d given me my first clue. Mounta
ins and snow. I wondered if I could determine her location using a weather map. I tried. It was snowing in nineteen different states. At least I could mark off all the nonmountainous cities without snow, narrowing my search down to just a hundred million people. No problem.
“Come on, LBH,” I said aloud. “Just give me a little more to go on.”
CHAPTER
Seven
Thanksgiving had never been kind to me. You hear stories of families getting together over the holidays only to wreak havoc on each other. That’s pretty much my family’s story. My memories of Thanksgiving, back when I was home and my grandparents were still alive, consisted of my parents volleying insults back and forth across the table until my mother threw something moist at my father and huffed away. My father would then storm out of the house to the nearest bar, leaving my grandparents and me sitting at the table in silence until my grandmother, who dealt with conflict by pretending it didn’t exist, would ask me some benign question like “How’s school going?”
I hated the day.
I woke up not feeling well (psychosomatic?), so I slept in. When I couldn’t sleep anymore, I watched a little of the Macy’s parade and then, on a whim, checked the blog. There was something new.
Dear Universe,
I know I don’t usually post twice a night, but I couldn’t sleep. And I found more science. (You know how I love science.) A neuroscience magazine recently published a theory claiming that loneliness developed as a survival trait. The basic premise is this: to survive as a species, humans had to learn to band together—form communities to help each other thrive. This connection was so important to our survival that our brains developed a biomechanical function that caused us to feel pain (aka loneliness) whenever we found ourselves not connecting with others. Therefore, we experience loneliness the same way we experience other biological needs like tiredness or hunger—as something that drives us to action. So in theory, loneliness is good for the species. Good for the whole, bad for the one.
The Mistletoe Secret Page 3