《I Wish I Knew Her》


 Patterns of Uncertainty

    "The basis of love is built upon two variables: the right place and the right time. Many believe that the odds of love favor the rich and the beautiful. I beg to differ. The odds of love, like every other game, are purely random. Contrary to popular belief, true randomness in nature occurs both in scattered points and simple clusters. If we gather enough data, we might be fortunate enough to find a correlation. However, much like other aspects of life, we cannot perfectly predict the patterns of uncertainty."


    I paused, unsure of what to write next. I walked downstairs, opened Dad''s liquor cabinet, took out an old bottle of whiskey, and headed back upstairs to my old room.


    The moment I imagined myself in a white lab coat was the moment I unknowingly threw my life away. If I could go back to the year I first chuckled at Bill Nye, I would shake that little chuckling bastard for ruining my life.


    I have the next two weeks off, and I''m not looking forward to it.


    There''s nothing I hate more than the holiday season: the non-stop questions about work and health, the uncomfortable small-town parties. Everyone''s engaged now, and everyone has an opinion on why I''m not.


    After a few drinks, everyone suddenly becomes an expert on love. The same tired pieces of advice, tossed around like an overfilled beach ball, hit me in the face as soon as I mentioned that I''d heard it all before.


    I write for advice columns in my free time and gained a bit of a following after my first post. I haven''t stopped writing since.


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    As the party concluded, I helped pick up some beer cans and threw on a winter coat. I stepped outside and glanced at the warm Christmas lights illuminating the bright faces of young couples, hopeful in their promises of eternal love.


    One day, I hope to feel the softness of a woman''s skin on my fingertips, the smell of her hair wafting toward me, the sound of easy-going chatter, and her laughter painting over the bleak monochrome of my life with vibrant shades of pink, ivory, and gold.


    I want to feel the overflowing abundance of affection in loving a woman, but there is neither light nor abundance in my empty heart.


    I stiffly waved goodbye. The sound of cheerful chatter faded behind me as I walked away.


    I arrived home and hugged my dad. I allowed Mom a quick peck at my cheek.


    Running upstairs to my old room, I closed the door behind me and unlocked my laptop. I replayed the day''s events in my head and felt somewhat jilted.


    "My world is shrouded in the deep, murky waters of the Pacific. Sometimes, I peek my head out of the water just enough to glance at the world above the sea. Many live in fear of uncertainty, but I find beauty in darkness."


    I took a few swigs from the old bottle. The whiskey burned down my throat and sizzled through my stomach. Hiccuping from the alcohol, I wiped my nose with the neck of my T-shirt, accidentally knocking the empty bottle off the table. I placed my fingers back on the keyboard and continued my previous thought,


    "Each day is more uncertain than the last, and that''s what makes life worth living. Hindsight is 20/20, but my world is shrouded in the depths of the deep, murky waters of the Pacific. Sometimes, I peek my head out of the water just enough to glance at the world above the sea."


    I glanced at the bottle on the carpet. Feeling irritated, I pick it up and set it back on my desk.


    "Somehow, the light scares me."

 Intimacy Talks

    Morning came. I had too much to drink the night before, and now it¡¯s night again. It¡¯s been a few years since I¡¯ve called my university ¡°Alma Mater,¡± and Mom¡¯s become too curious about the girls I bring home.


    She has too much faith in my abilities to romance a woman. The only girls who show up at my door are only there to chauffeur food to my doorstep. In other words, my go-to food delivery service sent them -- they were only there to deliver my food.


    I don¡¯t have friends, but I do have an acquaintance named James. There was a joke back at my Alma Mater: if your girlfriend suddenly leaves you for someone new, check James Cristaldi¡¯s dorm room; that¡¯s where she¡¯ll be.


    Every girl wanted James and every guy wanted James dead.


    He was often the target of bar skirmishes, but he always found a way to weasel out of them.


    Unharmed, of course.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    I got a random text from him a week ago. I think he heard I was back in town. He mentioned something about wanting to ¡°check out our old dive bar near the university¡±. He insists it¡¯s for the sake of the ¡°good ¡®ol days¡±, but I know his intentions.


    My bed has been feeling emptier these days. Granted, I¡¯ve never truly hit a home run. Not even in little league.


    It was time to do something about it.


    James has plenty of positive traits. He always manages to find the right people to talk to. And when he talks, boy does he know how to talk.


    That¡¯s probably how he got his job at some bank, with a title related to investments or something. Charismatic and gregarious ¨C you¡¯d be surprised these two words were in Merriam-Webster well before he turned 18.


    The last line of his message asked me if I was down.


    I found some old Jo Malone an uncle gave me when I graduated high school. I dusted it off and doused myself in it. Ruffled my hair.


    Got some old hair putty and ruffled it down some more. He wants to know if I¡¯m down?


    ¡°Fuck yeah, I¡¯m down.¡±

 The Dive Bar

    Took a short walk from the car to the dive bar, maybe around a half a mile, give or take some change. Arrived in a better mood having kicked a few cans along the way. The front door was crowded with Freshmen -- some waiting to meet their once-in-a-lifetime. Some, their one for the night.


    He told me to meet him here at nine. The bartender greeted me as soon as I reached for my wallet. I know that James is going to out-do me in some way, but I would be more concerned if he didn¡¯t.


    One drink turned into two. Two to three. It¡¯s half-past nine and James never showed up. I should probably take the hint. Took my last swig and decided to end the night.


    I guess he was too good for me.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    That flaky bastard.


    I swayed a bit after hoisting myself up from the barstool. Looking around, I heard college kids clumsily making small talk. Everyone knew me as valedictorian then. A star student. I studied hard and hated to drink.


    Stumbling toward the entrance, bumping into college kid after college kid, I collapsed. Before I lost consciousness, I saw some guy that looked like James. But it couldn¡¯t be him. With a girl.


    The sound of sirens rang louder and louder.


    I caught a glimpse of her hands, frantically motioning, steering the paramedics toward my direction. The bright lights illuminated them. Slender and agile, I think I saw something glinting from one of her fingers.


    "What have I become?" I thought.


    I gradually lost consciousness.


    The last thing I saw was a bag of IV fluid hanging from the ceiling.