People suck.
I nodded at my screen. Yes, I agreed. They do.
Why is that? Twice Shy asked. Why are people so horrible?
That’s a good question.
I’ve decided to give up on them. I’ve taken a strict vow of solitude. You do realize you’re on a dating site.
Online doesn’t count. Besides, I’m only here for the penis pics.
I laughed out loud, then typed lol for her benefit.
I’m serious, she wrote back. I’ve been collecting them for years. I only take the unsolicited ones. I have nearly five hundred so far.
Wow. Um… why do you do this?
It’s an art project. I print them out on my printer.
Really?
Really. I’ve filled nearly a whole album. And not a small one either. One of those great big wedding albums.
Do you show this book to company?
I never have company, remember?
Right. I inched my free hand towards my waistband again, uncertain how to take all this penis talk.
I’m surprised you haven’t sent me one already, she wrote.
I was thinking about it, I joked.
Were you?
No!
It’s nothing to be ashamed of. It seems like the standard greeting these days.
You’re telling me you wouldn’t find it strange.
Not at all.
That’s bizarre.
Actually, it’s perfectly normal for male primates to display their genitals in certain social situations. One might argue that it’s abnormal to conceal them.
Interesting perspective.
Are you very lonely? she asked.
I looked up from the screen, startled by the abrupt shift in direction.
Yes, I admitted.
Do you want to talk about it?
At this point, I committed to the keyboard with both hands, opening up about everything I’d been going through, from the breakup with Kim to my father’s death to the rat that lived under my sink. I told Twice Shy about my paranoia, my isolation, my blocks of missing time, and she sounded genuinely interested. More than that, she sounded like she understood. When I started talking about time travel, she wrote, We should get married.
I could feel myself smiling foolishly.
Or at least go for coffee? I ventured, my heart beating a little faster.
Where do you live? she asked.
Close to downtown.
What?
I hesitated, then typed: Bank.
A long pause came on her end. What direction does your window face?
My body went rigid. Up to this point, it had been a harmless game. I hadn’t intended to reveal my true identity to her or anyone else. She had no idea what I looked like, what I did for a living. I still had time to sever the connection, to stop whatever was about to happen. I half-shut my laptop, then opened it again and typed: South.
After another long silence, she wrote, Go to your window.
I peered through a crack in the curtains at the low-rise across the way, not seeing anything unusual. Then, beyond the low-rise, in one of the taller buildings in the distance I saw a square of light going on and off repeatedly
When I got back to the laptop, I saw that she’d written, Do you see me?
The cursor blinked, awaiting my reply. Yes.
I have coffee.
I made it down to the lobby without running into anyone. Outside, the street was quiet, the sky an unusual shade of yellow, a fine mist dampening my face and clothes. The light blinked in the sky at regular intervals, like a beacon on a lighthouse. I walked towards it, zigzagging through the streets, occasionally losing sight of the building, but always finding it again. Two blocks away, I stopped and counted windows, then counted again, concluding that her unit was on the west corner of the sixteenth floor. I crossed the street to avoid the grub-like form of a person cocooned around a heat grate. A man appeared behind me, weaving down the sidewalk. I had the feeling that these elements were being strategically dropped into place, forcing me towards the increasingly ominous face of Twice Shy’s apartment building. The front door was propped open with a battered tennis shoe. I intended to walk right past, but a second, glowering man stepped out of an alley in front of me. I ducked through the apartment entrance, passing under dim fluorescents to a pair of elevator doors, one of which appeared to be permanently out of service. The glowering man followed me into the building. I frantically pushed the up button, wishing I’d thought to remove the tennis shoe. The elevator door jerked open and I leaped inside, noting the distinct odors of piss and old vomit. The man lurched across lobby, staring at me with red-rimmed eyes. I jabbed at the number sixteen, and the door slid shut on him.
As the elevator shuddered up to the sixteenth floor, I exhaled and leaned back against the car’s fake wood paneling. The digital display above the door was broken, leaving some doubt as to just what floor I’d come to when the doors finally opened. I stepped into the empty hall, feeling that I’d entered the body of a huge sleeping animal. The walls were the colour of uncooked liver, the carpet a muddy brown. I tried to orient myself, heading uncertainly down the hall in what seemed like a westerly direction. A couple was arguing loudly behind one door, a television blaring porn behind another. The door at the end of the hall was open half an inch. I had no idea what lay behind it. I pictured a hulking man with duct tape, zip-ties, and a hunting knife. Obeying an almost suicidal impulse, I gently nudged the door open. Nothing. The interior of the apartment looked shabby but tidy, an empty living space illuminated by a shaded table lamp. I crossed the threshold, smelling freshly brewed coffee. A floorboard groaned under my weight.
A chuffing noise came from the back room.
“Quiet!” a woman hissed. Then louder, to me: “Is that you?”
“Yes,” I croaked back.
“We’re in here.”
We?
I closed the door behind me and followed the voice to a brightly lit kitchen, where a woman in sunglasses was standing beside a large yellow dog. The woman’s long dark hair was brushed forward to conceal much of her face. Her baggy clothes looked like they’d come off a men’s rack. The dog barked once and she made a sharp noise to quiet it. “This is Boris,” she said. “He’s harmless.”
“Okay,” I said, not moving.
“I didn’t think you’d come.”
“Neither did I,” I admitted.
“I made coffee.” She pointed at the machine on the counter.
“Just in case.”
“Okay.” I still didn’t move, wondering if she could see me.
“I’m not blind,” she said, guessing what I’d been thinking. “I just prefer the dark.”
“I see.”
“So do I,” she said, then shook her head. “Sorry, that was corny.” She fussed with something on the counter. Even with half her face obscured I could see she was blushing. “Do you still want coffee?”
“That would be nice,” I said, disarmed by her awkwardness.
The dog came over to sniff my crotch as the woman filled two cups and carried them through a second door out to the living room, the apartment having a circular layout. We sat on opposite ends of a small loveseat and Boris settled at our feet. In front of us, a framed poster of a white unicorn hung on the wall—a muscular animal rearing up on its hind legs, steam jetting from its nostrils.