Disclaimer: Hyperlinked is an original story right from my own head. Ray and Neela, not from my own head. Another note, I've never been on a dating website, so I don't know what one would look like.
They told me to move on.
Everybody did; my friends and family here, the PT guy, even the stupid therapist the docs roped me into seeing, claiming it was standard procedure for all victims of traumatic injury. I'm not a quitter, I don't give up real easy, but deep down, I knew they were right. Pining over her hasn't gotten me anywhere. I don't like the guy I've become.
According to my stupid therapist—yes, I stole a glance at the guy's notes when he stepped out to answer his emergency line, big deal—I am an angry, bitter young man, uncomfortable with the idea of change and the possibility of losing my independence. The guy may be a quack, but I can't say I totally disagree with his assessment. He'd know, after all, I did snap at him once or twice, not the mention at my mother, the PT people, and the newspaper delivery kid who I caught staring as if I were some three-headed alien or something. Love may make you do crazy things, but if loving her has turned me into someone even I don't recognize, maybe it's just not worth it.
They told me to move on.
I've been on a few dates, though I never really hit it off with any of them. There was just something missing, something I couldn't quite put my finger on. They were good looking, I'll give 'em that. I never imagined the day would come, though, when I thought a person needed more than just a pretty face. Nothing against my friends, but I swear, every girl they set me up with has been a complete air head. We can't all go to med school, but gimme a break! Giggling, drunk party girls just don't appeal to me like they used to. My mom keeps telling me that these things take time, that unless I go into it with a positive attitude, I'll never be completely satisfied. She says my expectations are too high. She doesn't know the half of it.
They told me to move on.
I was more than willing to end the relationship hunt, but they wouldn't hear of it. I've always considered online dating to be for the truly desperate, yet here I am waiting for the page to load. The "Personal Compatibility Profile"—how cheesy is that?—took forever to complete. I practically gave my life story, and to a bunch of strangers no less. So I'm staring at the screen, watching the little hour glass turn. How long do you suppose it takes to find matches? As if to answer my silent question, a list appears on the screen, a list of usernames. My mouse lingers over the first name, HealingHands. Alright. This is it; the love experts of the online world have worked their magic. Here goes nothing…
HealingHands
Date of Birth: April 17, 1977 Age: 31
Gender: Female
Location: Illinois
Occupation: Surgeon
There's something strangely familiar about this HealingHands…
Likes: Pizza with anchovies, KC and the Sunshine Band, televised poker tournaments, Project Runway, field hockey, my job
Dislikes: Horror films, ignorant people, public speaking, all-nighters
My Best Trait: I'm a good friend and listener
My Worst Trait: I can be a bit of a worrywart
I can't wait any longer; I have to know who this is. Scrolling to the bottom of the pages, bypassing information that may or may not be useful to me, I'm looking for the link to her picture. I shouldn't do this, I know I shouldn't. But at this point, it's not about whether I should or not, because I have to. It disgusts me how desperate that sounds. This has actually got me fighting with myself. Why get my hopes up? It's probably not who I think it anyway. But, what if it is? If I pass up this opportunity and it actually is her, I might as well be asking some other lonely online dater to snatch her up.
Okay…waiting for the picture to load…this is torture. Maybe that's the whole point; they thought that the online dating experience would scare me into settling with one of the real-life girls they've chosen for me. I'll show them. Ray Barnett is not a wuss, and just to prove it, I'll contact this HealingHands person, whoever she may or may not be. That's a promise.
They told me to move on, but as I look up at the computer screen and see Neela smiling back at me, I know it's an impossible feat.