Voodoo & Loveshadow

Chapter One

Rusty Stratford paced, idly, around the livingroom of his tiny one-bedroom apartment, where he had been talking on the phone with his mother, June, for the past 14 minutes.

Like most bachelors, he enjoyed these little chats with his mom, but they didn’t share such talks enough. Everytime they did get the chance to speak, Rusty regrettably found himself failing to give her his full attention. Too often, his mind wandered.

He needed more light. Tablelamps? There were no tablelamps. The only illumination came from what little light spilled out of the kitchen. Every evening, he was reminded of how gloomy that apartment felt.

Yeah. Lamps. He needed more lamps.

Cringing, when there was a brief and stifling lull in the conversation, he could somehow feel the entirety of his mother’s next sentence, the moment she drew in her breath to speak it.

Here it comes, he thought.

So, are you seeing anybody right now? June asked.

Wince.

One need not describe the tone of her voice. You already know it. You’ve probably heard it yourself. Doesn’t matter if you are a son or a daughter, if you’re 19 or 59, all mothers ask that question the exact same way.

Rusty felt his chest tighten. He stopped pacing and answered with that tension you feel when you’ve only taken half the breath you require to get the words out. "Well, no. I mean, yeah. I’m, well, I was kind of seeing someone for awhile there, but I’m not really anymore. So, no. No, not really. I mean, I was, but no, I’m not really seeing anyone right now."

Wow. That was smooth, Rusty.

Nausea in waves.

He felt as though he had just taken a horrible swing in a boxing match and now he had nothing left to do but wait for the crushing right hook that would blast him off his feet.

He had been in fistfights but never boxed a day in his life.

Nevertheless, he knew that’s exactly how it felt.

June paused and the silence on the line lasted about two or three seconds longer that Rusty had expected. Just enough to tighten the thumb screws a little harder.

With a heavy sigh, June gently declared to her son, Ohhhh, Rusty. You know, you just need to find someone you can have sex with.

His eyes damn-near shot out of his skull. MOM?! Excuse me!?

What? she replied, innocently. I’m just saying.

Rusty was dumbfounded. Sure, she was liberal and all, but this crossed the line. This was even a little too much for his wacky, hippie mother to be telling him. "But - But you’re my mom. I mean - you’re not supposed to say things like that!"

"Well, why not? I’ve done that sort of thing in my own life, she continued. You know, just gone out and found some hot guy that I could get into bed and just fuc - "

- MOM! My God! Okay! Okay! Will you just - That’s enough! Okay? Rusty’s voice cracked, raising two full octaves, as if he were still a puberty-stricken teenager. You can stop right there. I don’t need to hear this! Too. Much. Information.

You act like I never had sex before!

Ew! Did she just say that? "Mom! Obviously, I know you’ve had sex. I wouldn’t be here if you didn’t have sex. But, I do not need to think about my mom getting laid. Okay? That’s just... gross."

Why is it gross? She made a disapproving grumble.

As Rusty had explained, we all know our parents had sex or we wouldn’t be here. But when anyone starts to talk about their sexual escapades, it causes the listener to imagine those escapades. And despite what Sigmund theorized, it doesn’t matter if she’s a supermodel, no one wants to imagine their mom fucking. Freud was a cokehead.

Rusty didn’t want to insult his mother, but let’s face it, anyone being told their sexuality is gross, is bound to be pretty offended. So, thinking quickly, he explained himself with a different approach. "Okay, let me put it to you this way - do you want to hear about grandma having sex? Would you want her telling you stories about hot guys she slept with when she was 20 years old?"

June laughed, finally understanding what her son was getting at. Well, no. Now that you put it that way. I wouldn’t want to hear grandma tell me about that.

"Exactly my point. She’s your mom. You don’t want to hear that. You’re my mom. I don’t want to know about that stuff either. So, can we just change the subject?"

Well, I’m serious. It would be good for you to get out and find a girl you can just sleep with.

Ugh. Mom. I think I’m a little too old for that kind of thing.

"Oh, Rusty, come on. You’re twenty-eight. That is not old."

No. You’re right. It’s not. But old is just around the corner.

Old folks never tell beautiful 20 year olds they will lose their sex appeal. Why should they be told? That day is just around the corner and no one can ever believe it when it arrives. No amount of warning prepares you for being called ma’am by a boy who would have dated you 5 years earlier. Emphasizing that awful day would be cruel. Instead, the elderly just smile wistfully and remind kids to have fun. Rusty was slowly starting to realize that pensive grin was masking a dire omen.

June giggled as though she were 20 years younger and explained, Well, I guess that’s just the hippie in me. But really, it’s no big deal. It’s just sex. Just fun. You need that. There are plenty of open-minded girls out there who would be interested in you for that. Ask one of your friends. You know lots of girls.

Clearly, in her well-meaning attempt to be supportive of his sex-life, the woman had completely lost her mind.

Ask a friend!?

"Can I borrow your car? Sure."

"Can you pick me up from the airport? Yeah, no problem."

"Can we have sex this weekend?" Crickets.

Rusty chuckled. Pessimism oozed. Yeah. Sure. I’ll just ask my female friends to have sex with me. Great idea, mom. That would be a quick way for me to lose a lot of friends.

Ohhhh, why do you say that? She scolded. "Just ask. If the girl isn’t interested, it doesn’t mean she’ll stop talking to you. Why should she? She should be flattered that my handsome son wants to sleep with her."

Was this his mom or his pimp?

Ooookay. Um... So, what are you telling me? He scratched the tension off the scruff of his neck. "You’re telling me that you don’t want me to go out and have a serious, meaningful relationship with a woman? Instead I should just have casual, meaningless sex?"

No, of course not, was her answer. I want you to be happy. Eventually, with the right girl, a nice romance would be wonderful. But in the meantime, sometimes it can be fun to just get laid.

Wow...

You know, when she put it that way, he realized that she really did have a good point. And suddenly, hearing her phrase it so simply, it didn’t seem so sleazy after all.

Maybe bluntly propositioning someone for sex - especially a friend - shouldn’t be deemed so taboo or inappropriate. After all, it’s a very pleasant way to spend an afternoon. Why shouldn’t an invitation for coitus be as acceptable and civilized as asking someone to go get ice cream? It’s even better than Baskin Robbins! Besides, sex is more fun and less fattening!

Yeah. Something about your mother giving you advice - even if it is sleazy, it sounds perfectly rational and dignified coming from her. Even if mom is a wacked-out hippie. Besides, mother knows best. Right?

Ordinarily, the kind of girl mother warned you about and the kind of girl you take home to mom are two very different types of women. In Rusty’s case, he guessed those ladies are one-in-the-same.

He laughed and said, "Well, I have to admit, it makes for a very unique pick-up line. I can walk up to girl and say, ‘Excuse me. Would you like to have cheap, meaningless sex?... My mother says it’s okay.’"

§

June laughed and their conversation rolled idly on.

Rusty really wasn’t paying much attention though.

He had no problem carrying on slushy chit-chat with his mom about the latest local news, or movies, or the weather. Talking about nothing was easy. Talking about what was in his heart was tough.

The truth was, he hated being alone and he hated being reminded of it. But, no one enjoys hanging around someone who is a lonely bastard full of self-pity. So, he never talked about it. Shove it down. Bury it. Loneliness is for wimps. Man up.

Loner.

Rebel.

Desperado.

He liked this. This is what he wanted. He didn’t mind.

That’s what he wanted the world to think.

Truth be told, everyone knows that’s a lie.

When someone pretends so hard to enjoy their solitude, everyone knows they only smile to mask a loneliness they don’t want to discuss. He casually brushed the topic aside with a joke, maybe a sarcastic comment for good measure, and hopefully people would drop the subject. It usually worked.

Never seems to work very well with mothers though.

He never questioned why he was alone. Not anymore. Lots of lonely people get that way. Psychoanalyze and overanalyze and ruminate and contemplate and never conclude a damn thing. They question why life is so unfair. What did they do to deserve such an isolated fate?

Rusty knew exactly why.

He was incredibly self-centered, exceptionally passive-aggressive, completely uncompromising in his opinions to the point of bigotry, and he regard everyone with a contemptible air of superiority, although he often pretended he was only kidding about it. Being alone for so long is emotionally scarring as well. Disconnected. Withdrawn. Detached. Empty. He had become a textbook recluse. Such isolation left him full of a deep-seeded rage and anger. While they might not acknowledge it, people sensed his misanthropy on a subconscious level. A primal sixth-sense always warns people to steer clear of men with fury buried inside cheerful eyes. Rusty masked his loathing with sensitivity and a friendly smile, thereby making people feel strangely uncomfortable for reasons they couldn’t quite pinpoint. He looked warm and kind, but he felt inexplicably dangerous. That’s an eerie combination. Far more eerie than people who are obviously psychotic.

Yeah.

The why was no mystery.

I love you, Rusty.

Love you too, mom

Okay. I’ll call you maybe next Sunday.

Rusty knew she was lying. He only spoke to her every few months but for some reason, everytime they talked, she always vowed to call him the following week. Just part of their routine.

Sounds good, mom.

Bye, bye, honey.

Bye.

The phone clicked.

Rusty was left to the silence of his empty room.

His poor mother.

She meant well.

He knew that.

He knew only too well. He’d heard things like this many times before. The world is filled with unsolicited advice from people who think they can live your life better than you can.

Little did his mother know, everytime he expressed his attraction to a female friend, the girl always ended the friendship.

No, the ladies never said, I’m not talking to you anymore.

Women always left his life in more passive ways.

The slow fade.

Less returned phonecalls.

Ignoring emails.

Hanging out only one or two more times.

Then the excuses.

Then disappearing.

The end was never abrupt.

The girls always eased away slowly. Undoubtedly her way of pretending it was not about the unrequited sex, even when Rusty knew damn-well, it was exactly that.

Sure, when talking to his mom, Rusty spoke of such an outcome as being hypothetical. He couldn’t bring himself to tell her that such outcomes had already happened for real. Many times.

He told his mom it would be a good way to lose female friends.

He didn’t have the heart to admit he already lost a ton of them.

That’s not to say he never slept with anyone. No. He wasn’t a virgin. He had plenty of romances and loveaffairs. But, all of his lovers were a mutual attraction right from the start. If a girl was ever just a friend, it always stayed that way. Anytime he expressed an interest in more, she would stop talking to him.

Every. Single. Time.

Without exception.

Maybe not immediately, but within a couple weeks, he’d hear from her less and less until she finally just vanished. He could easily fill two hands with names of girls who had done so.

For a moment, he was tempted to call Rosalind Phillips. She was the girl he was kind of seeing, but not really whom he had just mentioned to his mother.

Rosalind was yet another in an endless string of girls in his life who seemed to come and go. Bees to honey. One flower to the next.

§

The OrganGrinders Ball, in all its black-leather and fetish glory, was in full swing at U4ia Nightclub, when Rusty arrived on the night he met Rosalind.

Rusty was an odd fellow in the looks department in that he was quite handsome, but geeky. Not exactly alpha male handsome, but more like, the cute guy. Awkward enough to never get invited to high school parties, cool enough to get invited to college parties, but bashful enough that he was never making out in one of the upstairs bedrooms once he got there. He was undeniably masculine, but in a boyish way. Always looking young for his age, Rusty was a nerdy personality, imprisoned in the body of a teen band member. You know how teenage boy bands always had the least attractive guy? The fifth guy? The one who was always way on the righthand side in the group photos? The one tucked in back? Still cute. Still adored by girls. But never their first pick. Never the lead singer.

That was Rusty.

Rusty was that not-so-hot, hot guy.

Like most cute geeks, he actually found himself fairly at ease around women. Rusty was the sort who discovered he could be genuinely seductive, not because he was commanding or imposing, but because he could be so damn charming.

The trick, he once told a friend, is to not try.

And that is how Rusty played the game of wooing women.

By genuinely not trying to seduce girls, he seduced them.

The key was sincerity. You couldn’t pretend that you weren’t interested. Women can smell a lie on a man like poop on a shoe. You had to genuinely not make any effort to get a woman in bed.

That was exactly how he started dating Rosalind.

Do me a favor!? Cheryl Kornish asked Rusty.

Cheryl was a photographer friend. She was hired by the punkrock clothing store who was running The OrganGrinders Ball event. Her job was to shoot some photos of the fashion show and grab some candid shots of patrons. Adorable and petite, with pink hair and pixiegirl features, she was the type that charmed people with her charisma even better than Rusty ever could.

Most of the time, Rusty couldn’t stand her overly chipper demeanor.

Sure! What’s up!? Rusty asked over the blaring of My Life With The Thrill Kill Kult.

Could you help me find people!?

"Help you find people!?" The music was so loud, he wasn’t sure he heard her right.

Cheryl explained, "Yeah! It’s so dark in here! My camera won’t focus when I walk around the club! I need to shoot stuff right here under the neon sign! Her finger pointed at the beer-sticky carpet. It’s the only place bright enough! So, I’ll stand here and can you just wander in the crowd and ask cool-looking people to come over here so I can get pictures of them!?"

What a great opportunity to meet cute girls.

Yeah! Rusty said, I’ll be happy to!

He found Rosalind Phillips 20 minutes later. She had come as a slutty pirate - patch over her eye and everything. Lithe and sensual she slithered. Smiling, she had deep tan flesh like butterscotch at dusk and a swirl of crazy in amber brown eyes. A short bob of black hair, she was starting to grow back out, peeked out from under her costume bandana. She was allure incarnate. The kind of girl that made you want to smell the nape of her neck and lick parts of her skin other boys had never touched.

But, he played it very smooth. Charming.

They talked. They flirted. And he never got a phone number.

When he coincidentally saw her again 2 weeks later, at a different club across town, all of that changed.

He got her number the second night, and they almost kissed in the parking lot, but didn’t.

The trick is to not try.

The next evening, they talked on the phone for 5 hours.

When they went to the park that weekend, they sat on a rock and made out for what felt like days.

Rosalind called herself cursed with relationships but Rusty wouldn’t understand the full implications of that statement until weeks later. She loved that he had a Care Bear attitude toward affection and wasn’t afraid to touch her and hold her. They had bizarre things in common, like both being named after soap opera characters.

One of Rusty’s ex-lovers once held a vial of scented oil under his nose, as they perused a new age bookstore, and announced, The girl you end up with, is going to smell like this. At the time, Rusty quickly dabbed a bit on her neck and smiled. Alas, it was not the successful self-fulfilling prophecy he hoped it would become

Is it ever?

But, on his first night with Rosalind, it freaked him out when she observed, You smell just like me, and he was wearing that same unisex scented oil.

Rusty’s first official date with Rosalind was to see the latest Star Trek movie. They began to hold hands when the movie started. Rusty was nervous the whole time, fearing his hand would start sweating and gross her out.

It never did sweat.

And she never let go.

That would be the only time in his entire life that he held hands with a girl for the entire duration of a movie.

When he expressed his disappointment that there was no Star Wars trailer, she kissed him and Rusty told her, That more than makes up for it.

There was a line in the film that spoke of moments frozen in time which are universes unto themselves, and in that moment, Rosalind kissed him again.

Rusty was soaring.

How does the universe do that?

Sometimes it gives you that person who does everything right.

Later that night, when they were back in his bedroom, he was elated at how far things had gone. Pants on the floor. Lights out. Bra lost somewhere in the sheets. Nothing but their underwear.

This was going to happen.

...Then it didn’t.

What the hell?

Rusty had been with seven girls at that point in his life and none of them had ever rejected sex. Not once. Not ever. Not after going that far. He never got to second-base without getting to home plate. Never!

How was this possible?

How could she turn him down once they got to this point?

No girl had ever done such a thing!

His heart sank. What if this were some horrible turning point? Was he losing his charm with the ladies? Maybe this marked the beginning of the end. Maybe he’d be rejected and alone forever! The universe simply didn’t allow two people in their twenties to engage in an hour of foreplay and not have sex. Sure, that can happen when you’re 14 years old, but not when you’re 28. Rusty had this horrible feeling he had somehow fallen into some bizarre Twilight Zone episode - a universe where women in their twenties would not want to get laid. Even with the mathematical probability of an infinite quantity of alternate realities in the omniverse, surely there could be no such thing as a place where beautiful women in their twenties only want to go to second-base!

This was truly a nightmare come to life.

This couldn’t be happening.

But...

Turns out she was allergic to latex.

Oh.

A relief to his ego, but no comfort to his libido.

He bought lambskin condoms the next day and prayed she wasn’t lying to him.

Rosalind took Rusty to a bookstore, along with her friend Margie, and the three of them hung out for hours. Rusty loved bookstores and Margie seemed to give him the girlfriend stamp of approval - apparently numerous other suitors would soon begin to bristle when forced to endure the company of books for too lengthy a span of time.

Rusty passed with flying colors.

In all the days he knew her, Rosalind did something that no other girl, before or since, ever did in his life.

She had a present for Rusty every single time she saw him.

Nothing big. Just trinkets really. But the gesture was endearing.

The first thing she ever gave to him was a Star Trek refrigerator magnet. An obvious nod to their first date (which they planned before the park). She knocked on his door and when he opened it, she reached out her hand and gave it to him, before they even hugged.

Here. A present. She explained.

She did it everytime they met. No exceptions.

Sometimes it was a refrigerator magnet. Once it was a container of glow-in-the-dark goo. A bubblegum card. Whatever.

Some men may have been insulted by a woman constantly giving gifts that a gradeschool girl would give to a 12 year old boy, but Rusty adored her for it.

It showed she was thinking of him.

Proof he was on her mind.

He loved it.

Later, he suspected, maybe she was just cleaning out her car?

The first time she offered to drive on a date was strange.

Strange because there was something about her car that freaked Rusty out and made him really uncomfortable. In all his life, Rusty had never seen a messier vehicle.

You know those people who have some old fast food wrappers on the seat and some mail scattered on the floorboards? Those cars were showroom pristine compared to Rosalind’s vehicle.

The interior of her car looked like a ransacked house from a detective movie. Piled high, the back seat was filled with so much junk, you literally could not see out the rear window. That was illegal, wasn’t it? Books. Clothes. Albums. Strange knickknacks like a bicycle lock and an old empty box of Twinkies. He would have been worried that she was living in her car, except for the fact that none of the items appeared to be necessities, and there truly wouldn’t have been enough room to live in there.

Oh, sorry. You can just sit on that. Rosalind nonchalantly explained, referring to the disarray of junk on the passenger seat.

Umm. Rusty couldn’t possibly do that. There was a globe and a pile of cassette tapes and a makeup kit, among other things.

Rosalind began grabbing piles of stuff and throwing it carelessly into her backseat. Among the piles of junk Rusty helped to clear off the passenger seat was a book on Albert Einstein, which intrigued him. What was she doing with all this random stuff?

This looks cool. Rusty bemused at the cover, attempting to make casual conversation to mask his uneasiness about her car.

He continued to wonder about her living situation.

She never invited him over her place.

Did she have a place?

Was she actually living in her car?

He didn’t have the guts to ask. After all, if she was living in her car, she clearly didn’t want him to know. Therefore, it would be a blow to her ego to be discovered. And if she wasn’t? Well, it would be a pretty insulting comment on the state of her filth if she wasn’t.

Regardless if her answer was yes or no, it could be bad.

Might end in a huge fight.

Rusty realized, in the name of diplomacy, it was better not to ask.

You can keep it. Rosalind offered.

What? Rusty almost didn’t hear. No. I don’t need -

- Keep it. Rosalind pushed the book back toward his lap. I forgot that was even in here. You’ll be helping me clean my car.

Rusty chuckled. Okay. If you say so. I’ll keep it. As an after thought, he said, Thanks! It looks pretty cool.

Rosalind shrugged, I guess. I never read it.

Rusty snickered and was about to make a sarcastic remark, but decided against it and told her, Well, that’s good. Now I don’t feel as guilty for accepting it.

For all the positive things about her, he couldn’t shake that one recurring thought: that she will soon reject him, he’ll be right back in his shell of isolation and loneliness, wondering why no one wants to be around him.

One afternoon, Rosalind called Rusty on her way home from NASA.

Guess what I was doing today?

Rusty made a shrug she could hear over the phone. Um. No idea.

I was smashing DNA molecules in a particle accelerator!

That was definitely not the reply he expected.

"You were doing what?"

Isn’t that cool? My friend works at NASA and he let me run the machine. Well, I mean, he just had me push a button, but still.

Well. That’s pretty awesome! DNA molecules? You weren’t genetically engineering aliens or dinosaurs or anything were you?

No, I don’t think the research was anything quite so sinister.

"Oh. Well, that’s a relief. It sounds pretty cool. I didn’t even know NASA had a particle accelerator. I thought those things were huge."

Lots of research facilities have them. They have small ones too.

I see. Well, that is a pretty cool way to spend the afternoon.

Laughing, Rosalind sounded pleased, See? I knew it. I had to share it with someone who would appreciate it and I knew you would understand.

Well, thank you. But I think other people would think that was cool too.

"No. My other friends are all stupid. They wouldn’t even know what a particle accelerator is. Then I’d have to explain it to them."

"I’m sure they’re not that dumb."

They are. Trust me. So, you want to hang out?

I thought you were busy tonight.

I was supposed to go out with another guy, but I would rather keep talking to you.

Sweet calm before the storm.

The things to end the relationship began to slowly creep in.

The weird stories.

The strange behavior.

Rosalind had this odd and annoying habit of tittering instead of speaking sometimes. Anytime Rusty would ask her something she was uncomfortable about answering, she’d get a little smirk on her face and titter deep in the back of her throat.

Mm, hmm, hmm, hmm.

Very quiet. Very subdued.

Very annoying.

It was like a crazy chick imitating a geisha.

Her eyes would glaze over and she’d kind of bat her eyelashes.

As if to say, I’m going to my happy place now. Aren’t I cute?

It was unnerving.

Because no matter how much he prodded, she’d never speak.

Did you hear me? Was it really just the latex?... Yes?... No?

Titter. Titter.

She claimed a past boyfriend had stabbed her.

Her ex-husband was murdered by the mafia.

She has a stalker.

She broke up with a great guy she shouldn’t stay with because it was best for him if she left.

Oooookay.

Were these things true?

Lies?

Rusty could never be sure.

Another of her ex-boyfriends worked as a director at a music video channel in London and he offered to fly her there for New Years Eve.

She was going.

Rosalind and Rusty were never officially a couple or committed to each other. She admitted to dating other guys and that was fine with Rusty. He didn’t want details, of course, but he knew he didn’t own Rosalind either. He was beginning to think he wouldn’t want to.

Despite the cracks of weirdness starting to form, she was still fun.

They still had good times.

She invited him to skip work and go to the zoo rainforest.

They developed easy bonds to read minds and finish sentences.

I enjoy relationship conversations because they are really -

- informative.

- informative.

Yeah. Yeah, exactly. You’re so awesome.

They were still making out, but they still never had sex.

And that was bothering him.

Rusty was thrilled she suggested they see each other during the day on Christmas Eve, plus they already had plans for Christmas day together. In other words, the woman who complained about seeing guys too often, and being smothered, was requesting to spend two days in a row with him!

She was asking him.

This was a great sign.

Until she broke all those plans at the last minute, and he spent the entire Christmas season alone.

Would he ever learn?

Why did every girl do crap like this to him?

He stopped complaining about relationships to his friends because his dumb luck and bad karma had simply reached such ludicrous proportions, no one ever believed him anymore. At this point, everyone just presumed everything was his fault.

Rusty said, I wish I was spending New Year’s with you.

Okay. I don’t have any plans.

What do you mean? I thought you were going to England.

I am? Rosalind laughed. "Well, I don’t have to go."

Are you serious?

Sure, why not?

You would break plans to go to England for New Years in order to spend time with me? Oops. That sounded a lot more pitiful coming out of his mouth than it had in his head.

Rusty didn’t want to sound so self-defeating, but no one had ever offered to break plans just to be with him. The whole situation was simply an unprecedented shock.

Sure. It’s just Eli. It’s no big deal.

Rusty was elated.

At last, for once, a girl was going out of her way to be kind.

And, of course, when the time came, Rosalind went to England.

She fucked Rusty over again.

He was angry about it and he told her as much. Well, if you told me you were going to break plans for your trip, then why didn’t you?

Apparently, this ex-boyfriend was trying to offer her a job and it was a big opportunity for her to go.

Obviously, that never happened either.

Of course he never offered her a job.

Rusty was sure this ex-boyfriend just banged her, then dumped her back on a plane. Offering her a job? He probably meant blowjob, because he sure as heck didn’t offer her anything else.

She better have made him use the lambskin.

The fissures grew larger.

Things pretty much ended when Rusty accidentally discovered that one of the other guys Rosalind was dating, some scruffy dirtbag named Matthew, was engaged to a girl Rusty was acquainted with. On a fluke, he ran into Rosalind and Matthew at a club. Total accident. Total coincidence. He had no idea Rosalind would be there.

Rusty was completely repulsed by the idea that Rosalind would date such an immoral guy. Obviously, Matthew was hiding his engagement from Rosalind. He had to be. He sure as hell was hiding Rosalind from his fiancé. Rusty pulled Rosalind aside and told her right away, certain that she’d be just as revolted and stop seeing the guy.

Rosalind laughed it off. The tone in her voice turned Rusty’s stomach. Rosalind was so uncaring. So unconcerned with the idea of people lying and cheating and being deceptive. "We’re all adults and what Matthew does is his business. I’ve done the same sort of thing he’s doing. We’re just casual and it doesn’t really matter to me what Matthew does with his other relationships."

Rusty felt his lungs implode.

He got this weird vision of a harridan old spinster aunt, crushing his heart in her fist and cackling. Rusty didn’t have an aunt like that, but he couldn’t get the image out of his mind - a slutty version of a deranged Minnie Pearl mocking him.

This girl was not who he thought she was.

Was Rosalind truly so immoral that she didn’t care about this?

Rusty paused a bit too long before he talked, stunned to silence. "I’m not telling you this in order to make Matthew look bad. Don’t you understand, he has a fiancé? He’s cheating on her by dating you. I’m telling you because he has been lying to you and I don’t want anyone lying to you."

Rusty was simply trying to be ethical.

Rosalind was not grateful.

She was not remotely appreciative of his chivalric gesture. She resented it. Sneering, she told Rusty, "It makes me mad when people get too involved in my business and I don’t want you or anyone to get all upset about my life."

There was nothing more to say after that.

The girl had no virtue.

Nothing ended that night, except the hope anything might last.

Looking back, he was less upset with Rosalind in that moment and more upset with himself. The truth was, Rosalind shouldn’t stop seeing Matthew. Rusty should stop seeing Rosalind. He knew that. And he didn’t stop. That’s what upset him the most.

He knew he was too lonely to give Rosalind up.

Like all lovers, her fade was slow.

Rusty saw her again, once or twice. She continued her giftgiving and brought him a set of glow-in-the-dark paint and stars (to match the goo, he supposed), and a Ouija mousepad.

Ouija boards freaked him out.

He wasn’t sure if they ever talked about that.

Made him wonder if she didn’t know or didn’t care.

Shortly after that is when the curtains went black.

Didn’t see her for 2 months.

Then, she called out of the blue.

Rusty was thrilled. He got some takeout fast food, so they could have dinner. Rosalind came over and she thought it was cute how he arranged it all on plates and glasses, as if it were a homecooked meal. She was cuddly and affectionate and Rusty was still naively hoping she might finally have sex with him this time.

After all, you don’t just date someone for that long, vanish for 2 months, then come back to cuddle.

She excused herself right after dinner and a movie.

Okay. She wasn’t just going to jump into screwing. He could respect that. At least they were seeing each other again.

Standing at the door, Rusty hugged Rosalind warmly. He was so happy to have spent time with her. So glad she called. Delighted she had come over. Maybe things were turning around. Maybe she really missed him. He leaned in to kiss Rosalind and she put up her hand to stop him with that awkward little titter of hers.

Hold on, cowboy. Rosalind scolded. You don’t know where I’ve been.

Tee, hee, hee.

What? Rusty pulled back. "I don’t know where you’ve been? What is that supposed to mean?"

As usual, she didn’t answer. She just tittered that annoying and nervous moan/laugh again. Bye.

He finally understood.

She didn’t come over to rekindle their romance.

She came over to end it.

She just didn’t have the guts to say it.

Bitch.

Not kissing him - that was her way of saying it.

Actions do indeed speak louder than words.

Even though she hadn’t seen him or spoken to him for months, this was her way of breaking things off!? As if he didn’t already get the hint. Why did she call him at all? This was her goodbye? Two cowardly breakups instead of one?

Rusty had always been a gentleman.

Some might go so far as to call him a pushover.

However, if Rusty hadn’t been a gentleman, that would have been the perfect time for him to punch that bitch in the mouth.

Instead, he just crinkled his nose in disgust and snidely said, Uh, yeah. Whatever. Goodbye!

He closed the door on her.

They never spoke again.

§

Rusty stared at the phone for another second and listened to the hollow dialtone replace what was his mother’s voice a moment ago.

Who was he kidding?

He wasn’t calling Rosalind.

No way.

What was the point?

He knew the night she made that stupid you don’t know where I’ve been comment and walked away, it was over.

He should accept that with some dignity.

No. He wasn’t calling her.

In that moment he knew, the temptation would never return.

Chapter Two

Hey, Mr. Hermit Man!

Rusty looked over in the direction of the voice.

It was Earnest Faulder, but everyone called him by his stagename, ‘Craze’.

They hugged in greeting. Hey! I’m not a hermit! Rusty said. "I’m out now, ain’t I?"

Craze and Rusty were in attendance at a huge downtown art gallery opening for Cheryl. She had taken some band photos for Craze. Rusty always suspected they had slept together too. That weird we’ve got a secret vibe always shimmered between them, but Rusty never wanted to know.

Rusty hated being called a hermit. He knew it was true. That was why it upset him. The worst part was, he always tried to change it, but failed. He didn’t appreciate being reminded of that failure. When he was a child, he remembered the first time he heard the word hermit and how it made him laugh. He thought it was the weirdest thing ever. Why would anyone ever want be one of those, he thought.

He didn’t realize you could become a hermit on accident. Maybe that’s why Rusty never forgot the moment he heard that word. The universe has a cruel way of making sure you never forget what you are destined to become.

No friends ever invited him out or called him on the phone just to say hello and see how he was doing.

Never.

He seriously couldn’t recall how many years it had been since he had gotten a friendly phonecall from a friend, just saying, Hi.

When he did make an effort to reach out to people, he was constantly rejected. Anytime he’d offer to hang out with people, they’d always turn him down, or they’d accept and cancel at the last minute. Over and over.

And over.

And over.

After awhile, he just stopped asking.

Rusty had far too many acquaintances whom he claimed were his friends. The kind of people who never made any effort to hang out with him or accept his invitations, yet by the same token, they would judge his life and tell him he needed to get out more and meet people.

They never recognized the irony that he wouldn’t need to get out and make new friends if his old friends just behaved like ones.

Rusty and his ex-girlfriend, Marie Greer, once invited about sixty friends and acquaintances to a Christmas party. Normally, Rusty would never be so foolish as to throw a party and expect guests to arrive. However, he knew Marie was well-liked and had a lot of friends. Rusty figured, if Marie was hosting the party, people would be sure to come.

Three people showed up.

Three.

Out of sixty invites?

When you experience that kind of rejection enough times, you stop trying. You accept your fate. Why bother anymore?

Hermit Man indeed.

Three months had passed since the night he had spoken to his mother and he almost called Rosalind.

Three months and he still wasn’t seeing anyone.

The longest romance Rusty ever had didn’t last more than six months. Actually, things lasted a little longer with Marie, but they never went longer than six months without repeating their cycle of breakups and getting back together. Never took long for girls to figure out they didn’t like him as much as they thought they would.

Ever notice the ugly boyband member is never in the tabloids?

Nope.

Excusing himself after a bit more small talk with Craze, Rusty wandered about the gallery.

He wasn’t expecting it to be such a huge reception and he was happy for Cheryl to be getting so much attention. Granted, it was a group show, not a solo. Nevertheless, the turnout was far bigger than he would have imagined.

As he passed some sculptures and meandered among the crowd, he spotted Marissa LaStone for the first time.

Some girls were burned into his memory so clearly, Rusty recalled the first second he saw them. He remembered seeing Grace Jaildenss, the first girl he ever kissed, standing in the doorway of her bedroom at a party. He remembered seeing the girl he lost his virginity to, Hillary Zappa, walking through a parking lot as he stood on the lawn near a church on a college campus.

And he remembered the first second he saw Marissa LaStone, walking through the art gallery.

There’s always an intangible quality to the women you’re destined to sleep with. Somehow, they feel like home from across a crowded room. Everyone knows that. Everyone feels it. Funny that there’s no word for that sensation. There should be. Rusty wondered if other languages had a word for it.

Marissa was an incredibility tall young girl, at least 5’10, but the word tall" seems an injustice, because the girl moved with such grace, she billowed with the ease of palms in a seabreeze. Babyfaced with freckles spraypainted across her cheeks, her brunette hair draped the curves of lubricious breasts. Like some sort of odd faerie queen of legend, you couldn’t tell how old Marissa happened to be. She might be 12 and she might be 30. Depending on the light across a crowded room, it was impossible to guess. Her face was too youthful for a woman in her twenties, but her body was too mature for a teenager.

The dance began.

Exchanging glances.

Passing in the crowd.

What would his line be? What would be his excuse?

Should he wait until she was looking at some artwork?

Yes. Yes, that’s it. You can’t start up a conversation when you’re both walking in the crowd. That would be awkward and strange. What would he say? Oh, hi, I saw you looking at me. Care to make passionate love to me on top of this twelve-foot-tall paper mâché sculpture of Abraham Lincoln?

No.

Not a good approach.

As he stood around thinking about what to say, Rusty lost her.

He started to panic.

As he darted through the crowd, he couldn’t find her anywhere. Moving methodically from the front of the gallery to the back, past frumpy artists and elegant cocktail dresses, past three-piece suits and jean jackets, he didn’t see her.

Had she already left?

Damnit.

It figures.

Just when he found a girl he liked, he waited too long. Missed his chance. Story of his life. Just like the stupid Easter eggs back when - oh! There she is!

Rusty spotted her outside.

A few people were gathered on the sidewalk.

Craze was talking to her!

Perfect!

He knew Craze had a serious girlfriend right now (a rare thing for Craze to maintain) so he wasn’t hitting on Marissa. And if he were, Rusty would boot him out of there quick. Now at last, Rusty had an excuse!

Hey! A little stuffy in there. Rusty pointed out.

Yeah, it’s a good turnout. Craze noted.

Rusty and Marissa exchanged shy grins. Before either of them could say anything, Cheryl bounced out of the gallery, grabbing at Craze. Oh, come here! Someone wants to meet you!

Craze shrugged and let himself get dragged off.

Rusty and Marissa stood alone under the streetlamp.

Hi. I’m Rusty.

Marissa.

Marissa? That’s a nice name.

Thanks. My parents get all the credit.

Smirking, Rusty asked, What’s your middle name?

Renee.

Rusty was taken aback. Wow. Well, Marissa Renee, I will never forget that name as long as I live.

Marissa chuckled. Oh? Why not?

Quite seriously, but in a lighthearted tone, Rusty explained, "Well, Marissa and Renee are names of two of the most important girls in my life. So, I’ll never forget someone with both of those names."

Rusty wasn’t lying. That wasn’t a line. Marissa was the middle name of his first love, Kateri, who had died in California. Renee was the first name of his best friend, who had moved to Israel.

Marissa wasn’t sure what to make of this dude. Ordinarily that kind of line would sound like a guy just trying to hook up with her. But something about him held an innocent boyish charm and she liked him already. What’s yours? Your middle name.

"Oh, well, Rusty is my middle name. Gordon is my first. But no one calls me that. My mother has apologized for it many times."

Marissa chuckled. Her laugh was exactly the kind Rusty would have hoped it to be. Made her face glitter like it was outlined in silver and the sound was happier than a little girl being licked by a box full of puppies.

They spent the remainder of the evening together, walking through the exhibits, discussing opinions on artwork, sharing stories about childhood and favorite movies. By the end of the night, they were back in front of the gallery, sitting on a bench. There were still dozens of people in attendance, but the crowds had thinned considerably.

You know, just before we met, I was afraid you had left. I was really bummed because I really wanted to meet you.

I wanted to meet you too. Don’t worry, I wasn’t going anywhere until you talked to me. Marissa flirted. Rusty noted she became far more flirty by the minute. Not in an irreverent or sleazy way, but in an endearing one.

"Oh, nice! Hey, wait, why did I have to talk to you? You could have talked to me first."

Marissa playfully rolled her eyes. "Because you’re the man. Come on! Buck up, sissy."

Rusty’s shoulder earned a lighthearted smack from her palm.

Okay! Well, I’ll take that as an appreciation for chivalry.

Yes, my feminist friends would kill me. But I hate feminism.

Rusty was intrigued. You hate feminism?

Oh, totally. Nothing but hateful misandry in disguise. I think this whole idea of equality between the sexes has set humanity back by decades.

How so?

"Because men and women are not equal. And we never should be. We are different physically and emotionally and intellectually. I think acknowledging that and cerebrating our differences, instead of trying to force everyone to pretend we’re the same, is the only way to gain true equilibrium between the sexes. Admitting that we are not on the same level. Like all these privileged women in Western culture who claim to be ‘oppressed’ while they got to sit home during World War I and World War II while millions of men died. Yeah, women in civilized Western cultures and First World countries who claim to be ‘oppressed’ are pure evil."

That was beautiful. Marry me?

Marissa laughed, Whoa. Slow down there, Tex.

Sorry. Little too fast for you?

Maybe a little. But deep inside, I think every little princess dreams of the dashing prince making the first move.

Oh, I’m a dashing prince now, am I?

Well, so far. You have a certain charm.

Why thank you, mi’lady. Rusty bowed with a flourished hand.

You’re welcome, mi’lord.

Rusty wanted to compliment her on being quite a princess herself, but he decided despite flirtations, he didn’t want to get too sappy with a girl he just met. Instead he told her, Hey, I’m on your side. Nothing wrong with wanting the man to make the first move. I appreciate a woman with old-fashioned sensibilities.

Marissa nodded in accordance. John Wayne would make the first move. So should any man.

I agree. But I’m not a man.

You’re not? What are you? A girl in drag? Damnit! Not another one!

Rusty laughed. No, I’m just an innocent little boy. Peter Pan complex and all. I was afraid you might have become another Easter Egg.

Marissa’s nose crinkled. She had no clue what that meant. An Easter Egg?

Yeah. Because I waited too long before I chased you down.

Oookay.

With a chuckle, Rusty began to explain, See, when I was a little boy, I went on this Easter Egg Hunt. And, you know, it was my first time. My first egg hunt. I didn’t know how it worked. So, there I was with all these other little kids and the eggs were hidden in the grass, and in bushes, and trees and stuff.

Yeah, I know what an egg hunt is. Marissa teased.

Rusty snorted his embarrassment. Okay, sorry. Overexplaining. I do that a lot. Get used to it.

Marissa giggled.

Rusty continued, "Anyway, the point is, I didn’t know it was some chaotic thing with kids running all over the place. I was a very quiet and respectful little kid. I was really reserved. So, I just went slowly walking into this field. And everytime I was about to pick up an egg, some other kid would zing past me and snatch it. See, in my mind, I had this attitude that if I saw the egg, it was mine. I didn’t understand the whole point was whomever grabbed the eggs first. I thought it was whomever spotted the eggs first. I took the word hunting very literally. So, I was getting more and more upset, because all these other kids were stealing my eggs! I was told to find the Easter eggs. So, I literally went around finding them. Seeing the egg is finding it. Right? That’s how I interpreted the rules."

Aw. That’s so sad! Poor little Rusty with no eggs.

Yeah, it was rather pathetic.

So, how many eggs did you get?

None. Rusty formed a zero with his thumb and index finger.

None!?

"Yeah. Literally. Not one. Out of like twenty boys and girls, including older and younger kids, I was the only little kid who had an empty basket."

Aw! Marissa pouted, not without genuine sympathy. That’s so sad!

"Yeah. It was, uh, it was pretty pathetic. I didn’t like any of the other kids after that. I was all upset and crying because I saw all these other kids as cheaters and thieves. You know? I saw the eggs! They were mine! I didn’t understand that I had just been playing the game wrong."

No one gave you an egg out of pity?

No, I don’t - I don’t think so. No, I don’t recall that happening. No pity eggs. I actually think my grandfather may have asked one of the other parents, but no kids were prepared to sacrifice their haul. Rusty smirked. Recollecting the story, his eyes still held the kind of disappointment one develops for all of humanity in those memories. Also pretty symbolic of the selfishness of people. But my point is, that one event kind of became a symbol for my whole life. You see, I realize now, how often I miss opportunities in life because I either move too slow, or I don’t understand the rules, or others come along and steal away what I assumed was mine, just because I saw it first.

Ah. So, you were afraid I was an Easter Egg.

Exactly. When I couldn’t find you, I thought of the Easter Egg Hunt. I wait too long to speak with the pretty girl and she leaves with a boy who has a bigger basket.

Marissa spat out a laugh that sparkled like ten windchimes. "Well, I wouldn’t say that one event informed your whole life. I mean, you got to me in time."

True. I guess I learned something.

I guess so. I like your basket just fine. She teased.

Well, instead of waiting until the last minute, I guess I should put all my eggs in one basket and ask for your phone number now. Rusty was wry in his request. He loved those moments when you could ask a girl for her number and you knew she wouldn’t turn you down.

Marissa groaned with a titter. Oh, that was bad.

I know. Rusty smiled, Wasn’t it? Hey, I’m proud of the horror of my puns.

That wasn’t a pun. It was just a weak callback. But Marissa didn’t correct him on his terminology.

Marissa had just graduated from college and was working as an Resident Assistant at her dorm - the ubiquitous RA; the Sun God, as they are geekily called on every college campus. Oh, they’re going to give me a new room in like 2 weeks, so I’m not sure if that will still be my number.

Rusty looked suspicious.

Marissa immediately defended herself, No, no! Seriously! See, the phone numbers are usually tied to a room. And then because my job is moving me to a new room, I’m not sure that my number will stay the same. I swear! I’m not trying to blow you off. Honestly! She touched his hand.

Smiling, he held her fingertips. Okay. Well, we’ll see.

Rusty had become so accustomed to rejection, he honestly didn’t care at that point. The way he saw it, he had a wonderful evening talking to this girl. If she was blowing him off and he never saw her again, that was fine. He still had a great time.

That being said, her nervousness amused him.

There was a slim possibility that she was telling the truth.

Maybe she really did like him.

§

Trust me, it’s fun. Rusty reassured Marissa.

Taking hold of her hand, he squeezed and let her know, It’ll be over before you know it. It only takes a secoouuuuughnd!

Marissa screamed so loud as the roller coaster dropped straight down, she thought she would rupture her spleen. She wasn’t even sure what a spleen was, but surely something inside her was going to break. That dazzling brunette hair of hers was flying skyward like a tickertape parade running backwards.

As the terrifying freefall slowly rolled to a gentle stop, Rusty and Marissa were momentarily on their backs, before careening headfirst and dropping upright again, laughing and hyperventilating along with the other two riders.

Ohmygod! Ohmygod! Ohmygod. Marissa was repeating.

"That’s what she said." Rusty joked.

You said it wouldn’t be scary! Marissa scolded.

"I never said that. I said it would be over quick!" Rusty managed to spit out between laughing gasps for air.

Ohmygod.

Wanna do it again?

No! Marissa giggled.

Wimp!

Fine! I’ll go again!

After two or three nights of 3 hour phonecalls, their first date at Cedar Point Amusement Park was going wonderfully.

Marissa used to work there during her summer breaks in college.

That was the first time she ever mustered up the courage to ride the Demon Drop.

Marissa suggested they go on the Fourth of July, because the park would be empty. Rusty didn’t believe her.

Are you kidding? The Fourth of July will be packed!

Nope. I guarantee it. I worked there, remember? Trust me. Everyone has family picnics and barbeques on the Fourth. No one goes to the park. I swear it will be empty.

Okaaay. If you say so.

Sure enough, she had been right.

They practically had the place to themselves.

The longest lines were a 5 minute wait. It was fantastic! The day was everything Rusty had hoped and prayed for. All those times he had been there as a teenager, all those times seeing happy couples while he was alone, had finally paid off. At long last, he was one of the happy couples! For once, he could finally be at Cedar Point with a beautiful girl.

A girl to hold hands with on roller coasters.

A girl to makeout with in the sky ride.

A girl to buy cotton candy for.

A girl to make him feel like he wouldn’t be alone forever.

What’s wrong? Marissa asked as they stood in line for the bobsled ride.

Wistfully, Rusty gazed around the throngs of humanity, feeling that love for people you can only recognize when someone adores you, Oh, nothing. I was just thinking about the lonely boys in the crowd.

The lonely boys?

"Yeah. And girls. You see, I’ve been here so many times with my friends and with family and I would always feel jealous when I’d see some happy couple holding hands and making out in line. And I just realized, I’m one of those couples now. So, I hope there aren’t any lonely guys or girls looking at us and feeling jealous. You know? I’d hate to think that our happiness was bumming anybody out."

Shrugging it off, he didn’t want to turn their joyful day into something mopey. I don’t know. No big deal. That’s silly, I know.

Marissa knew Rusty was special.

She knew he was different.

That was the moment when she realized just how odd he was.

What an incredible boy, caring about people in ways that others never even think about.

Without a word, she kissed him and pulled him close to her chest. She didn’t tell him, but she fell in love with him right then and there. The little boy who was too kindhearted to knock kids aside for Easter Eggs and who cared so much about his fellow man that he was concerned about breaking the lonely hearts of strangers.

§

Marissa had been telling the truth about moving.

She really did get a new room at the college, but her number never changed after all.

A few weeks later, it was Rusty’s turn.

He was leaving a crappy little one-bedroom apartment that reeked of cigarette-scented carpet and musk. When he first visited the place, all the windows were open on a breezy summer day, so he had no idea the place smelled so awful. Wasn’t until after he moved in that he realized he should have insisted the landlord replace the flooring. At least the neighborhood was pleasant enough. Safe. Suburban. Full of kids and trees and sidewalks dotted with baby strollers.

The best part was the neighbors - a retirement home.

Thank goodness.

No rowdy parties. No loud domestic disputes. Just friendly old folks. Nice.

Or so he thought.

But he forgot one thing.

He presumed the quiet of a bunch of senior citizens would mean relaxing evenings. On the contrary, he wasn’t always guaranteed a good night’s sleep. He didn’t stop to consider that once a week, he’d be awoken at 3 in the morning to the sound of an ambulance picking up the latest souls to depart the Earth next door. In the middle of the night, old ladies and old men would get hauled off to the emergency room for heart attacks or seizures or whatever happens to elderly folks in the dead of evening. Rusty’s bedroom window happened to face the old-folks-home front driveway.

Of course, he couldn’t get mad about it.

After all, you feel like a jerk getting mad over something as petty as interrupted sleep when the cause is the end of a long life, leaving behind grieving spouses and grandchildren.

The worst part was knowing that everyday of his life was leading Rusty to the same inevitable fate. That’s the whole reason young people fear the elderly so much. Their hearwrenching frailty and senility are reminders of what awaits