Sometimes, despite all her efforts otherwise, it overwhelmed her. The utter loneliness of her existence. When it hit, it would hit hard, sapping all her strength and will, leaving her trapped until the moments passed. By now, she was used to it. She had learned to ward off most of the danger signs, and could go months, even years without any challenges. Then suddenly, out of the blue, it would hit her. Numbing her. Utterly incapacitating. It was better if it happened during the week, when she was working and busy. Then she wouldn't have the total smackdown, as regardless of how bad it was, she was still able to get her work done and deal with the here and now. If it hit on a weekend, it was a different story. Then every little step was like running a marathon.
This was one of those weekends. No matter what angle she tried to use to escape its clutches, the loneliness came through. She had forced herself to be active, to interact, to be with people, yet that had only served to exacerbate her situation. As she conversed and made small talk, she watched the people around her, listened to their words. All the we's and the us. Why was it she was never one of the we's or us-es? Always an I. That solitary letter that seemed to symbolize all that was pressing down on her, that oppressing oneness.
She needed to snap out of it. To find a way out of this moment and into a better moment. She thought about how much she had to be thankful for – the toilet seat was always down and clean, she could sprawl across the bed, wake up when she wanted, do what she wanted when she wanted. It didn't work. She wanted more. Needed more today.
She got into her Porsche, the license plate, ONLY1, made her smile, just a bit. Reminding her again that she was proud of her life, and who she was. A start. She headed to the store, hoping that even a minor interaction would be enough to shake her from the darkness. Her Ipod had been acting up, and this was a good excuse to head to the Apple store. As she signed in, lucky enough to score a genius vacancy within the next half hour, she focused on resisting the urge to flee.
She moved around the store, playing with the gadgets. Glad she had left her credit card in the house. Why was it that the Apple people knew how to make products she yearned to own? How had they managed to tap into her dreams and desires, and create products that she knew would enable her to reach them?
She looked up at the genius desk schedule, and saw she was next, so she moved closer to the counter. There were two genius folks, one male and one female. The woman looked frazzled, and she hoped that was not going to be her genius. The man looked like he needed a serious makeover. Guess he's a 1 too, she thought with a soft smile. No woman would ever let him out looking like that.
With that, her name was called, and sure enough, she got the guy genius. He looked her in the eye and smiled. She tried with all her might to keep the tears down, as that was the first warmth she had felt from a man in too long a time. "I'm Gene," He said, "How can I help you?." "Gene, the genius. I'm Jeanne. Also a genius, but not with Ipods." He grinned a crooked grin, this one sincere, and Jean felt the moment finally changing.
This was one of those weekends. No matter what angle she tried to use to escape its clutches, the loneliness came through. She had forced herself to be active, to interact, to be with people, yet that had only served to exacerbate her situation. As she conversed and made small talk, she watched the people around her, listened to their words. All the we's and the us. Why was it she was never one of the we's or us-es? Always an I. That solitary letter that seemed to symbolize all that was pressing down on her, that oppressing oneness.
She needed to snap out of it. To find a way out of this moment and into a better moment. She thought about how much she had to be thankful for – the toilet seat was always down and clean, she could sprawl across the bed, wake up when she wanted, do what she wanted when she wanted. It didn't work. She wanted more. Needed more today.
She got into her Porsche, the license plate, ONLY1, made her smile, just a bit. Reminding her again that she was proud of her life, and who she was. A start. She headed to the store, hoping that even a minor interaction would be enough to shake her from the darkness. Her Ipod had been acting up, and this was a good excuse to head to the Apple store. As she signed in, lucky enough to score a genius vacancy within the next half hour, she focused on resisting the urge to flee.
She moved around the store, playing with the gadgets. Glad she had left her credit card in the house. Why was it that the Apple people knew how to make products she yearned to own? How had they managed to tap into her dreams and desires, and create products that she knew would enable her to reach them?
She looked up at the genius desk schedule, and saw she was next, so she moved closer to the counter. There were two genius folks, one male and one female. The woman looked frazzled, and she hoped that was not going to be her genius. The man looked like he needed a serious makeover. Guess he's a 1 too, she thought with a soft smile. No woman would ever let him out looking like that.
With that, her name was called, and sure enough, she got the guy genius. He looked her in the eye and smiled. She tried with all her might to keep the tears down, as that was the first warmth she had felt from a man in too long a time. "I'm Gene," He said, "How can I help you?." "Gene, the genius. I'm Jeanne. Also a genius, but not with Ipods." He grinned a crooked grin, this one sincere, and Jean felt the moment finally changing.
This is another in the License Plate Series, stories based upon license plates seen during my travels
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