“Yes,” he said. “Are you here every day?”
She looked at him and asked, “What?” in a manner that seemed almost annoyed. He then noticed she had a black cord coming out of one ear. “What?” she asked him again. “I’m talking on the phone!”
The traffic light changed, and she crossed the street with a youthful stride. He heard her fading voice say to her interlocutor, “Sorry, it was just another creep who thought I was talking to him or to myself like a madwoman.” And she laughed.
Overcome with sadness, Roland could not move. He felt like a fool, and he felt old. Lynn’s sappy, silly story had gotten to him. Disgusted with himself, he clenched his fists in his pockets and remained standing there a long time.
Just as he was finally about to cross the street, he heard a woman behind him say, “Excuse me?”
He turned. A magnificent woman with black hair topped by a lock of white hair, somewhat resembling a skunk or Susan Sontag, stood there.
“Yes?” he asked.
“You dropped something,” she said.
“Yes?”
Her hand came out of her pocket, holding a paper clip. “I wasn’t sure I should bother giving this back to you.”
“Yes, you should.” He took the clip.
“In that case,” she said, “perhaps you’d like the rest of your things.”
He frowned. “What things?”
“The things you’ve lost over time.” She pulled out of her handbag a plastic baggie filled with more of his droppings.
“You must be mistaken,” he said, suddenly horribly embarrassed.
“Yes, I probably am,” she said, replacing his droppings in her bag.
He looked around, hoping to be comforted by the sight of something distracting during this awkward moment.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“I come to this restaurant every day to have lunch and work at my laptop. I’ve seen you here very often, losing things. You’ve lost so much over time.”
He didn’t know what to say.
She added, “I wonder why.”
He thought about it, and for the first time the answer came to him. “To find something more precious.”
Then, looking away, but holding his hand out to her, he said, “Can I have my things?”
She reached into her bag and gave him his lost things. The package was too big to fit in his pocket, so he held it discreetly at his side, in as small a ball as he could make it.
“I met my soulmate,” Roland told the others at a dinner reunion he had insisted upon, two weeks after their last one.
“You did?” Ray asked.
Alan flagged down a waiter and ordered a cocktail to get either flatteringly carded or drunk.
“Do you have some identification?” the waiter asked.
“I lost my driver’s license ages ago. Do you really think I could be twenty-one or younger?”
“It’s possible,” the waiter said.
“I’ll have a Virgin Mary,” Alan said, and turned to Roland. “You were telling us you met your soulmate.”
“Yes. She had my things!” Roland said.
“What things?” Ray asked.
“The things I’ve been dropping for years.”
“You’ve been dropping things?”
“Yes.”
“What kinds of things?” Alan asked.
“Buttons, paper clips, pennies, movie stubs.”
“How often?”
“Every day. Many times a day.”
“Where?”
“Wherever I happen to be. Usually as I leave a place.”
“On purpose?”
“Utterly.”
“Littering?”
“No, losing.”
“Why?” they all asked at the same time.
“In order to find something more precious.”
“Like what, a woman who’ll pick up after you?” Lynn said.
“No.”
“Then what thing more precious?” Alan asked, holding his Virgin Mary. “What is this vague bullshit explanation?”
“I don’t know,” Roland replied, sipping his white wine. “All I know is that I always go around with something to lose. I can’t stand having nothing to lose. I can never leave a place without leaving something behind, even if it’s just lint from my pocket. Otherwise, I experience discomfort. If you’ve got a better explanation, then tell me.”
“Yes, I’ve got one,” Alan said. “You lose things. Hence, you’re a loser.”
“I lose things on purpose.”
“Well, then, you’re a double-duty loser.”
“No,” Ray said. “The subconscious reason you were dropping things was to give anyone who wanted to meet you an excuse to. It was your way of reaching out to people. You wanted people to have access to you despite your cold facade.”
“Maybe,” Roland replied. “But then why did I sometimes drop things where no one could approach me, like in the middle of the ocean?”
“Dropping things had become a compulsive habit,” Ray said. “Since you weren’t exactly aware of why you were doing it, it’s logical that you would sometimes do it when it didn’t make sense. No?”
“God, you should have been a therapist,” Lynn said, impressed.
“Yeah, I was.”
“But you said you were a locksmith!”
“I lied. I was a psychologist.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Various reasons.”
“How did you become homeless, if you were a psychologist?” Alan inquired.
“I was a bad psychologist.”
“Bad how?” Roland asked.
“Oh …” Ray hesitated.
“Did you analyze people poorly?” asked Lynn.
“No …”
“You gave bad advice?” Roland guessed.
“No …”
“Did you betray confidences?” he guessed again.
“No …”
“Then what?” asked Alan.
“I asked too many questions.”
They thought he was commenting on their interrogation of him. “Oh, come on, tell us!” said Lynn.
Ray was confused. “I just told you. I asked my patients too many questions.”
“But a therapist is supposed to ask a lot of questions!” Alan said.
“Yes, a lot, but not too many. I asked too many. Too often.”
“What do you mean, too often?”
“I’d call them up every hour at home and ask for updates.”
“Oh.”
“But I was pretty good at analyzing behavior and giving advice. Roland, if you had told me sooner of your compulsive habit of dropping things, I could have helped you understand it.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” Roland replied. “If you had told us sooner that you were a therapist, I might have told you of my habit.”
“It’s a good thing neither of you did,” Lynn said, “because if you had, Ray might have cured you of your compulsive habit, and prevented you from ever meeting your soulmate.”
“Hey, Roland,” Alan said. “See, didn’t I tell you things would work out for you? I predicted you’d not only survive the ocean but probably also have a happy life. Just because you’re an asshole doesn’t mean you’ll ever suffer for it or be punished. And what about me? I’ve made a real effort to turn my life around and be a good person, and what do I get? I’m all alone and unhappy, and I’ll probably never meet anyone.”
“Yeah, you might be right,” Roland said. “You make a convincing argument.”
“I comforted you in the water. Why do you have to be so negative?”
“I thought you were just being truthful back then. Now I’m just being truthful back — realistic,” Roland said. “It’s true that life’s unfair. I didn’t deserve to meet this amazing woman. I don’t really deserve to be happy. But she does. And I want to make her happy.”
Alan was jealous of Lynn and Roland. He wanted to meet his soulmate, too. Now that Lynn and Roland had experienced the same magic, they probably expected it of him. He felt the pressure. And it was not agreeing with him.