Wayside: A Serial Novel - Episode 7
This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Episode 7: Gentle
After signing Kevin out of Wayside and watching him walk through the main gate to leave, Ben returned home.
He shrugged out of his jacket and hung it back up on the hook by the door. Ben had planned to go back to bed and get some much-needed rest, but found that he was wide awake now. For a long moment, he lingered in the doorway, trying to collect his thoughts about everything that had happened over the last 24 hours.
He was completely overwhelmed. Thankfully, he didn’t have to hide it anymore.
Ben began pacing the living room floor, wiggling his fingers and squeezing his hands, drawing them up to his chest at times, shaking them by his sides at others, pausing on occasion to rock back and forth on his feet. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the full-length mirror mounted on the outside of the bathroom door and remembered how his mother would react. Calmate, mijo, she would say. Calm down.
But that was exactly what he was doing.
He didn’t understand why he was compelled to do these things, and was well aware how uncomfortable the sight of it made others. But he couldn’t deny it was soothing. Like an escape valve for his mind, it helped to shift some of the chaos to the rest of his body.
It allowed him to gather his thoughts and focus. To see the patterns, build the connections.
It helped him make sense of the world around him.
His thoughts began to flow more coherently, allowing him to define his concerns and priorities, enabling him to recognize his feelings about them.
To his surprise, a childhood memory resurrected from somewhere in the back of his mind. He closed his eyes and surrendered his attention, allowing it to pull him back into the past for a moment.
Ms. Robbins’s 4th grade class.
The third week of December, right before school dismissed for the holidays.
A table covered in white and blue pieces of construction paper, scissors, sequins, yarn, glue.
9-year old Ben sat alone, folding the paper, cutting tiny pieces away, unfolding them into ornate snowflake decorations.
School was done for the day. All the other students had left to go home. When Ben’s mother arrived, Ms. Robbins told him he was welcome to put on his coat and go out to the playground. She knew he liked using the swings and wouldn’t have to wait in line since all the other kids had left for the day. He thanked her for the suggestion but told her he’d rather make snowflakes.
Ben’s mother sat in a chair across from Ms. Robbins at her desk. Even though they had lowered their voices, he could hear most of their conversation.
“Has Ben done something wrong?” His mother asked, her words carrying a faint accent.
“No,” Ms. Robbins shook her head. “Not at all. He’s one of the best and brightest students I’ve ever had, Ms. Santos.”
“You can call me Marisol,” she said with a smile.
“You should be very proud of your son, Marisol. He’s never broken a single rule, never been disruptive. He’s a model student and he’s way ahead of everyone else in the class. I’ve even thought about recommending that he skip 5th grade and advance to 6th next year. He’s certainly ready academically, but I don’t think he’s ready from a social perspective. The reason why I asked for this meeting with you is just to share a few observations I’ve made about Ben, about the way he interacts with his classmates.”
“Such as?” Marisol’s smile faded.
“I’ve noticed he doesn’t seem to have any friends. He prefers to spend time alone rather than with other children his age. When I put him in groups to work with other students, he becomes very shy. He won’t make eye contact with his peers and doesn’t speak unless someone asks him a question or encourages him to give the group some input. And sometimes he gets a little fidgety, which can be distracting for the other students. Have you noticed any of these same things about him?”
“Of course. He’s always been like this. Is it a problem?”
“Not at all,” said Ms. Robbins. She paused, as if giving careful thought to the words she would speak next. “Are you familiar with autism? Do you know what it is?”
“I’ve heard of it.”
“We have a specialist here at the school who does assessments on students who show signs of autism. I think it would be a good idea for Ben to have an assessment.”
“You think Ben is autistic?”
“I think it’s possible. The assessment would be very helpful.”
“I don’t think he has that,” Marisol said with concern. “I saw the movie. The Rain Man movie. Ben is nothing like that.”
“I saw that movie too. Yes, that character was autistic, but autism isn’t the same for everyone who has it. Some of the latest research shows that it’s more of a spectrum, with broad differences in how it affects how individuals function. In some people, the signs are more subtle. The reason why I’m recommending an assessment is because if Ben is autistic, there are services which could help him.”
Marisol crossed her arms, leaned back in her chair. “I won’t let anyone take my son away from me and put him in a home.”
“Oh goodness, no!” Ms. Robin laughed nervously. “Please, try to forget about the movie for a moment. No one wants to take Ben away from you, I promise. I know you’re more than capable of meeting his needs at home. This isn’t about your ability to parent him, or his home environment. I’m simply talking about some things we could do here at school to help Ben stay successful – like working on his social skills and helping him feel more comfortable when interacting with his peers. Or finding new ways to manage anxious feelings—”
“But if the school gives him this assessment and decides he is autistic, he is labeled. He will be treated differently.”
“Not necessarily.”
Marisol took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. “Ms. Robbins, he’s the bastard child of an uneducated Mexcian immigrant mother. I don’t think you understand how many labels he has inherited, just by virtue of being my son. I won’t let anyone add any new ones that will hurt him if it isn’t necessary. You said he’s one of your best students. A model student, that’s what you said, yes?”
“Yes.”
“If he is such a good student, then why does it matter if he’s a little different from everyone else?”
“Because Ben will need to interact with other people throughout the rest of his life. At school, at work, in relationships, in every other aspect of society. As his teacher, I’ve been noticing for some time that interactions with other people cause stress for him. I think his brain works differently, which is why he behaves differently from his peers sometimes. There are professionals who can help him – and you – work with his uniqueness, so there is less stress for him. The assessment, and the services I mentioned are meant to help kids who are different. Different isn’t a bad thing.”
“You say that, but the part you’re not saying out loud is that autism is a disability. Isn’t it?”
Ms. Robbins gave a slight nod. “It is, yes.”
The air was heavy between them; the room was silent except for the sound of an occasional snip snip of Ben’s scissors.
“The school cannot do the assessment without my permission, correct?” Marisol said with authority.
“No ma’am. We cannot.”
“Then don’t do it.” Marisol rose to her feet.
Ms. Robbins nodded. “I understand. I trust you know what’s best for your son and I respect your decision.”
“You do?”
“Yes. I admire how much you love your son, how much you want to protect him. He’s very lucky to have such a good mother.”
“But?”
“No but,” Ms. Robbins shook her head and smiled. “That’s all.”
Marisol sank back down in the chair, her resistance suddenly defused. “I… I do worry about him sometimes. He’s so much like my father was. Smart, quiet, kept to himself. My mother didn’t understand him. She spent years trying to change him, to turn him into someone who liked going to dances with bright lights and loud music. She tried to make him eat foods he didn’t like and go to places with big crowds that scared him. She was so frustrated with every day being the same. My mother wanted a more exciting life, so she had an affair with another man, hoping to make him jealous. When my father found out, she demanded that he fight the other man for her, like she was the prize. He refused, so she left him. She told him he was too gentle.”
Ms. Robbins listened with an empathetic frown.
“My Benito… he is too. He’s gentle. And I don’t want to change that about him. I loved my father. He was a good man, perfect the way he was. He just needed to be around people who understood him. I understand my son. And I pray every day that God will bring other people into his life who understand him the same way.”
Ms. Robbins nodded. “I understand him too,” she said in a hushed voice. “And I will pray the same prayer. Your son is special, Marisol. He’s not just gentle, he’s a genius. He wasn’t given that brilliant, beautiful mind for nothing. He’ll change the world someday with it.”
Marisol smiled with gratitude. “Give me some time to think about the assessment. If I change my mind, I’ll let you know.”
“That’s fine.”
Both women stood to leave the classroom, turning their attention to Ben.
“Are you ready to go home for Christmas break?” Marisol asked her son.
“Yes, I’m ready,” said 9-year old Ben. “But first, I have something for you.” He broke into an eager sprint toward the teacher’s desk, handing paper snowflakes to Ms. Robbins and his mother.
“Beautiful, Ben!” Ms. Robbins held her snowflake up by the piece of yarn looped through one of the holes. “Thank you so much. I’m going to take this home and put it on my Christmas tree.”
“Thank you, mijo,” said Marisol, admiring her snowflake in the same manner. “How thoughtful of you!”
“Did you know that no two snowflakes are alike?” Ben asked them. “Each one is special because it’s different from all the rest.”
That following weekend, as was their usual routine, Ben fetched the newspaper from the front porch, placing it on the dining room table so his mother could read it over breakfast. The photo on the lower half of the front page caught his eye, along with the headline.
Real Estate Magnate Welcomes Newborn Son
The black and white picture showed a man in a business suit grinning from ear to ear. He was holding a baby swaddled in a receiving blanket. Standing by the man’s side was a petite, pretty woman in a light-colored dress, one hand resting on the baby in the man’s arms.
Ben read the caption aloud. “Gordon Nesbitt announces the birth of his firstborn son with wife Madeline. The baby boy, named Gordon Nesbitt, Junior, arrived on December 20th at Green Valley General Hospital, just in time to go home for the Christmas holiday.”
Easing into a chair, Ben rested his elbows on the table and continued reading the full article. He didn’t even notice his mother had entered the room until she spoke to him.
“Good morning, mijo.”
“Good morning Mami,” he paused to look up at her, then returned to the article.
“Pan de canela for breakfast, ten more minutes in the oven.” Marisol said. “What are you reading?”
Ben slid the newspaper toward her. “The story about the man with the baby.”
Her eyes darted back and forth, scanning the headline, the picture, the caption. She hesitated for a moment, then sat in the chair across from her son.
“You find this story interesting, Benito?”
He nodded. “I’ve seen that man a lot. In the newspaper. On TV. He’s famous, isn’t he?”
“Yes. Because he’s rich. From buying and selling a lot of land and property.”
“What’s property?”
“Buildings and houses and things like that.”
Ben studied the picture. “Is he my father?”
The color drained from Marisol’s face. “Why do you ask?”
“I look like him. I look a lot like him. See?” Ben reached across the table to point at the picture. “Look at his eyes. They’re just like mine. And his smile. And even our hair.” He pointed to the man’s thick crown of hair, with a perfectly defined widow’s peak dipping slightly down onto his forehead – just like his own hairline.
“Yes,” Marisol admitted. “You do look like him.”
“And I’ve seen his name before. On some papers, in a storage box in the garage. There was a picture of him here in our house, too. I think he used to live here.”
“He didn’t live here. But he did own this house. Many years ago, before you were born, he used to come here for vacations. But then he decided to let us live here instead.”
“Why?”
Marisol inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly. “Because you’re right, Benito. He is your father. I wanted to wait until you were older before I told you about him, but you are so, so smart, you already figured it out.” She placed a hand atop his.
Ben glanced down at the photo, then back up at his mother again. “When will I get to meet him?”
Tears sprang to Marisol’s eyes. “I don’t know if you’ll ever be able to meet him.”
“Why not?”
“It’s a long story. And it’s a sad story. It’s almost Christmas, mijo. I don’t want you to be sad at Christmas.”
“But I’ve been sad all my life, not knowing who my father is,” Ben said, his voice trembling with emotion. He rubbed his hands over his face, clearing the tears from his eyes before they could fall. “Please, Mami. Tell me the story. It’s my story. I want to know. I’m ready to know.”
“Okay, baby.” She swallowed hard. “He lives in a mansion – a really big house – in a town far away from here, near the mountains. Many years ago, I used to work for him as a housekeeper. We became friends and then later…” her voice drifted off for a second. She cleared her throat, wiped her eyes again. “Then we became more than friends. We started a relationship.”
“Like boyfriend and girlfriend?”
“Yes. Except it was wrong, Benito. He was married, so it was a sin for us to be boyfriend and girlfriend. I was wrong to allow it. We had to keep it a secret. And we did for a long time. But then I got pregnant with you, and that was a secret that wouldn’t be as easy to hide. When I told him, he got very upset and said that nobody could find out.”
“About me?”
Marisol hesitated for a long moment, then gave a reluctant nod. “He sent me away so no one would see my belly getting bigger, no one would ask me questions about who the father was. He gave me this house so I could raise you here on the island and stay far away from him. He said he had to protect his reputation, because people don’t want to do business with people who keep secrets.”
Ben brushed tears away from his eyes again. “I’m the secret.” His lower lip quivered. “I’m a sin.”
“No. Baby, no.” Marisol left her chair and ran to her son’s side. She embraced him tightly as he wept on her shoulder. “Benito, you’ve done nothing wrong. You didn’t get to choose your parents, and you are not responsible for what we did.”
“My own father doesn’t want me,” Ben wailed. “He has another son now. He loves him, but not me.”
Marisol pulled back slightly, cupping his face in her hands. “Look at me, baby.”
He opened his eyes, sending fresh new tears cascading down his cheeks. “What if I become a bad person like him?”
“Benito,” she whispered. “You are an angel. You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me. Your father is a fool for not wanting to be a part of your life. I feel sorry for him because he’s missing out on seeing the most amazing boy in the world grow up into a man. I’m so sorry he isn’t there for you, mijo. But I need for you to believe me when I say it’s a good thing.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want you to become like him. I liked him in the beginning because he was handsome and charming. He made me feel very special, very important to him. But as I got to know him, I came to see that he was not a good man. He had an enormous house, a beautiful wife, and more money than he could ever spend in a lifetime. But you know what? It wasn’t enough for him. He was so greedy. He wanted more than his wife, so he pursued me, and lots of other women. He wanted more houses, so he would buy big, beautiful homes like this one, and spend one week out of the year in it. He wanted more money, so he would do whatever he could to get it. He would lie and cheat and break promises in his business dealings. He would use people to get his way, and then abandon them once he got what he wanted. He didn’t have a heart, mijo. He didn’t love anyone. He only loved money and material things.”
“How do you know he isn’t different now?”
“Because I have tried, all throughout your life, to change his mind about you. I’ve invited him to meet you, to talk to you, to send you a card on your birthday or a gift at Christmas each year. I’ve promised him that no one else would find out. And when you fell from the monkey bars last year at school and broke your arm? I asked him to help me pay the hospital bill since I didn’t have health insurance. He laughed at me, Benito. He told me he had already given me this house that was worth more than a million dollars, and that I should consider myself lucky that he’d been so generous. He’s made it very clear he wants nothing more to do with us.”
Overwhelmed with emotion, Ben stomped his feet and flapped his hands. Tears spilled from his eyes as a primal wail of sorrow escaped him.
Marisol continued. "Baby, it is a terrible, terrible sin if someone asks you for help, and you have the means to help them, but you say no. It’s sinful to break promises and vows and betray people. It’s sinful to be greedy, to own homes that sit vacant for months or even years at a time when there are people sleeping on the streets, going hungry, struggling to survive. He is everything I don’t want you to become. You are such a good boy, Benito. You’re going to be a good man when you grow up. That man has nothing to teach you, nothing to offer you. You don’t need him in your life. You never did.” She embraced her son again, holding him close to her until he relaxed in her arms. “You know what Ms. Robbins told me when I went to see her earlier this week?”
“What?”
“She said you’re a genius. And you’re going to change the world someday.”
Ben sniffled. “Really?”
“Yes, really. She knows how smart you are. She sees what a big heart you have. She understands you.”
“Mami?” Ben hugged her tightly, then asked a surprising question. “The baby in the newspaper… if we have the same father, he’s my brother, right?”
“Your half-brother, yes.” Marisol combed her fingers through his hair. “He’s a cute baby. He looks a lot like you did when you were born.”
“Do you think I’ll ever be able to meet him someday?”
She stared down at the picture. “I don’t know. Maybe someday, when you’re both more grown up. I don’t want you to get your hopes up, mijo, but if it’s what you want, pray for it. Ask God to make a way. For now, it’s important that we keep this between us. Promise me you won’t tell anyone that you know who your father is, or that you have a baby brother.”
“I promise, Mami.”
“Do you smell that?” Marisol asked with excitement. “Mmmmm. I think the cinnamon bread is ready. Let’s go get it from the oven.”
Ben’s mind skipped forward to the first day back at school after Christmas break that year. Marisol drove Ben to the campus and walked him to class, as usual. She hugged him goodbye at the door to his classroom, lingering to watch as he settled in his desk. She waved to Ms. Robbins, who met her at the door.
“Thank you for talking with me before the holiday break,” said Marisol. “I did some thinking about the assessment.”
“Oh? Did you make a decision?” Ms. Robbins asked.
“I did,” Marisol nodded. “And I don’t want to move forward with it – for now. Just for now.”
“I understand,” the teacher said with a sincere smile, without any judgment in her voice.
“I know.” Marisol stole another glance at her son, who had already begun his school day with his pencils, eraser, and writing tablet neatly laid out on his desk. “I know he struggles in social situations. I will talk with him about it. I’ll help him. I wish I could tell you more, but… Ben is just now discovering who he is. I don’t want him to feel like there’s anything wrong with him, or that he needs to be fixed. And I know that nobody here at the school would ever say as much to him. But he’s very insightful, as you know. I’m worried he might make his own assumptions. What he needs more than anything right now is to feel like he’s wanted, and that he belongs here. Even if he doesn’t always fit in. Thank you, Ms. Robbins, for seeing him for who he is. For understanding him.”
Present-day Ben opened his eyes and glanced around his home in Wayside. Lingering in the periphery of his mind was the image of the baby in his father’s arms on the front page of the newspaper. The smell of cinnamon, the sound of his mother’s voice, the comforting warmth of his 4th grade classroom after a long walk from the school parking lot in the chilly winter weather. The taste of a salty tear that had slipped into his mouth.
And his mother’s words echoing throughout his mind: I understand my son. And I pray every day that God will bring other people into his life who understand him the same way.
Ben eased onto the sofa. He was relieved to feel his body – and his mind – beginning to relax. The chaos was smoothing over, his thoughts becoming clearer.
His mother had never gone back to the school to request an assessment for autism. Not during his 4th grade school year, nor any other. The conversation he’d overheard between her and his teacher had never escaped his mind, leaving him with unanswered questions about himself.
Once Ben had started his freshman year at the university, he considered making an appointment for an assessment with student health services. But four years of school came and went in the blink of an eye; he’d never got around to it. Ben had carried a full courseload every semester and Kevin had kept his social calendar full, so there’d been little time for anything else.
In hindsight, it was a weak excuse.
He remembered his mother’s resistance, her long list of reasons why she feared it might harm him more than help him to be evaluated. He wondered how valid they were. Pursuing it on his own, he realized, would have felt like a betrayal of her devotion to him. It had enabled him to make up excuses of his own.
Then again, Marisol had imbued in him the message that he was perfect just the way God had made him. Even if he didn’t always fit in, even if his mind worked differently from the minds of his peers. He just needed to surround himself with people who understood, she’d told him.
Oddly enough, that’s exactly what had happened.
Ben thought about Kevin, one of the few people who truly understood him. They’d been randomly assigned as roommates, with no obligation to become friends, or even be friendly to each other. They simply needed to peacefully co-exist in their shared room. That’s what Ben had planned to do when he left for college. Be considerate, keep to himself, and hope his roommate would do the same. Kevin had surprised him, though. In spite of how different they were, Kevin had welcomed Ben into his life. He’d wanted to spend time together outside of their dorm. He had nudged Ben into situations – especially social situations – that pushed him out of his comfort zone, and they’d helped Ben grow more confident in interacting with other people. Kevin had welcomed Ben’s influences in his life too, which made Ben feel like he was valued and needed.
Kevin had been a good friend. He’d made Ben feel like he’d been a good friend in return.
Suddenly, he regretted how harsh he’d been with Kevin throughout his visit. He made a mental note to apologize the next time they spoke. It would be hard, as Ben was still angry at him over his callousness during the early days of the pandemic and his continued apathy over the far-reaching harm that Covid was still causing. But to be fair, Kevin was simply behaving the way that everyone else in the world was. The world outside of Wayside, anyway.
Ben thought about Wayside. How, in the process of building a community focused on public health and safety, many of the people who’d been drawn to it were so much like him. They welcomed new information – even if it was unnerving, even if it disrupted their biases and beliefs. They accepted facts and logic instead of burying their heads in the sand, reacting to the truth rather than their emotions. They embraced technology and fostered connections online when it was safer than gathering in person. They held a shared belief of duty to community and a strong sense of social justice. His neighbors at Wayside shared his same core values, the same ability to adapt to changing circumstances, the same commitment to the greater good.
Those who had sought to analyze the common characteristics among the Wayside community had made all the same observations. Neurodivergence was recognized as one of the most obvious factors. Many had an official diagnosis of ASD, ADHD, or AuDHD. Some had recognized patterns in their own thought processes and behavior, and had studied neurodivergence thoroughly enough they felt confident with a self-diagnosis. Others, like Ben, hadn’t been formally evaluated by professionals, but had come to understand they were different from their peers. Throughout their lives, they’d been labeled as shy, introverted, nerdy, outcasts, socially awkward.
At Wayside, they didn’t stand out anymore. All the labels fell away.
Whichever path had brought them there, all found common ground in their new community, where being different from the rest of the world was surprisingly, delightfully normal. Ben wished more than anything that his mother could have lived long enough to see Wayside come to fruition. She would have been proud to see him thriving, leading, making a difference there.
She would have been happy knowing he was surrounded by an entire community of people who understood him.
Ben thought about Josina.
No one understood him as well as she did. After living under the same roof together for six years, she knew him better than anyone else in the world ever had, or ever would. She’d seen him at his best and at his worst. She’d carried him through the grief of his mother’s decline and eventual death. She’d helped him focus his desire to change the world with his inheritance into a specific mission, which unfolded into the founding of Wayside.
Josina could read his feelings. She knew how to defuse his anger and calm him when he felt overwhelmed. She could make him smile and laugh when his spirits needed lifting. She understood when he was hyperfocused on a task or project and needed solitude. All the mysterious social cues he used to struggle with, the unspoken expectations he failed to grasp when interacting with others, she understood, and would translate for him in the presence of other people.
Josina had helped him make sense of the world around him.
Even at Wayside, she had helped him to belong.
He needed her.
He didn’t know what he was supposed to do without her. But he understood her frustration, her reasons given for wanting to leave.
And he knew she had feelings for him that surpassed platonic love. She deserved to know why they hadn’t advanced past a friendship. Ben reached for his phone and started a text message.
Hi Jo. I hope you’re having a good day. We didn’t have much time to talk last night outside of Bonfire. Could we meet again today and
Ben stopped, distracted by the sound of a notification from one of his apps. He minimized his message to see what it was.
There, on the home screen of his phone, was an alert over the ‘Not Gonna Settle’ app. Curious, Ben tapped the icon. It opened to his inbox within the app, revealing a list of 8 unread messages. Most were from accounts without a profile picture. Probably spambots and scambots.
Or maybe not. His own profile didn’t have a picture, after all.
Only one of the messages was from a user with a profile picture. She looked young, late 20s or early 30s, Ben guessed. She had dark hair that hung loosely on her shoulders, big brown eyes, a warm smile. Sunglasses were perched on the top of her head as if she’d been on the go when the picture was taken. No makeup on her face. She didn’t need it, as she was a conventional beauty. The woman was wearing a t-shirt with a quote by Robert Frost: “I am not a teacher, but an awakener.”
Ben stared at the image. He zoomed in on it, then brought it closer to his face.
There was something vaguely familiar about her.
He tapped on her profile, skimming it for basic information.
Username: Liv2Eduk8
Gender: Female (Cisgender)
Age: 25
Race/Ethnicity: Hispanic
Location: Pine Tree, NC
Occupation: Teacher (Elementary)
Education Level: 4-year degree
Religion: Roman Catholic
Zodiac Sign: Gemini
Looking for:
Gender: Male
Age: 25 - 49
Race/Ethnicity: Hispanic
Location: Pine Tree, NC (within 30 mi)
Occupation: Professional/Creative/Service-Oriented/Student
Education Level: 4-year degree or above
Religion: Roman Catholic
Zodiac Sign: No preference
Ben returned to the message. It had been sent two weeks prior.
Hello BenThereDoneThat,
You know you’d have better luck on a dating site if you’d include a profile pic, right? 😊
I know this is a long shot as your lack of a picture and scant details in your profile likely mean this isn’t a legit account. I’m taking a chance anyway as I paid for a 6-month membership to this site and hope to get something out of it. When I search, there are very few people locally who meet the criteria for what I’m looking for. Big sigh. Your profile is one of the few that keeps coming up in matches so even though you’re short on words and I have no idea what you look like, I thought what the heck, it can’t hurt to reach out and say hello.
Anyway, if you’re a real person and you’d like to chat sometime, my name is Olivia, I’ve crammed as much helpful information about myself as I could in my profile, and I check messages every day.
Write me back! Or don’t, if you’re a bot or a scammer.
Ben started a reply.
Hi Olivia, thanks for your message. Sorry to hear you’ve had such a difficult time meeting people on this site. I’m actually not
Ben stopped typing, startled by the sound of an unfamiliar ringtone. An incoming call notification had invaded his screen. He read the text scrolling across the top of the screen to see that it was an in-app video call from Liv2Eduk8.
He looked for a ‘decline call’ or ‘send to voicemail’ button on the screen but saw neither. Instead, the options were ‘settle this call’ or ‘not gonna settle.’
“What the hell?” Ben lamented out loud. Neither option made sense to him. It reminded him of the frustration he felt during his first visit to Moon Landing, a pub across the street from his first job at a software startup company. Each of the two restrooms bore a framed poster on the door. An astronaut on one, a poster of Sigourney Weaver cowering from an alien on the other. Just the posters, no signage on either door to indicate if it opened to the men’s or women’s restroom. Ben had questions. There were both men and women astronauts, so he wasn’t sure what the astronaut picture meant. He knew Sigourney Weaver was a woman, but what was the alien’s gender? What if it was a male alien? Ben froze, unable to make a decision. He worried that if he entered one of the restrooms on just a guess, he’d surely get it wrong and would be chased out by angry women. He heard someone approach behind him. The person stood there, breathing heavily, reeking of alcohol. “Hey asshole, are you going to go in, or what?” The stranger demanded to know. “If not, get out of my way.” In a panic, Ben opened the door with the astronaut poster. Fortunately, two other men were standing at the urinal inside. He was relieved that he’d chosen correctly, but also felt bad about it, like he’d played along with a lazy, sexist trope.
Ben waited anxiously for the incoming call to stop. He anticipated it would time out after 15 seconds, 20 at the most.
It didn’t. His anxiety was building. He stared at his phone, knowing if he closed his eyes, he’d be right back at Moon Landing with an angry drunk cussing him out behind his back, demanding that he make a choice. He felt overwhelming pressure to take action.
He tapped the ‘settle this call’ button.
The woman from the photo appeared on his screen, on a live videocamera feed.
So did Ben. His video feed was minimized in the bottom right corner of the screen. In a panic, he looked for an option to turn off his camera. He couldn’t find one.
It didn’t matter. The woman had already seen his face. Ben wondered if she recognized him. If so, she didn’t give any indication that she knew who he was. In all of his media appearances, he’d been masked, but there were plenty of photos and videos of him floating around on the internet which predated the pandemic. Glancing at himself on the screen, he was grateful to see he was seated in one of the few spots in the house that didn’t face the windows. Without sunshine aimed at the space where he sat, the lighting was too low for a decent picture quality on his phone. All he could see of himself were dark shadows where his eyes were, stubble from a few days of not shaving, the outline of his hair sticking out from his scalp in every different direction, still mussed from sleep. Ben was satisfied he didn’t look enough like himself to be easily identified.
The woman who had initiated the videocall with him stared blankly, eyes wide with surprise. Then she covered her mouth with her hands. “OH MY GOD!” She yelled through her fingers. “Oh….shit, SHIT! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to start a call with you!” She dropped her hands away from her face and exhaled loudly. “I was just in my inbox and saw dots moving next to your username, so I knew you were writing to me. I clicked on that line where the dots were, thinking it would take me to the message thread and I could read your reply as soon as it came through. I don’t know what button I clicked on or what I did wrong, but next thing I knew, there was a message on my screen saying that I was starting a call with you. I couldn’t find a way to cancel it. Oh God, I’m so embarrassed. Didn’t mean to ambush you like this. I’m really sorry!”
“It’s okay,” said Ben. He smiled, hoping it would put the woman at ease. “I had a similar experience. This app isn’t the most user-friendly, that’s for sure. You don’t have to apologize.”
“Oh,” she replied with a nervous laugh. “Okay then. Well… I’m Olivia. Hi.”
The woman looked just like her profile picture. After a few seconds of watching her facial expressions and listening to her voice, Ben was satisfied their paths hadn’t crossed before. Still, there was something about her that struck him as familiar. He couldn’t put his finger on it.
“Hi, I’m Ben.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Ben.”
“Nice to meet you too, Olivia,” he said. “I was going to write you back of course, but I can chat with you for a minute now that we’re on a call. Since you reached out to me and wrote such a nice message, I didn’t want to be rude and not reply. I’m actually not on this site to meet people, not looking to date anyone right now. I have a background in software engineering and I’ve been reviewing dating apps over the past couple of months, checking out usability and interface design. The only way I can learn about the user experience is to create an account and login, so I’ve set myself up as a user on ‘Not Gonna Settle’ and a few other sites, strictly for research purposes. That’s why I’ve only filled out the required fields for my profile and haven’t uploaded any pictures.”
Seeming chagrinned, Olivia cocked an eyebrow. “That is so my luck. I finally get a real person to talk to me on this site and it turns out he’s not even here looking for love.”
“Yeah,” said Ben. “Sorry.”
“What are you doing the research for? Are you building an app of your own?”
“I’m hoping to in the near future, yes. For a very specific community, a very niche audience. I’ve been hearing for some time that single people in this... group are looking for better ways to meet others who want to date. So I’ve been doing some homework to try and build something that will help them.”
“So, like a special interest group? Let me guess… a dating app for Star Wars fans? Find the Jedi of your dreams on Star Wars Singles!”
Ben broke into laughter. “That’s actually a great idea, but that’s not the community I’m talking about.”
“Well, if you end up building a Star Wars dating app, I want half the profits since it was my idea.”
“Deal.”
They laughed.
“Too bad for me that you’re not looking to date,” said Olivia. “This is actually the liveliest conversation I’ve had with a guy in ages. You seem like a nice person. Are you sure I can’t talk you into getting together sometime? Maybe a picnic or a walk around a park?”
Ben blushed. “Thank you, but I’ll have to pass. Even if I was looking to date, there’s a huge age gap between us. More than twenty years – that’s too big of a stretch for my comfort. I’m probably your father’s age, or at least close. I’m sure you don’t want to date guys the same age as your dad.”
Olivia’s face fell. “I actually don’t have a dad. I mean, I have a biological father, obviously, but I’ve never met him. My mom says I’m better off having not known him.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. That was insensitive. I shouldn’t have said it.”
“It’s okay.”
They stared at each other through their screens until the silence between them became awkward. Olivia broke it with another nervous laugh. Ben smiled in return.
“Listen, Olivia, I need to get going,” Ben began, “It was really nice to talk to you, and I wish you the very best in your search for someone special.”
“Thanks. I enjoyed talking to you as well.”
“Take care.” Ben hovered his index finger over his phone, relieved to see there was an ‘end call’ icon of a red circle surrounding a white x-mark.
“Wait!” Olivia cried out.
“Yes?”
“Listen… if you ever just want to talk, you can call me. We can just videochat. No pressure to meet up or go on dates or anything. It’s embarrassing for me to say this, but I’m just really, really lonely. And I mean it, this is the most conversation I’ve had with another human being in a long, long time.”
Confused, Ben watched his brow furrow in the minimized video feed from his camera. “How is that possible? Your profile said you’re a teacher. Don’t you talk to your students, your fellow teachers most days? And when you’re not at work, don’t you go out with your friends? From what I can see, you’re a beautiful young woman. You seem very comfortable with initiating contact with strangers – at least online – and you’re a great conversationalist. I can’t imagine you wouldn’t have guys lining up to talk to you anywhere you go. Just go into any bar right now and I promise you, guys your age would be fighting for the barstools on either side of you, and begging to buy you a drink just for a few minutes of your time.”
She shook her head furiously. “No. I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“My mom has leukemia,” she said defeatedly. “I’m her caregiver. I used to teach but I had to quit. My students were sick all the time. I caught every single bug and germ and virus they brought into my classroom, so I was getting sick all the time too. To make matters worse, I was passing infections on to my mother. She’s been in and out of the hospital so much, they may as well put a set of revolving doors at the entrance just for us. Her doctor says she’ll never be able to recover. They’ve stopped her chemo. She’s dying.”
“Oh God. I’m so sorry.”
“If I go to a bar and get sick again, then I’m right back at square one. I don’t want to shorten her life, and I don’t want her to suffer any more than she already has, so I’m completely avoiding indoor settings in public. The few times I’ve tried to go out on dates with people from this site, the guys always want to meet at restaurants or bars. When I suggest a going on a walk or a picnic outdoors instead, and explain that I’m trying to avoid getting sick, they lose interest and ghost me. I’ve all but given up on trying to spend time with people in person. I really just want someone to talk to every now and then. Just… a friend.”
Ben stared at her, his breath caught in his throat. “Olivia,” he finally said, “I’m so sorry. I also took care of my mother through a terminal illness. I know it’s hard. I know it’s lonely. But you’re doing the right thing by avoiding bars and places where you might get sick. I… ugh. I can’t believe I suggested a bar to you. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I’m the one who should apologize. I shouldn’t be unloading all of this on you.”
“No, don’t apologize. You needed someone to talk to.”
“I guess so.” She looked away. “I don’t want to take up any more of your time. Thanks for listening to me, Ben. I appreciate it.” She disconnected the call before he had the chance to say goodbye.
Ben was on his feet again, walking from one end of the house to the next, squeezing his fists, swinging his arms. Tears sprang to his eyes. He paced and paced until he felt himself calming, his thoughts coming together, the chaos coming under control.
He opened the ‘Not Gonna Settle’ app again.
Navigating to Olivia’s profile, he read it in depth. He looked through her photos. Other than the profile picture, there was one of her standing outdoors in front of an elementary school building, leaning against the marquee. Another in which she was at a football game with friends, wearing a college sweatshirt and hoisting a pompon in the air. One photo was simply of her hands wrapped around a tiny black kitten. In the last photo, she was wearing a surgical mask, sitting beside a hospital bed, holding the hand of a frail-looking woman whose face was barely visible through the blankets piled over her body and the knit cap covering her head.
His mother’s voice echoed through his mind.
Baby, it is a terrible, terrible sin if someone asks you for help, and you have the means to help them, but you say no.
Ben wept.
Then he called Olivia back.
You can support my work by signing up for a membership to The Guiness Pig Diaries, by sending me a tip, or buying me a coffee.