Music: ♪ Personal (Caroline) - Stars ♫
Okay, she thought to herself, as she drew in a breath of air. It’s now or never.
She placed a careful index finger upon the computer mousepad, letting the cursor hover over the pink button on the screen, labeled with a single word:
JOIN
Before she could change her mind, she tapped her finger once, clicking the button. The light from the flickering screen danced across her face as she ran a hand anxiously through her hair. Finally, the website loaded, a bright pink-bannered page with its name displayed across it in a stylish font:
SOLEMATE.COM
Ha. Cute.
She didn’t know what the hell she was doing, sitting up at her computer on a dating site, in the middle of the night. She wasn’t even sure she believed in soul mates, let alone a Sole Mate. She sure as hell doubted she’d find one in the vast, mysterious void that was The Internet. The only thing that she knew for sure was that she had come home once again to an empty apartment earlier that February night, and — several glasses of cheap rosé later — there she was in front of her laptop.
The screen had opened up to a contact form page, which she immediately set herself to filling out. After what seemed like ages, her profile was all set. She clicked SUBMIT, and just like that, she was finally in.
The site itself, despite its sleek interface, wasn’t actually much different from all the other dating sites and apps. Just like the others, there were the usual components: the requisite round of survey questions (to ensure one-hundred-percent compatibility with your would-be suitors, of course); a Direct Message inbox (for those who wished to, erm… slide in, she presumed); and even a seemingly popular chat function (because being on a dating site wasn’t humiliating enough, apparently). And just like all the others, there was the usual glut of swipe-right- and swipe-left-worthy profiles that popped up on her feed — along with the all-too-familiar deluge of disappointment and dread awaiting her perusal.
Basically, just your average dating site.
She began to sift through each profile that popped up with each message that was sent her way, her screen filling with all different kinds of people: there were frat guys and Nice Guys; hipster dudes and yuppie suits; techies and stoners (and sometimes both); guys who seemed like serial monogamists… and guys who seemed more like serial killers.
Now, who can complain, with a line-up like that? she thought sardonically to herself.
And so began her Friday night: 2 a.m., all alone, in the glaring light of a computer.
Three glasses of wine and one huge bag of tortilla chips later, she finally got a message.
She had been sitting low in her desk chair, feet propped up over the edge of the desk, as she spent the next half-hour or so absentmindedly pressing her computer’s REFRESH button. All of this would probably have looked less pathetic had she not been fully decked out in her comfiest sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt, hair all up in a messy bun — pretty much the complete opposite of the pristine profile picture she’d uploaded earlier that evening. As soon as the small chat tab had appeared at the screen’s bottom-right corner, urgently blinking red, she found herself sitting up stick-straight in her chair and hastily putting her bag of chips aside, wiping off the salty crumbs on her face with the back of her hand — indeed, the very picture of elegance.
She clicked on the tab, which then opened a tiny window, where a message awaited her from someone called Camra0bscra. Curious, she clicked on top of the window’s tab, which bore his username and took her to his profile. Single, Male, aged 33. Photographer-slash-artist from Brooklyn.
Of course he was.
Where there should have been a profile picture, a grey silhouette (SoleMate’s default image) held its place instead, at the top left of the screen.
A photographer without a picture on their profile? Her interest now strangely piqued, she turned her attention back to the small chat window and placed her cursor on the message bar at the bottom and let it blink in wait once more.
Camra0bscura: Hello.
Her eyes widened even further upon receipt of the message, her lips slowly curling to an amused grin. Not the most original of greetings, but she was willing to excuse it just this once. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard as she tried to think of a response. Should she say something witty? Something memorable, perhaps? Or maybe just play it cool? Not that she was ever cool, really.
After several nervous attempts, she finally gave up and simply answered:
MissAnthrope: Hi.
And so began their conversation: 2 a.m., in the glaring light of a computer.
They ended up chatting for the rest of the evening, going on until the early dawn. After a bit of a fumble, they eventually caught an even pace: sometimes with him asking the questions, and sometimes her.
Something about it felt a bit like high school.
It was an all-too-familiar feeling: the late-night conversations, the whispered secrets you hoped no one but the two of you could hear. The sudden rush you got at finally feeling like you were not only interesting to someone, but that that someone was interested. It was heady and dizzying, this feeling — which made her want to fall even further into the conversation.
They talked about everything under the sun — or it felt like they did, anyway. They talked about living in New York: their favorite places to people-watch (his, Bethesda Fountain in Central Park; hers, the High Line), their shared frustrations on the efficiency — or lack thereof — of certain subway lines (Him: “Whatever you do: avoid the G at all costs!!!”), and their mutual fascination with the city’s hidden gems (Her: “There’s this tiny park on a street in the Upper West Side — the smallest park in the city, apparently. I go there sometimes to think.”).
After a while, during which they had both somehow managed to avoid reasons why they were even on the site in the first place, the mysterious person on the other side of the screen finally broached the subject:
Camra0bscra: So, what’s your story?
MissAnthrope: My story?
Camra0bscra: Yeah
Camra0bscra: What brings you here? To the site, I mean
MissAnthrope: Idk…
MissAnthrope: Curiosity, I guess. Why do you ask?
Camra0bscura: It’s just…
Camra0bscura: You just don’t seem like the type of girl who would normally be on here
MissAnthrope: “Type of girl”?
She sat up, suddenly intrigued.
MissAnthrope: What do you mean?
Camra0bscra: Just that — you don’t strike me as someone who would just suddenly open herself up to a bunch of strangers on a dating site.
MissAnthrope: Really? Do I seem that way?
Camra0bscura: Yep
MissAnthrope: Hmm
Camra0bscura: I hope you don’t mind my being honest?
MissAnthrope: Not at all :)
MissAnthrope: Anyway. I really was just curious.
Camra0bscra: That’s cool. No judgment here. I was honestly just asking
Camra0bscra: We all have our reasons, I guess
MissAnthrope: Yeah.
And then:
MissAnthrope: So what’s yours? If you don’t mind my asking.
A pause. Then:
Camra0bscura is typing…
This time, the ellipses began its repetitive blinking on her side of the screen, each passing second seemingly marked by the appearance of each tiny dot, one after the other. After what felt like ages, he finally answered.
Camra0bscra: Well…
Camra0bscra: Technically, I’ve been on here for a while now, but only started using it more recently.
MissAnthrope: Any particular reason why?
Camra0bscra: I’m not sure. Mostly, I think it was just the city, you know?
MissAnthrope: The city?
Camra0bscra: Yeah. The way it can make you feel anonymous sometimes.
MissAnthrope: Hm.
MissAnthrope: Some people might find that to be a good thing. A bit freeing, even.
Camra0bscra: You’re right. It is, in a way. It’s certainly the reason I moved out here.
Camra0bscra: But sometimes it’s a bit crazy-making.
MissAnthrope: Yeah, I know what you mean. This city can definitely do that to you.
Camra0bscra: Yeah. I mean, for all I know, it could have just been boredom. Loneliness, too, I guess. Sometimes, when I’m stuck on a train or walking through a crowded street, I just wanna… I don’t know, scream or something. Dare someone to look me in the eye, or even just smile, you know?
MissAnthrope: Hmm. Yeah, I know what you mean
Camra0bscra: Ach. Sorry to be so heavy. Not sure if that all made sense just now
MissAnthrope: No worries.
She paused and looked at the cityscape outside her window, taking in his words, before she continued. She wrote:
MissAnthrope: I guess we’re all a little bit anonymous in our own way.
When the early morning began to break, she posed a question: “What do you say to being less anonymous?”
He answered her question with a couple of his own: “Less anonymous? You mean… meet up?”
“Yeah.” And then, a hesitant: “…Would you want to?”
Her finger hovered over the ENTER button, before finally pressing it. She waited, the ellipses flashing in his text bubble in a seemingly never-ending loop, as if taunting her. What had only been a few minutes or so soon felt like hours, until his reply, at last, flashed across the screen:
Camra0bscra: Okay. Let’s meet.
He couldn’t know it from his side of the screen, but from where she sat on the other end, she was smiling.
Originally published on Medium.