Short Fiction: "True Love"

I think somewhere along the line of all my posts here, I lose something important.  Instead of creating my own works, I sit around criticizing the works of others.  Its certainly easy to accuse Stephenie Meyers of creating a horrible storyline - what do I know of designing characters, creating a relationship dynamic, and building a world around them?  Put up or shut up, I say.

I wrote this story about two weeks ago, and have been flirting with submitting it here.  Actually I've just been a little shy.  This one is definitely a bit more intimate than my other stories, I'll have to say that.  But what's the use of a blog very few read if I can't write whatever I want?  Here you go:

True Love

I think there was something romantic in my tuna sandwich. “When my children ask me about where I and my husband met,” I began to think, “just what kind of story will I be able to give them?” I hoped for something interesting, something clever, something funny; the kind of story that when anybody hears it, they will immediately know that we were meant to be together forever. Not like my parents. They just met in a singles bar. What kind of meeting with your soul mate is that? How special could your ‘One and Only’ be if you find him in such a completely average way? Such a meeting should be magical and serendipitous; something decided by inscrutable fate whose omens are impossible to see. That’s what makes true love so special. I like that idea. It was such a nice idea that I took another bite of my sandwich.

Unfortunately my daydreaming was shattered by a sudden and unwanted presence. This was not unexpected; I was sitting at this table all alone, after all. If anybody I knew were to be at the lunchroom at the same time they would probably come along to join me. I wasn’t exactly against company, but I every so often I like the idea of getting a few moments to my own for myself and my thoughts. But now somebody was seating themselves right across the table from me. And I had a bad feeling it was a certain somebody…

“My professor is an asshole.”

Oh yeah. It was exactly who I thought it was. Only one person would be so inconsiderate to begin complaining before even saying hello, and that was Joseph. There was not going to be any more peaceful moments to myself at this meal. I’d be lucky to get out of here at all. I could not just walk away from the table and save myself several very long minutes of Joseph’s ranting. But my food was far from finished, and I did not want to be rude. So now I would have to play his game. He paused for a second, expecting some kind of response; a sign he could continue on his venting. I opened my mouth to say “What’s up, Joseph?”, but only a squeak escaped my mouth before I was interrupted.

“I wrote TWELVE PAGES for that essay, and this piece of shit has the gaul to give me just an eighty-two on the assignment. Eighty-two! That’s the lowest grade I’ve gotten on an essay in my entirely life! Completely unfair.”

I guess he didn’t want a response after all.

This was typical stuff from Joseph. He was the kind of person who insisted that you refer to him as “Joseph” every single time. No “Joe”, no “Joey”. Always the proper “Joseph”, even if it sounded awkward being so formal. You could either follow this weird rule, or deal with a very long confrontation, which I’d rather not deal with. Inevitably every single conversation (if you could even call such one-sided speeches a “conversation”) he took part in would involve some imagined cruel injustice that his parents, or his roommate, or his professors had forced upon him in their jealousy of his greatness. I long ago noticed that he would only bring up other people in the course of his furious yelling if they had somehow displeased him. If it weren’t for those poor authority figures in his way, other people probably didn’t exist at all in his mind. Everything belief, every idea, every concern, purely for himself. If there was a single unselfish thought in his entire head, I honestly would be shocked. No wonder why nobody liked him.

Joseph continued on his furious ranting, keeping his voice barely below a shout. Some people from the other tables gave us annoyed glances. If only there was a way to get out of here. If I could just get a word in so that I could push in a transitional phrase so that I could escape amicably. Too bad Joseph never would stop until he had properly exhausted his diatribe for the moment, and even then he would most likely start it all up again with somebody else a few hours later. As long as Joseph can find people polite enough to listen to his insanity, he would endlessly crucify whoever or whatever got him angry that day.

I had long since stopped listening to whatever Joseph was on about. Instead I decided to start examining his face. It was definitely a more interesting topic than whatever he was upset about. There were plenty of handsome boys who I knew who had horrible personalities, but Joseph did a service for everybody by showing his ugliness on the outside as well. “Greasy” was the word that best described Joseph’s face. Greasy strings of black hair covered his sticky forehead. Greasy sleek pale skin was broken up by large clusters of red acne all over the place. His lips were too wide and the wrong color, his nose too pointy, his face too long, his ears stuck out just too much. How long had it been since he had a bath? How long since he looked in a mirror? Certainly somebody so vain could not possibly look at his own reflection and consider this “good enough”. There was so much wrong with this face, and the person it belonged to, I was almost fascinated in the weirdest way.

While mid-rant, Joseph began to reach over to my side of the table. I thought “Is he going to grab me?” I pushed my chair back at bit: I really didn’t want this guy to get the wrong idea with any physical contact. I could imagine Joseph as the kind of guy who would immediately imagine every single girl in the world to be in love with him unconditionally. But he didn’t go for me; he had a different objective in mind. He was stealing what was left of my sandwich.

Eating didn’t slow down his ranting. Bits of mushy bread and mayonnaise stuck his teeth together like paste. He spoke even louder to get through the mush, and chunks flew out all over the table. A bit of my own whole wheat break landed right on my bare neck. I wiped it, making sure that he noticed my gesture. If Joseph saw, he certainly didn’t care.

Now that his hands were at his face, I could see the weird texture of his palms. They were unbelievably dry, covered in a flaky desert of waves of dead skin. What in the world was wrong with them? I remembered pictures I had seen in National Geographic of the deserts of the Southwest. The ground there was so parched that the soil would crack up in the dry sun. How could something like that happen on human skin? I was so disgusted that I pushed my chair back again.

After finishing my lunch for me, Joseph, for the very first time Joseph actually acknowledged my presence. “Do you understand what I’m saying, Rosalyn?” My name was not Rosalyn, but why correct him? It was somewhat comforting that this awful person knew nothing about me. Instead, I tried to use this time to speak to make my escape. I knew I only had maybe a sentence before the tirade would begin again in force. What could I say? It had to be just right to get me out of this situation. I needed something. Anything.

“Joseph, maybe you’re just viewing this all the wrong way.”

Okay, that was not what I needed to say.

“Of course I’m viewing all this the wrong way if I’m talking to you about it” said Joseph though a twisted laughing smile. Wow. Joseph, you really do have a gift. You know exactly what to say to make a girl feel absolutely horrible.

I was left silent. Maybe the jerk thought he was making some kind of joke, I think. Being one so self-absorbed and uncaring of others, it was impossible to really tell what he was thinking sometimes. However, my hesitation was just enough time for Joseph to restart his harangue. It had been so long since he started this that I had forgotten whatever petty thing had made him so irritated.

A few minutes passed, and I had reached the limit of my polite patience. This had to stop. I just wanted to sit here and eat my sandwich and this idiot had to come in and ruin my day with his egotistical nonsense. A line needed to be drawn someplace. I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything as strongly as I hated Joseph at this moment.

“What I don’t understand,” Joseph said, red in the face now from all his ranting, “is why my professor is so against me. I mean, just the fact that I’m willing to sit in that classroom and listen, when clearly all of this is a waste of my valuable time. I’m doing this guy a favor, and he decided to single me out and target me!”

That’s it. Camel’s back, meet straw.

“SHUT UP!!!” I yelled, much louder than I intended. People turned to our table with concern, though I did not care anymore. I was so angry, so furious at this point, I didn’t even think about what I was doing. Passion had taken over. I stood up, leaned across the table, and grabbed Joseph’s shirt, lifting him up in the air a few inches. He wasn’t heavy. The jerk, so ready to talk for so long just a few minutes ago, was now dumbfounded. Good. Let him be afraid. Finally I finished it. What had to be done, had to be done.

“I love you” I said. And I forced my lips onto his. It was just as magical and serendipitous as I imagined.