This piece is an autofictional seed for the Autofiction x Worldbuilding submissions call. It inspired this other piece.

Hell is Other Speed Daters

“You would kill it in speed dating!” says the woman at the bar who is not interested in me. Her blonde curls fall like noodles over the sides of her moonlike face. We are at an Italian restaurant hosting an Arab Pop-Up Party, where drinks are tinged with spices: cardamom Old Fashioneds, turmeric pina coladas, sumac martinis. The crowd is mostly white people taking selfies in front of a stylized Arabic sign.

“Why is that?” I ask, wishing I was doing that instead of this that I find myself doing far too often lately: politely killing time with someone I don’t want to talk to until a natural exit to the conversation presents itself.

“Most of the guys are weirdos. You seem very normal!” She says it with the enthusiastic flair of someone who believes they have made a great compliment.

“Thank you. I’m going to get another drink.”

I walk up to my friend Antoine who introduced us, “I appreciate your willingness to set me up with the single women in your orbit, but I am worried about what you think of me considering the steady stream of trolls you keep pushing in my direction.”

He laughs. “You’re going to die alone if you don’t stop being so picky.”

“I’d rather die alone than live with the wrong person.”

Antoine sighs. “You think everyone is the wrong person. Ever wonder why that is?”

I shrug. “If I don’t feel it, I don’t feel it.”

“You never feel it with anyone. You sure you even into women?”

“Ha, yes, I’m sure.”

“You need to open yourself up to something besides what you think you want. Every woman I’ve introduced you to has been someone who could make a great partner for you, and you always reject them. Why?”

“I don’t know. No one seems good enough. Why do you think I don’t like anyone?”

Antoine does not hesitate. “Because you’re a douchebag.”

“How am I a douchebag?” A douchebag? What?

Antoine smirks. “You know how you are. Always letting your eyes wander, even when you have a girlfriend. Always complaining about how no woman will ever love you, even when you got women all over you.”

“Women are never all over me.”

“They could be if you didn’t repel them with your judgmental attitude.”

“It’s not judgment, it’s clear understanding of what I want. No one matches the description.”

“What’s the description?”

I thought about it a moment, before reverting to the standard answer I placed in my dating profiles. “A strong, stable long-term relationship with someone who shares my interests, same as anyone.”

“And you’ve never had that before?”

“Not exactly.”

“What about Dakota?”

“Dakota?” A year and a half, only cheated on her once, that I remember, with a coworker. “Sweet but boring.”

“Everyone is boring sometimes. What about Jocelyn?”

“The opposite of boring,” I laugh. “Crazy.”

“Was she crazy, or did you drive her crazy?”

“Is there a difference?”

Antoine shakes his head. “I wish you could step back and see how you judge women. Maybe get judged the same way.”

“Yeah, well, if wishes were bitches we’d all be getting laid,” I say before I walk outside to smoke a cigarette.

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about!” Antoine calls out, but I barely hear him over the sounds of slamming brakes, honking horns, and the voices of hundreds of drunk people gathering on the busy street outside this strip of bars and restaurants.

I check my phone and there’s an email from some local events listserv. “Speed Dating Events Near You!” Indeed, there’s one just walking distance from my apartment coming up the next night. I sign up for the privilege of what I imagine is being treated like a pig at an agriculture fair. Speed dating seems like a space where awkward men desperate for love mingle with anxious women hoping they don’t get murdered.

As I review my confirmation email, I hear screams and look up. Everyone around me is rushing back inside the restaurant. I feel a blunt force in my lower back, as if hit by a swinging baseball bat. I see bright white light, and then darkness.

I am staring at my reflection in the glass outside the Hard Rock Café. I am in different clothes. Black jeans, black sneakers, maroon button-down. I look good.

My phone is still in my hand. 7 pm on Saturday July 1. A full day has passed, and I cannot remember anything after that pain in my back, the light, the screams.

“Hey, man, you alright?” Antoine materializes next to me. He’s in a plaid shirt and blue jeans. His All-Stars look brand-new. As always, he is dressed casually but looks sharp.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I say with zero conviction. “What happened last night?”

“You blacked out!” he says with a laugh. “Come on. It’s starting. Tonight, we find love!”

I have not blacked out since college and even if I had, that would not explain how I ended up here.

Where has the day gone?

I ignore my confusion. For now, I am a man on a mission.

The inside of the Hard Rock Café is hideous. Fake-looking signed celebrity memorabilia hangs in large black frames on drab, gray walls. To the right of the entrance is a cluster of tables with tourists and their children scarfing down overcooked meat. At the stage in the center of the dining area, a Buddy Holly-lookalike in the iconic eyeglasses sings whiny acoustic covers of early-00s emo songs. As I enter, he is butchering Yellowcard’s “Ocean Avenue.”

We follow the “Speed Dating This Way” sign. A man and a woman sit at a table in front of a glass door near the restaurant’s smaller bar. Both look about thirty years old and wear the voyeuristic glee people get when they are about to watch other people embarrass themselves: smiles natural but far-too wide, eyes bulging with anticipation of humiliation.

“Name?” the rail-thin man asks me. He is wearing tortoise-shell eyeglasses and a slim-fitting blazer. I tell him. He points to the woman. “She’ll check you in.”

Her name tag reads “Monique.” She’s got a buzzcut and a half-dozen facial piercings. “Name?” I repeat it. She hands me a red name tag and sharpie. “Please keep this on at all times.”

The name tag is custom-made with three questions:

Name? I write it.

Looking for? Long-Term Relationship. I consider writing something more clever like, You?, but look up and see two men who have already done that. I look at Antoine next to me, writing You? He looks giddy with his own wit.

Interested in? I have no idea what to put here. Women? The NBA? X-Files? I think Antoine has scribbled “Long walks on the beach” but he has the handwriting of a general practitioner on a bender, so I could be wrong.

What am I even interested in? I feel tongue-tied, unsure how to articulate what I want because I want something that a woman also wants so we can match, but I am afraid of being honest in the event a woman I like does not like the thing I like.

A line forms behind me so I panic and scrawl Long-term relationship. Now my name tag says it twice. Great work, buddy. I relax when I notice everyone has similarly boring answers.

A life partner.

My one true love.

Someone to start a family with.

It is both refreshing and depressing to see that I have nothing special to add, but no one else does either.

Maybe my soulmate really is here, I think, my first optimistic thought of the night.

The women are mostly dressed professionally and teem with nervous excitement: lots of downcast stares, whispers in small groups, and muffled giggles. The men run the gamut from overconfident playboy-types to the strangest-looking people I have ever seen. A buff Captain America look-alike in a blue polo checks his reflection on a mirrored wall. At the bar, a man wears the loudest and most complex-patterned shirt I have ever seen, with paisley and oblong cubes cascading around a bright swirl with every color of the rainbow. On a far wall, a man in a brown fedora stands with his eyes closed, breathing so calm and rhythmic I swear he’s asleep.

It’s a Middle School Dance, boys on one side and girls on the other, except everyone is a thirtysomething in the throes of a midlife crisis.

Antoine retreated to the bathroom to freshen up so I sidle up to the bar and sit next to a woman in a red flowery sundress. Her brown hair cascades down to the middle of her back. Her eyes are a luminous green. Her nose has a gentle, curved bump. Her smile is radiant, shiny white teeth behind lipstick that matches her dress, her shoes, her purse, and her fingernails.

We both order a gin and tonic at the same time.

“Jinx,” she says, and it feels like the cutest thing that has ever happened.

Name? Melanie

Looking For? True Love

Interested In? Faith, Yoga, Emotional Intimacy

She is stunning. I am ready to ask her out and call it a night.

“So, what brings you here?” I ask. She laughs and points to her name tag. “I know, but like, why speed dating? You’re very pretty. You must kill it on the apps.”

“You’d be surprised.” She takes a delicate sip from her drink, lips barely grazing the rim of her glass. “I have trouble building chemistry with someone virtually or via text. I always feel like we’re hitting it off and then we meet in person and it becomes apparent that they are not the kind of guy I thought they were.”

“What kind of guy are you looking for?”

Please say me.

“Someone who shares my values, someone progressive and intelligent and fun. Someone who loves travel. Someone who is as interested in me as I am in them.” She glances at my name tag. “What about you? What brings you here besides desire for a long-term relationship?”

Before I can answer, Monique from the check-in desk rings a loud brass hand bell. Its jingle rings in my ears while she speaks. “Hello and welcome to Young Professionals Speed Dating! Congratulations on taking the first step toward finding true love.”

Everyone claps in a mechanical, rhythmic way.

“Ground rules are simple: when we go into the room you will see twelve tables. Women will sit at each table and stay there. At each seat you will find a piece of paper and pencil. Use those to keep notes on your conversations so that we can match you by email after. We won’t share your personal information but feel free to exchange numbers if you vibe with someone.

“Men rotate every five minutes in a counterclockwise fashion. There are 11 women and 12 men so Table 1 will be the floater, where a man sits alone to wait his turn as everyone else goes. The floater can use that opportunity to use the bathroom or get a drink, take a power nap, whatever. Any questions?” There were none. “Alright, ladies, take your seats.”

The event is in a spacious back room behind the bar. I go to a far corner, Table 6, which will give me the floater’s break around the middle of the event, just before Melanie at Table 2.

The woman at Table 6 is a petite redhead.

Name: Josie

Looking for: Soulmate

Interested in: Hiking, Mountain Climbing

“What’s new, pussycat?” I ask with a smile far too satisfied with my own cleverness.

She does not get it. “Excuse me?”

“I’m sorry, I was just joking.” The room suddenly feels twenty degrees hotter. The chatter around us is so loud I cannot hear what she says next. “Sorry, what?”

“What’s the joke?” She leans away from me, arms crossed.

“There’s a song that goes ‘what’s new pussycat’ and Josie and the Pussycats is this movie based on a cartoon that came out like twenty years ago. Have you heard of it?”

“I don’t really like movies.”

I am momentarily frozen by the idea that someone could not like movies. Unsure of where to go next after what feels like an hour of silence, I ask, “What do you like to do for fun?”

What follows is a masterclass in incompatibility.. I like red wine and whiskey; she does not drink. I enjoy prestige dramas; she hates television. I liked to read fiction; she hates books. I love to travel; she is a homebody. I note this on my worksheet and move on when the bell rings.

At Table 7 I am greeted by a woman dressed in red scrubs, chewing a wad of gum like a cow enjoying cud. Her brown eyes dart left and right.

Name: Bernadette

Looking for: A way out

Interested in: Freedom

“Hi! Those are some interesting choices.”

She grabs my wrist and leans across the table and whispers, “I need your help.”

Her grip is crushing like a pair of pliers. I try to pull back, but she grasps tighter with my every squirm. “What’s wrong?” I ask, wincing.

“What do you want out of this? You want love? Family? Babies or something?” Her pupils expand and darken with every word.

“Maybe?” It’s hard to talk because I only have a few seconds before she snaps every bone in my hand. “Can you please let me go?”

She releases. “Sorry. Been a while since I been around a man. Forgot how to act. You know the way out of here?”

“I think the way we came in?”

“I mean another way. They’ll be blocking the door.”

“Who?”

“The people who locked me up. I didn’t do it, man, I swear. I’m innocent. They got me confused with someone else.”

“What do they think you did?” I rub my sore hand and wonder how much time is left. I want to check my phone but feel it would be rude to look at it in the middle of conversation.

What if she takes offense?

What if she’s dangerous?

She leans forward and rests her entire torso on the table. I lift my drink with my good hand before she knocks it over. “They haven’t told me. They just locked me up and said they’ll tell me at the hearing, but it’s been weeks and I still haven’t had a hearing.”

“That doesn’t sound right.”

She slides back into her seat. “Exactly. And there’s another thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Time!” Monique screams, ringing that bell like we are children switching classes. It does not feel like we spoke five minutes, but the conversations so far have been so bizarre that I am not surprised to feel disconnected from the normal passage of time.

The men stand up and rush to their next spot. A man in a blue blazer, oblivious to my presence, nearly sits on my lap. I hop up off the chair and move on to the next, hearing him introduce himself with the words, “I’m a conservative.”

At table 8 sits a woman with short brown hair in a gray suit.

Name: Kate

Looking for: The truth

Interested in: Justice

“Special Agent Katie Armstrong,” she says, flashing her badge and FBI ID. “How are you this evening?”

“I’m well, thanks. FBI agent, huh? I’ve never been on a date with one before.”

“And you’re not on a date with one now.” She glares at me like this is an interrogation. “I need your help. A dangerous woman is on the run. We have reason to believe she might be in this vicinity, perhaps this very establishment.” She pulls a piece of paper from inside her jacket pocket and unfolds a Wanted Poster. “Have you seen this woman?”

I lean to look over her shoulder to Table 7. I gulp, unsure what to do next.

“Are you alright, sir? Do you need some water?”

I need to get out of here. Something isn’t right. I turn and see Melanie at Table 2 and my heart jumps. Damn it.

I should stick around at least for her, right?

“Sorry. I don’t know. What did she do?” I feel no loyalty to the fugitive at Table 7, but do not want to get in the middle of something that seems like none of my business. I am just here trying to meet a nice girl and get on with my life. I don’t want any trouble.

Agent Armstrong tucks the paper back in her pocket. “I’m not at liberty to share that, but let’s just say she is an incredibly intelligent, manipulative individual who will do anything to stay out of prison. If you know something, for the sake of yourself and your family, please tell me.”

I have no reason to trust either of these women, but I fear ending up in court later explaining why I did not tell Agent Armstrong the person she sought was sitting right behind her. “I think the woman you’re looking for-,”

“Time!” Monique shrieks, swinging the bell right by my ear.

“Thank you for your assistance today,” Agent Armstrong says.

“But I didn’t even-,”

Before I can finish, the guy behind me cuts in-between us and proudly announces, “Hi! I’m a conservative.”

I already feel drained and ready for a break.

At table 9 is a platinum blonde with a hungry smile. She looks at me like a wolf in a chicken coop.

Name: Donatella

Looking for: Physical affection

Interested in: A real man

“How you doin’?” She has a thick southern accent that stretches out every syllable, eating up almost the entire first allotted minute of conversation with her greeting and a stare that propels my blood south.

“Good,” I squeak. “Yourself?” She bats her long eyelashes. My eyes drift downward, magnetically drawn to the lowcut shirt that reveals nearly everything.

“I’m fantastic.” She pauses, and tilts her head before asking, “What are you into?”

It feels like someone just turned the heat up another ten degrees. A jacuzzi of sweat forms in the small of my back. “Um, you know, the usual stuff-,”

Her phone buzzes. She holds up a well-manicured hand, the fingernails long and decorated with a white and blue paisley design. “Hold that thought. Hello? Yes? No, I told you, I’ll be home at ten. What is she doing now? Just tell her if she don’t eat then as soon as I get home I will take away that Playstation. You already did? You probably said it in that weak-ass tone, that’s why. Put me on speaker. Baby! If you do not clean that plate I swear to God I will smash that Playstation with a hammer! I’m serious!” She hangs up. “Sorry about that. My twelve-year-old is a handful.”

“You have a kid?”

She laughs. “You could say that.” The phone buzzes again. She holds a finger up. “I’m so sorry. I know we’re supposed to turn these off but with kids you can’t really do that in case of emergency, you know? Do you have kids?” She answers the phone before I can tell her I don’t, but want to someday. “What is it? What do you mean he got arrested? Graffiti? You serious? Well, look, I’m in the middle of something. Why don’t you be a dad for once and pick him up? Oh, you’re in the middle of something? Tonight’s supposed to be my free night. Guess he’ll have to learn his lesson overnight in the pen, then!” She hangs up. “I’m so sorry. My fifteen-year-old. Boy takes after his father. Couldn’t stay out of trouble if I chained him to a fence.” She takes a deep breath, and the exasperated mother is once again replaced by the seductive stranger. “Now, where were we? I believe you were about to tell me the low-down dirty things you get into?”

“Heh,” I laugh nervously. “Well, we just met, so-,”

Phone buzzes. Silencing finger comes up again. “I’m so sorry. Yes? What? Got in a fight at the basketball court? With who? What did he do? That’s crap. My kid is a lover not a fighter. No, no, no, you hold on a second. You think because your kid is a nerd with no friends that any kid with personality is a bad boy and that’s just wrong. You’re wrong for this. Wrong.” She abruptly hangs up the phone. “Apologies. My eight year-old got in a scrap with his cousin and now my brother’s bothering me with that like I’m supposed to get in a time machine and prevent my son from-,” Phone buzzes. Finger up. “What’s wrong, baby? Who did what now? Oh, baby, I told you that boy was nothing but trouble. I saw the way he looked at your friend, what’s her name with the green hair, looks like a booger? Yes, she does look like a booger. Don’t defend her. She stole your man!”

RING RING! “Time!”

Table 10 ends as quickly as it begins. I remember nothing.

The woman at Table 11 is in a crisp blue business suit. She has a wheeled carry-on bag at her feet. She is applying lipstick as I take my seat.

“Hi, I’m-,”

“Let’s cut to the chase.” She looks at her watch. “I travel a lot for work and I don’t have time to waste.” Her right foot taps next to my left, like a rabbit bracing itself to run. “Why are you here?”

I want to say I’ve been wondering about that myself all night, but she cuts me off again before I can speak.

“I’m looking for a man who’s flexible, patient, understanding, loves kids, and is willing to take care of our children while I climb the corporate ladder. Do you think that could be you?”

I want to say I’m not sure. I work from home, and I do want to have children and I do love traveling. I want to ask her if she envisions her boyfriend or partner going on some of these business trips with her, but she cuts me off again before I open my mouth.

“I really hate to do this, but I can’t miss my flight.” She stands up. “You’re cute. Think about what I said.” She bends over the table and draws a heart by my name on her worksheet. “See you around.”

“Time!” I don’t have a moment to catch my breath before I’m off to the next table.

The guy behind me groans in frustration, “Where is she? This is so typical.” He crashes into his chair, body landing with a thud I thought might break it despite his small stature.

The woman at Table 12 has straight, black hair that wraps the sides of her face like a curtain. She is wearing a white button-down. Her hands are folded, as if in prayer. “Hello?” I ask, slowly lowering myself into the seat across from her.

Name: Molly

Looking for: That which is sought

Interested in: What is and is not

She looks at me with small, brown eyes. “You would be much happier if you let go of the negativity in your life.”

“Excuse me?” I look at the empty Table 1 and cannot wait for the break, now more than ever. “What are you talking about?”

She lets out a deep exhale that sounds more like a growl than a breath. “Your whole vibe is off. You have something on your mind. Why won’t you let it go?”

I have no idea what she is talking about. “I’m just trying to meet someone nice tonight.”

“Have you felt out of place recently? As if your life is not moving in the direction you hoped it would?”

Maybe, I think, but I have no interest in sharing my personal thoughts and feelings with this stranger.

Before I reply, she holds her hand up to stop me from speaking. “You must be willing to let go. Even as the past lives with us like a tail, we must remember we are the dog who wags it.”

“Is that from a fortune cookie?”

She gives me a tight-lipped, bemused smile. “You are far wiser than you know, but much less wiser than you think.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“If you have to ask, you’re not ready for the answer.”

My face grows hot. I look at Melanie. It’ll be worth it. Just be patient. I try to shift gears, hoping a change in conversation will lighten her up. Last one before the break. Make it a positive one. “What do you like to do for fun?”

She pauses for what seems to be dramatic effect. It feels tedious to me, but I am almost there so I tell myself not to stress. “I enjoy meeting new people.”

“Why is that?”

“Every person is a gift waiting to be unwrapped. Inside all of us are secrets and uncomfortable truths. Underneath our mask of flesh is the skeleton of our soul, the person we do not wish to show the world.”

I place my hands on the armrests as if preparing to launch myself from the seat. “Lady, I don’t know-,”

“Molly.”

“Excuse me?”

She taps her name tag. “Molly.”

“Right, sorry, Molly, sorry. Look, I don’t know what you’re looking for here but I’m pretty sure I’m not-,”

She claps. “You are so quick to run from something real!” she exclaims. “You are afraid to open yourself up and take the risks required to be happy. As long as you feel that way, you will be stuck in the same place, in the same time, in the same moment, forever.”

“Time!” Monique screams like someone stuck her with a knife.

I walk over to Table 1. Finally, a break. I close my eyes.

“Sorry I’m late.”

I am afraid to open my eyes.

No no no it can’t be. No.

No!

“Oh my God, hey!”

I open my eyes and there she is.

Name: Anna

Looking for: Soulmate!

Interested in: Forehead kisses when I’m sleepy

I croak out a polite, “Hi, Anna. How are you?”

We broke up two months ago. Everything was great and then suddenly, things took a weird turn: she canceled and changed plans at the last minute, started getting mysterious headaches that turned her into a grouch who took her frustrations out on me. She transformed from a sweet and fun hang to a chore to be around. When we broke up, I asked her about her behavior. She said she decided at some point we weren’t the right fit but was not sure how to tell me so instead she decided to act out until I got sick of her and ended things.

“That’s terrible. You could have talked to me.”

“I didn’t feel like talking about it.”

We have not spoken since then and now here she is across from me. She has a round face with thick brown hair blown out to double her head’s circumference. Her clothes are stylish, her designer sunglasses at least twice the cost of my entire outfit. Her make-up is so impeccable that her face looks like it has been put through an Instagram filter in real life.

She is as perfect as I remember.

“Can you believe, of all the Speed Dating events in this city every week, we would end up at the same exact one? What are the chances, huh? How are you? How have you been? Have you lost weight? You look great. I love that shirt.”

I do not know how to respond. I do not want to talk to her. This table was supposed to be my break and instead I have to relive the worst relationship I had in my adult life.

No.

I am not going to let Anna ruin this night for me. It is almost time to talk to the one I want. I cannot let one failed relationship ruin another potential connection before it begins.

“I’m great!” I say, putting on a phony smile that hurts my cheeks. “Everything has been great. It is so funny that we found ourselves here together. So. Absolutely. Funny. What are you doing here? I thought you said you wanted to take a break from dating after we broke up?”

“Break over!” she says with a laugh. Her shoulders shake and she sways in a little circle like a top. “Had drinks with the girls and you know how time flies after a couple bottles of wine.” She looks at the men that are ahead of me. “Do you think I missed any good ones?”

I shrug. “No idea. I’m sure you’ll love the next guy, though. He’s getting rave reviews.”

She looks to where he sits at Table 12. “Really?” Anna whispers to me. He seems agitated and upset, his pale skin the color of a tomato now. I hear the words “Trump” and “Messiah” in the same sentence and can only imagine how well that line of conversation is going with the ridiculous Molly.

“Time!”

“Good luck.” I am proud that this conversation with Anna does not end the same way our last conversation did, with me cradling an empty bottle of vodka as I cry until I pass out.

“Hi, Melanie,” I say to the woman that I am sure will make this entire night worthwhile.

“Hi,” she says. Her smile is warm and friendly. I feel a burst of joy in my chest.

“How’s it going? Find love yet?” My question comes off as confident and charming and elicits a genuine laugh from her.

“I don’t think so. How about you?”

I shake my head. “No, though I have met some interesting people. Meet anyone interesting?”

“Well,” she whispers with a conspiratorial lean toward me, “the guy before you is quite a character.”

“Oh really?”

“He introduced himself by saying he’s a pro at this and I should not be nervous.”

“How thoughtful.”

“He does these at least once or twice a month.”

“That’s not a brag.”

“He owns three houses, including a beach house. He’s just looking for a woman to take care of.”

“You must be so flattered.”

“Of course! He isn’t even looking for a soulmate, just someone who could help him manage his extensive state and affairs, a beautiful woman he can spoil who will give him the heirs he wants to pass his fortune onto.”

“Wow. Sounds like you found The One.”

We laugh and I feel the spark in the air, that feeling of pure bliss that settles in your chest when you click with someone. We have met our matches and we both know it. Only one thing left to do now. “Can I get your number? I would love to take you out.”

“Read my mind. There’s just one thing I should tell you before we move forward.”

“Sure. What’s up?” I am not even looking at her as I unlock my phone, waiting for the culmination of this night. I look beyond her, to my last few dates at Tables 3-5, and wonder if I can just leave after this. Are they really going to care? Maybe they want a break.

“I will not have sex before marriage.”

I drop my phone and it hits the table with a clank that pierces my ear more than Monique’s bell. “What now?” Her words are like a hard smack upside the head. I need a moment to reorient myself to where I am and what I am doing.

“I know that physical affection is very important to some people, but I believe that my sacred place is to be saved the one perfect man that will be my partner in this life and the next.”

Of all the obstacles that existed between me and true love, this was truly the most unexpected and confusing. “How old are you?” I blurt out.

“Thirty-seven. Why does that matter?”

“You’re a thirty-seven year-old virgin?” It feels like meeting a Martian. How could such a person exist, especially one so beautiful as this?

“I can see from your facial expression that you are just like all the rest and are unable to appreciate the gift that my love comes with.”

“The gift?”

“My purity.”

I laugh. “The only guys at this age who care about ‘purity’ are freaks and weirdos.”

Her face tells me she does not appreciate this comment about her hypothetical perfect man. “I don’t see why it’s such a big deal to wait.”

“Because you’ve never had sex. Have you ever kissed a boy?” My tone is not one I am proud of, but all night I waited for this! All night!

What a waste.

“Of course I’ve kissed a boy!” She is defensive and angry, tapping her fingers on the table and looking around.

The conversation has collapsed.

I feel bad. I thought my search for love was difficult, but a thirty-seven-year-old virgin? I try to think of a more repellent characteristic, something that could give me the ick as quickly as this revelation did.

A swastika tattoo?

Taxidermy?

Ventriloquism?

“Why is it so important to you?” I ask. I should try to understand. There was a real spark between us and I was ruining it with my response to her honest and difficult admission. Maybe if I could see it from her perspective, I might not feel as weird about it. What if I could wait?

What if waiting is what I have been waiting for?

“How do you mean?”

“I mean, how does this relate to what you want in a man? What is your ideal man like?”

She smiles and looks up at the ceiling as if picturing him in the ceiling tiles. “That’s a great question. Must be kind and generous, Christian, worldly and well-read, loves to travel, a good father and caregiver. Needs to make more money than I do. Handsome, though I’m not too picky about looks, except he should be taller than me. Must have a great relationship with his mother. I’m close to my parents and that is the kind of tight family unit I want to build. Open-minded, progressive, pro-choice, anti-war, anti-capitalist but in a smart way. I think those are the most important things. What about you?”

I consider defaulting to my scripted paragraph, the same thing I put in all my online bios, but something tells me that I should let that go and be real with her. “Someone nice who is relatively easy on the eyes and fun to hang out with and talk to.” My own words surprise me. Has it really been that simple all along? Have I been forcing unnecessary complexity on a straightforward process in finding a partner to build a life with?

“You’re so simple.” She does not mean it as an insult, but it stings, though I cannot quite put a finger on why. “Before you found out that I was saving myself for marriage, did you feel like I could be that woman?”

I want to say yes, of course I felt that way. Now I am unsure of how to say that without offending her. “Sort of.”

“But now you don’t feel that way because I’m saving myself for marriage?”

I nod, feeling slightly ashamed but unsure why I should. If she doesn’t care, why should I? Why does it matter?

“Why not just get to know me and see what happens then?”

Why not? “Because I can’t fall in love with you.”

She seems surprised. “Why not?”

“Have you ever been in love?”

She shakes her head. “No. I thought I had been but that was just puppy love. When I fall in love, it will be with my soulmate.”

I do not want to sound condescending or talk down to her, but as the words roll off my tongue, I find that tone impossible to avoid. Each syllable brings my foot closer to my mouth. “Thing is, I’ve been in love a few times, and I feel like I know what it takes. There’s not just the emotional and psychological connection, it’s not just having fun with someone. There is a physical component that must be explored. I have had sex with women I was deeply in love with, women ripped my heart into a million pieces, but the pain was worth it because I got to feel something special, and I learned what I want and need from a partner.”

“So, you agree that sex is worth waiting for love, then?”

She does not get it, she will not get it, and I should stop lecturing, but . . . since I am already in deep, I plow on. “Love, sure, but not marriage. You’ve never been in love because you’ve never been physical with someone and I’m saying you will never be able to fall in love without physically connecting with someone. You want to marry your true love, but you can’t fall in love without sex, so you will never find true love and thus never get married. It’s like a snake eating its own tail, a self-fulfilling prophecy.

“Think about it: you just gave me a long list of things that matter to you about a partner but from my vantage point, none of those things matter. The only thing that matters to you is that they are willing to save themselves for marriage. That’s your dealbreaker. Progressive? Pro-choice? Christian? I bet you are willing to compromise on all that to get what you want: a man who won’t have sex with you.”

“That’s not fair.” She is crimson and the heat coming off her body seems to shoot the thermostat up another fifteen degrees. Sweat slides down my neck. My shirt sticks to my back. “You don’t know me. You don’t know what you’re talking about. I want to have sex but unlike you, I want it to be perfect.”

“There is no perfect.”

“If there’s no perfect, why are you still single?”

Her question is a sword that cuts through my chest. I mumble out my typical answer, “Bad luck and bad choices, same as everybody.” Her face tells me she does not agree with the everybody part. “Have you ever met a man who you really connected with, who hit all the boxes except the waiting until marriage thing, so you broke it off?”

She nods. “Of course. A few guys, but they weren’t willing to compromise.”

“They? You’re the one unwilling to compromise!” I don’t know why but I raise my voice. Everyone in the room turns and looks at me.

I feel like I’m sitting on the surface of the sun. Sweat pools between my toes.

“I’m not going to compromise my place in heaven with my eternal soulmate just because some guy wants me to. If he actually were the guy for me, he would agree with me on the importance of waiting until we have made our vows.” She looks away, clearly tired of this conversation. “Maybe the real problem here is that you just never felt as strongly as I do about something. Maybe your values are the ones that are wrong. I know why I’m alone. Do you?”

“Time!”

“It was nice meeting you. Sorry it’s not going to work out,” she says, absolutely not sorry it is not going to work out. She will never be sorry about that. I am just another suitor eliminated from contention, another guy whose face and name she will forget as she continues her search for the perfect man.

At Table 3 there is an empty yard of beer and my date is passed out over the table, her eyes buried in her elbow crease. I twist to look down at her face and meet her eyes, but they are closed. I nudge her arm. She swats me away. I turn to the hosts, consider calling Monique over to check on her, but decide against. I have five minutes of peace and only two dates after this, so I take this moment to get the rest I never got at Table 1.

What is going on here?

I felt something real with Melanie, up until the point she said she wanted to wait until marriage. Why was that such a big deal? Why did I care so much? What if she is right? What if I am missing out on love because I am unwilling to compromise on this one thing? I am still single, doing things the same way I have always done them. What if I changed?

Screw it. She’s beautiful and sweet. I am going to ask her for a chance, just one date to see if that initial chemistry was a sign that something beautiful and powerful could develop between us. What’s a few months, maybe a year, without sex anyway? Would not be the first time I went for such a long time without, though it would be the first time I would have someone by my side to deal with it.

“Time!”

I turn around to tell Melanie how I feel. I immediately see I am too late. She is holding hands with the conservative guy. She smiles at him like she never smiled at me.

I turn away, hoping no one noticed my turning around, my eager grin. I try to cheer up by telling myself there’s just two more to go and then I will be free, but I am overcome with disappointment. I feel I screwed up something special, and not for the first time.

Name: Rose Rachel Rambles

Looking for: The collective unconscious

Interested in: Greater communion with Earth

I fall into the chair at Table 4. My date wears a red bandana around her unwashed hair, grass and twigs sticking out like she just came from rolling down a hill. She wears a Colorado state flag t-shirt with the sleeves cut off. Her olive skin is sunburned. She reeks of patchouli.

“Hello!” she says. “Would you like to try some?” She lifts a Ziploc bag with tiny dark red bits of what look like overcooked peppers.

“Sure,” I hold out my hand and she pours me a handful. I pop them all into my mouth. The snack is sweet and crunchy and unlike anything I have ever tasted before. “What is this?”

“Do you like it?”

I hold my hand out for more. “It’s really good.”

“It’s crickets.”

I snatch my hand back like she’s a hot stove. “What?”

“Crickets! The protein of the future. We prepare them at Fellowship County.”

I look at the plastic bag and can see now the shapes of the legs, heads, antennae. I swallow vomit. “Fellowship County?” I force out. I need water. I’m afraid I’m going to choke.

“Yes, it’s where we live.”

“We?”

“Yes, there are about forty of us under the tutelage of Brother Graham. We are looking for more men to work the land and grow our farm.”

“You’re in a cult?”

She giggles. “No, silly, we are a communal family environment where everyone is a partner with everyone else. Together we raise our children and support one another emotionally, psychologically, and physically.”

“Physically?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Like, physically physically?”

“Do you mean sexually?”

“Maybe?”

The room feels like the hottest day of the year at the equator, heat thick and blurring everything around me.

“Yes, we have no private property at Fellowship County. Everything, and everyone, belongs to everyone else. Does this interest you?”

The blood rushing to my groin is interested. “Maybe?”

“Time!”

“Sorry, looks like we’re out of time,” she says. “Great to meet you.”

I put a heart by her name on my worksheet. Why not?

Table 5, the last table, my ending. Finally.

I groan. Curly noodle hair, the woman who told me at the Arab party that I would kill here, sits across from me. She wears a loose-fitting brown top and a thick gold necklace. “Hello again,” she says.

Name: Lucy

Looking for: Uncut gems

Interested in: A good time

“Do you remember me?” I ask her.

“Of course. Was I right? Did you kill it?”

“I definitely killed something, but I don’t know that I killed this. I feel like maybe this was not the best place for me to meet someone.”

“Why not?”

“The five-minute timer, maybe? What are you doing here? Don’t you have a boyfriend?”

She nods. “We’re looking for a third.”

“A third?”

Could I?

It is like she reads my mind, and laughs at what she finds. “Don’t worry, you’re not really our type.” She looks behind me and winks. I turn to see Antoine winking back at her.

“What happens now?” I ask, more to myself and the universe than her, exactly.

“You still don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?”

“You’ve learned nothing. You’ll have to start over.”

Confusion drips off my face like melting wax. “What do you mean ‘start over’?”

“What do you want?”

I open my mouth, but can’t find the words. I have thought up and uttered so many answers to that question, and now they all feel inadequate. “I don’t know,” I admit.

“Find that out, and you’ll find your way out of here.’

“Time!” Monique screams.

Antoine slaps a hand on my shoulder. “Hey, buddy, ready to get out of here?”

I turn to him and say, “Just one second. I need to ask her-,” I turn back and she is gone. The entire room has cleared out.

“Come on, man.”

I follow him outside. The night is unseasonably cold and rainy for a summer evening. I walk under the awning and pull out my phone to call a Lyft. None around.

I notice the time.

7:25 pm.

What?

“Come on, man! It’s about to get started.” Antoine stands holding open the door of the Hard Rock.

“What are you talking about? We just finished. I want to go home.”

“You can go home after. Come on,” he insists.

I look at my reflection in the window. I’m in a blue button-down and khakis now. My sneakers have been replaced with brown loafers. “What the hell? What day is it?”

“Still recovering from last night? It’s Saturday.”

I have no idea what is happening, but I won’t be doing that again. “I’m sorry I gotta run.”

The rain falls in sheets. I head east toward my apartment, narrowly avoiding swerving cars and cyclists while I race to get home. It should only take twenty minutes. I stop under an awning after about ten minutes to catch my breath.

“Hey man, it’s about to get started.”

I look up at Antoine. I am back at the Hard Rock Café. I see my reflection in the window. I am no longer wet. I am in a white dress shirt and blue slacks. On my feet are black dress shoes. I run again until I can’t breathe. My clothes become soaked again. I stop at an awning. I bend over to catch my breath.

I blink and I’m in a polo shirt and denim shorts. I bend down to check out the new Jordans on my feet. The rain continues, but I am as dry as a bone.

What is happening?

“Hey man, it’s about to get started.” Antoine, this time in a green polo and brown slacks.

“Okay.” The answer is not out here so it must be in there.

Lucy.

I push past Antoine and look for the curly-haired blonde. She’s at the bar, in a black and white dress, sipping a martini. “Lucy?”

She looks at me. “Yes?”

I sit in the stool next to her. “What is going on here?”

“What?” She seems confused.

“Why am I trapped here? What did you mean when you said-,”

“Do I know you?”

My body temperature drops to zero. “What?”

“Have we met before?” Her head is tilted and she’s squinting like she is trying to place me but cannot.

“I guess not,” I say, standing up. “Whiskey,” I say to the bartender.

Antoine puts an arm around me. “Cancel that. No time, buddy, we are about to find love.”

I drag my feet to check in. The hosts are the same, but the dates all look different. I try to think of the last thing that happened before I ended up here. I was at the Arab party, there were screams, flashing lights, a sudden jolt in my back, and then I was here.

And now I cannot get away from here, wherever here is.

Antoine hands me a name tag. “Ready?”

“You’re not really Antoine, are you?”

He laughs in a slow, deep way that makes my skin crawl. “Come on, man, who else would I be? What’s with the sour face? Turn that frown upside down and give these women a chance? Maybe you’ll find your soulmate this time.”

“What if I don’t?”

“Well then I guess we’ll have to try again.”

“And if I do?”

He leans in close to my face. “Then maybe you’ll find a way out.” His smile is wider than I’ve ever seen it. For a moment there’s a shadow over his face that reddens his brown skin and adds sharp edges to his teeth. The image is there in a flash, and then he’s back to normal. He winks and takes a seat across from a woman with braids at Table 8.

I go back to the far corner at Table 6, where there is a nervous-looking woman in a beige sweater. Her limp brown hair falls over her face like a cheap book opened atop her head.

Name: Cecily

Looking for: Something special

Interested in: Husband and children.

“Hi,” she says. “Nice to meet you.”

“Same.” I shake her small, moist hand, and wipe it on my shorts after. “Nervous?”

“No,” she says. “What brings you here?”

I am not sure how to answer. I stop thinking, let the words find me as I reach something that feels right. “I am here because I am ready to find love and I am not sure what that looks like, but I am open and ready and willing to do what it takes to make a relationship work.” This seems about right, though after hearing myself say the words I am unsure if I sincerely want to find love or just want to get out of here.

Is there a difference?

She smiles. “I think we’re all looking for that.” She extends a clammy hand across the table. I politely take it but wish I did not. She tells me all about her family and her job and her pets, but I cannot pay attention because a small lake is forming in my palm. I look at Monique, laughing with her colleague, and yearn for her scream and the merciful clanging of the bell.