Zane walked along the path glancing at his phone often, waiting for a little red dot on any of the apps to say he had a message. Would anyone text him back? Or who could he call who he hadn't already burdened with his sadness.
There must have been a fire somewhere in the city because a haze blanketed the horizon. The sun was setting as he walked along the golf course path by his house. But he didn't see much of it, with the darkness in his head and his eyes on his phone.
One thought was like an aching augur cranking into his brain night and day: he was still single. His time was ticking (he was 33) and there were no viable prospects. He tried to go to the gym at least 3 times a week and he had even recently bought some new clothes, but he had seen a new wrinkle gather on his cheek when he smiled in the mirror that morning and even though he was a manager, his call center job was not the type that seemed to impress women.
Not that it would solve anything, but he just wanted someone to talk to. To commiserate with him. Someone with whom he could share this feeling of injustice. He had plenty of friends and his sister was a good sounding board but the conversation always seemed to end up with them trying to talk him out of his funk. He just didn't want to be that guy who always called needing comforting.
He glanced at his phone again. No red dots.
A twig was suddenly scraping his eyelid. He tried to pull away from it and as he did so tripped over path pavers and fell into the little drainage ditch that went under the path. He sat there, fazed for a second. He blinked to make sure he hadn't hurt his eye. He looked up at the sky to make sure he could see fine and he suddenly stopped.
The sun was a red dot near the smoky purple and orange horizon. A smile slowly crept across his face. He looked both ways to make sure no one would see, and then he lifted his finger and tapped at the sun, just like he would for an app on his phone.
He got up, still with a stupid smile forcing its way onto his face.
"Okay, God. I get it. You had to literally poke me in the eye and knock me on my butt to remind me you want me to talk to you."
And the rest of his long walk, he just poured out his heart to God. All the hurt. All the reasons. All the rejection. All the loss of hope. And to his surprise, it felt better than talking to a friend.
Don't forget who wants to have you talk to him the most.
Raw Spoon, 3-11-21