O B S I D I a N, page 2
I approach my bedroom and get ready to hit the shower before I relax in bed. Never get into your bed without cleaning yourself. It’s a recipe for disaster considering how much sweat and how many germs I’ve encountered in different hospital settings. I hear my phone ring and I let it go to voicemail. I am never off the clock. I turn on the shower water and immediately step inside. The cold water hits my chest, and I am immediately awake. I grab my Old Spice Shampoo and lather my hair, until the gel has been rid of. I clean myself in my Old Spice body wash and rinse myself.
I am in and out of the shower in five minutes. I wish I could spend my time in the shower like other men do, fantasizing about women or their partners. Better yet, engaging in physical activities with their partners. My sex life has been a drag, pre-breakup with Michelle, too. Maybe it’s stress. I’m not doubtful about having my soulmate out there in the world somewhere. I just haven’t met her yet.
I grab a towel from the rack and wrap it around my waist before heading to the minifridge to pour myself a coke and rum. Besides the ice cubes in my cup, the house is silent. I situate myself on my computer chair in the room next door which I call my office. I stare at the computer screen, refusing to turn it on. Fuck. Yeah, no. I’m not working.
I walk back into my bedroom and decide to scroll on my phone instead. Situating myself on the bed, still in a towel, I check my emails. I thought I wasn’t going to work, but I guess that’s not the case. I have over 153 unopened emails.
Good afternoon, Mr. Perez.
I am hoping to see you for our quarterly meeting scheduled for June 19, 2023, at the same hotel in Illinois. We have some concerns involving the patients we have admitted for the month. We are also having staffing concerns since the pandemic.
We look forward to hearing from you soon. A detailed email will be sent in the following days……
Yeah, yeah. Cut the crap. I’m so tired of traveling. Vacations aren’t considered vacations anymore because I dread the plane ride anywhere. With TSA pre-check and business class, the idea of waiting is still dreadful.
Perhaps checking my work emails isn't the best idea at the moment. I’ll book my business trips in the morning. For the time being, I’m not sure what to do. I don’t have social media since I need some professionalism in my life. I would usually send Michelle texts to end my night. Now that she is gone, I think I’m starting to feel a void in my chest. Suddenly, I get a notification from my phone.
Michael: Boys, remember my awesome trade?
Paul: No, I forgot, dude. Fuck your fantasy trades.
Tim: Yeah, dude. You’re a fucking cheater. I saw that last trade. Luca for Porter? Fucking asshole.
I chuckle to myself. The boys were at it again. My boys are the only thing keeping me sane. Every breakup, every conflict, my boys were here for me even if I didn’t have the time to see them. My only able time with them is my vacation days, which I used up on Michelle… I should stop thinking of her.
Me: Guys. No reminiscing. I have better news.
Michael: You had vegetables for dinner?
Paul: You got with Michelle’s sister finally? High five, man!
George: Shut up, Paul. You’re disgusting.
Paul: Bro, her sister is fucking fire.
Bryan: Please tell me you broke up with Michelle.
Me: …I broke up with Michelle.
The chat goes silent for about a minute. Then my phone blows up again.
Bryan: LET’S FUCKING GO.
Paul: Dibs.
Michael: Yeah, I saw it coming.
George: Again, what the fuck, Paul?
Bryan: Paul. Bro. Code.
Paul: I’m fucking kidding, assholes.
Me: What?
I’m in disbelief about what my friends are talking about. Not Paul. He’s such a jokester. I think. I bring my phone back to my face and continue pondering.
Me: What are you guys saying?
Bryan: She’s a gold digger, dude.
Michael: We never liked her anyways.
Paul: Yeah, honestly, yeah. Did you see what she did the last time we saw her? She straddled Carlos in the middle of the club. We saw it.
Me: What… are you saying?? Are you fucking with me?
Paul: No, dude. We aren’t. We knew it was about time.
George: Not to mention she’s a fake. Have you seen her without make-up?
I mean, I have. At the same time, I was too blinded in our fake relationship to think about it. I also focused on her personality, not her appearance. Slightly.
Bryan: Yeah, I don’t think she had the brains for it, man. She only focused on the money. She didn’t have goals or was driven enough for you. Honestly, I think you’ll be better now.
Me: Guys, I’m not sure. I’m not sure what to do with myself at the moment.
George: Go back into the dating world. Distract yourself. I don’t know.
Paul: Have you heard of Hooked? It’s a dating app. It’s popular nowadays. I haven’t tried it yet since I’m busy with the babes on another app.
Paul sends us a winking face and it ends the conversation. I’m sure Bryan is sick of Paul, and so are the rest of us. He’s the anomaly in our group, but we love him regardless. The chat will probably start again about random memes and news the boys are interested in.
I started googling the app Paul talked about. Hooked? It sounds stupid. Articles have been posted about it being the best dating app and an app meant to be deleted once you have found the one. The one? Ridiculous. Sounds like my kind of app. Too bad I don’t take photos of myself. I downloaded the app anyway and decided it couldn’t hurt to look at other women now that I’m officially single. Considering, I’ve been single for two hours.
The app is very minimalist, which appeals to me. It goes through the basics. But fuck. I don’t have any photos of myself. My photos are blurry, represent a younger version of myself, and are outdated. I stand up and decide to go to the bathroom to look at myself. I point the phone’s camera to the mirror and decide to flex my jaw a little. Okay, that should work. Are mirror selfies outdated? My generation took plenty of mirror photos and I’m never dating a young, immature woman again. I convince myself, yes, a mirror selfie should work. I also add photos of my friends, myself in work attire. I updated my work status to be employed and I added my height since women love tall men. I’m 5’8 and I think it’s good enough. I’m not sure.
Damn it. I wish I was more confident in myself to do this.
Adding a bio to my dating profile? Can I create it without a bio? Nope.
I bet you can’t beat me with rock, paper, scissors.
Awesome. My bio is finished.
Chapter 3
Cherrie
Another day, another dollar. Lost, I presume. I wake up the next day, feeling a sort of odd funk. I spent hours on the app last night, thinking I could look at some handsome faces. I ended up falling asleep with my phone stuck to my left hand and Basil settling in between my legs. I woke up with 5% battery left. I step out of bed, gesturing to Basil to get up, too. Being five years old, Basil loves to sleep, but she knows very well to empty her bladder before going back to bed. As I walk my dog towards the back door, I put my phone on a charger. I make my way into the bathroom to see how much sleep I got last night being reflected in my face. Beautiful. I rinse my face with the water and dry my face with a towel, before sitting on the toilet to relax my bladder.
After my bathroom duties, I walk into the kitchen to start my normal routine: boil water, make tea, sit down, pet Basil, and mope. Before the kettle starts to cry, I grab my medication. Birth control is the easiest to swallow without drinking water, but antidepressants taste like clumps of salt. I’ve been on several types of antidepressants before settling on escitalopram.
I’ve had a history of panic attacks and anxiety attacks due to random triggers in my life. My best therapist told me it was a collective result of my relationship with my parents and with the abuse I faced in my adolescent years. I didn’t believe in the medication, until my panic attack took over my body one day, making me feel as if I was having a heart attack. My hands clasped. My chest tightened. I ended up calling the emergency hotline thinking I needed more help. This moment was when I decided I needed my medication in order to keep on keeping on. The emotional and sexual abuse I’ve faced, with the lack of love from my parents, have made me wary of others. I grew up too fast yet bloomed too late.
As usual, I settled in my saucer seat in the living room and retrieved my phone from where it was charging near the television outlet. Basil walks in, wagging her tail, trying to tell me she did her duties and deserves some affection. I give her plenty of belly rubs and head pats before fixating on my phone.
I opened up the Hooked app. I already have a few messages from men.
Johnny from Los Angeles: I bet you can educate me on some skills in bed.
Absolutely not. He is also holding a fish in one photo, and has arms around girls in what I presume might be a club or a rave?
Charlie from Riverside: You’re cute.
Thanks, Charlie. I wish I could say the same. Also, you’re still a university student.
Matthew from Los Angeles: Can I pet your dog?
A fairly friendly comment, but I don’t really enjoy facial hair. It prickles my skin.
It is nice to receive messages from men, but I always feel that I attract the wrong type of men. Some men enjoy small girls for a good time. Some men are disgusting and approach me because I look childish. Forget that. I start exploring and swiping on my own interests and types of men.
Left, Left, left, and left. Oh. Maybe this guy. He’s a manager at McDonald's, which is debatable since I’m fond of McDonald’s. He’s still cute. I’ll give him a right swipe. The next guy has a job as a nurse and is 5”5. The height is not for me, but I still swipe right. I want the guy to be taller than me so I can feel protected in a dark, sketchy alleyway since I’m only 5’2 and a half. I continue my search, and only have swiped on five different men, when my app notifies me. Pay more for more swipes? Pay more to access all the people who have messaged you? Excuse me?
I exit the app, believing the money isn’t worth it. For $1 the first month, and $10 the following month, my brain tries to convince me it might be worthwhile. I’ll think about it. I stand up from my saucer chair, and place my phone back on the charger, wondering what I should do for the remainder of my day.
-
I look outside my window, and I can see the sun is already starting to set. After wondering what to do with my day, I had curled up with one of the new romance books I had purchased from the bookstore and ended up falling asleep in bed with Basil. For emphasis, summer break sucks. Especially when I didn’t have available friends or money to take a vacation. I realized my phone was out in the living room charging all day. I stretch my arms and legs, before hopping out of bed. I stare at Basil, who is doing her own stretches, and I pick her up to give her a hug and small kiss. Basil doesn’t like it. I don’t think any dogs like physical touch besides pats and belly rubs. For me, Basil makes an exception by side eyeing my actions before licking my face.
I grabbed my phone from the television stand, and realized I have some messages from Hooked. I have a few emails, but I’m not antsy to look at work emails when I’m on summer break. I remind myself to turn off my emails later until the end of July in order to enjoy my boring, empty summer vacation. Upon opening Hooked, my hands start getting sweaty. There is a tingly sensation in my stomach. Is this what it feels like to get a match?
All five people I had swiped right on in the morning had also swiped right on me. Instead of waiting for me to message them, they had decided to message me first. I messaged McDonald’s boy first, since I was most curious about his personality and job. I decided to reply to the nurse boy afterwards.
McDonald’s boy: I guess we both swiped right.
Nurse Boy: So, why are you on this app?
These were two examples of basic conversations I’ve received for swiping on some basic people. I didn’t feel a spark or a need to talk to these two, but I decided to entertain myself. McDonald’s boy didn’t immediately respond, but the nurse boy did.
Me: I’m bored and want to find someone fun!
Nurse Boy: I can entertain you.
Me: What do you do for fun?
Nurse Boy: I just work. You?
Me: I read, take care of my plants, and enjoy the company of my dog. Do you have any hobbies?
Okay. I’m officially bored. Nurse boy responds and I haven’t decided if I want to respond back. McDonald’s boy replies to my greeting of a message and says: social media? Oh, boy. The things people do to receive an audience and a following. I decided to follow him anyway. Nothing wrong with some pictures to look at from him, except when I noticed how working at McDonald’s is his life and his entire being. That’s done and over with.
I finish going through whatever direct messages the app allows me to go through without paying. I wonder if Chelsea pays for this app and how many messages she gets. I can’t compare myself. I’m pocket sized and she’s definitely a woman. I opened another direct message from a cute boy.
I’m not looking to meet up or anything, but you’re cute. Listen to these songs.
I think I’m done looking on this app for the night.
Chapter 4
Roman
I spent the whole day in an office meeting in a children’s hospital in San Francisco, California. It was one of the trips I had originally booked for the week since this hospital has a horrendous reputation on staffing and maintaining their patients. Their directors emailed me in hopes I would be able to save their facility from getting sued, and I’m not sure what magic I can make when their lawsuits involve patient neglect. After an 8-hour meeting, I leave the office to find my car, dreading the idea of resuming the meeting the following day. I find my rental car, and quickly turn on the AC as I attempt to take off the tie that has a choke hold on me.
Summers in California are ridiculous. It could rain one day with a chill breeze, then jump back up to high 90-degree temperatures in a span of a few hours. Definitely wasn’t the best weather to wear a suit in, but the job comes with it. Upon the tie’s release of my neck, I rip off my blazer and toss it towards the backseat. I put the car in reverse and am on my way to my hotel.
The hotel is about a ten-minute drive from the children’s hospital. Although it’s in San Francisco, the streets are not a great place to be when the sun sets. I grab everything from the rental car and check three times if I had locked the car. You can never be too careful everywhere you go. I walk into the hotel and nod at the receptionist, who bats her eyelashes at me. She’s a brunette with thick lashes and red tinted lips. I’m not sure if she’s attempting to get me to look her way, but not tonight, man. I’m tired. I’m debating whether or not to go to the dining area of the hotel for a snack but start thinking about ordering room service instead. I approach the elevators of the hotel, and patiently wait for the bell to ring. Instead of a bell getting my attention, a whiff of Chanel perfume floats my way, making me hold my breath instead of relishing in it.
A woman wearing a business suit stands next to me, holding her Birkin purse, and wearing Valentino high heels. It saddens me that I’m able to identify these items in addition to the perfume she is wearing. In my peripheral vision, I can see her eyes checking me out. I am praying she doesn’t say anything, or I might cough from the nauseous smell she is emitting.
“Do you come here often?” she asks.
I turn to look at her. Her breasts are enormous and look too uncomfortable to be fitted in her suit. Her hair shines a dull, blond color in need of a touch up, and her make-up looks outdated. Her breasts make up for the lack of ass she has, but I’m afraid, nonetheless.
I responded to her, “I come here for business, and for business only, sadly.”
“Can we take this business upstairs?” She responds as she brushes her hair behind her ear.
The elevator dings to showcase its arrival. She steps forward towards the elevator.
“I forgot my briefcase in my car. It was a pleasure.”
It was not a pleasure at all. Are my eyes playing tricks on me or am I extremely judgmental of every walking woman on the Earth? I believe my break-up with Michelle has officially ruined my eye sockets. In fact, it has ruined my senses overall. Before the elevator closes, I quickly walk myself out of the hotel building to breathe. I felt suffocated being in the hotel, and I didn’t even make it to my hotel room. Out of worry of running into the elevator woman again, I decide to stand outside and look at my phone. I haven’t been able to look at my phone all day, and forgot I downloaded a stupid dating app. I had received a few messages from some women, but nothing had piqued my interest.
Nancy from San Francisco: Hey handsome.
Bridget from Houston: Cutie.
Jenny from Palm Springs: I work in the same business you do. Let’s talk!
I looked at all the messages I received, and the app vibrated. Want to see all your likes, it says? $1. Not a big deal. I paid for it, and to my luck, I didn’t have any more messages. Way to scam me of my dollar bill, Hooked. Way to go. I turn around and make another attempt at using the elevator to my hotel room.
