Personal Ad, Chapter one
A Bad Love Life
As the dark clouds spewed rain onto the gray streets of upper Manhattan, Jim Prewster walked quickly to the café. He threw his briefcase upon his head as he started to run toward the little corner Starbucks-inspired eatery, "Jaque's Botisserie" where his girlfriend Jenny was meeting him for lunch.
He walked through the doors, covered with designs of the French countryside, and came upon a small table in the back of the restaurant, where she was sitting. Jim thought she must have been the most beautiful woman God had ever made in all of his creations. She had smooth, brown hair that ran a little below the shoulders and brown eyes to match, her lips soft and tender, and a cute little nose. As he sat down, Jim noticed the rain had made her hair like spaghetti almost, hanging down in clumped strands with rain droplets rolling down, and that her black eyeliner had run down her face a little bit, reminding him of the makeup the lead singer from Good Charlotte wore.
Not being hungry, both decided to order a loaf of bread, a bottle of wine, and some cheese to set the French picnic mood of the restaurants. As he looked across the crowded café, Jim noticed the decorative artwork on the walls, and a giant mural of the countryside: a gentle stream, a cottage, and two children lying on a blanket on the grass staring at the bountiful sky.
He looked back at Jenny. "So how was that interview," Jim asked. Jenny was trying to get a job at People magazine as either an editor for movies, books, or CD's, anything she could critique, which Jenny had a talent for.
She sighed. "It was okay I guess," she mumbled as she changed her gaze to the windows," I don't wanna talk about it. Went bad, ok?"
"Oh Jen, don't worry 'bout it! If they didn't hire you, then I guess they must not know your talent," he replied.
"Dammit Jim, could you just back the fuck off for a second? Jesus you act like my mother," she lashed out.
He looked at her with shock. What had he done? She did want that job, he thought. But he had only tried to help, right? All he wanted to focus on was what he had done, to try and fix it.
"I'm sorry Jen. I'm sorry. Let's drop it and have lunch, forget it all."
"No, I can't forget, Jim. I'm not mad about the damn magazine, I'm mad I didn't tell you any sooner."
He was puzzled. How did they get from a job review to "I didn't tell you sooner?"
"Um," he said with a twinge of annoyance, "care to explain?"
"Explain what Jim? Explain to you that this relationship is a joke?"
"A joke," he repeated in a whisper. Jim was caught off-guard, he didn't know what to say, while people began to turn their heads, conversations dropping as people quieted to listen. He didn't say anything. He was too afraid to, so he just sat there staring.
She threw her napkin on the table and stood up, and tried not to make a scene as she spoke. "I'm sorry, I've had enough. Look, you're a nice guy and all, but maybe for someone else, alright?!?"
With that she walked out of the restaurant into the pouring rain. Jim sat there, while people pitied him with their eyes, as the conversations in the restaurant began to pick up again, as if nothing had happened. Well, something had happened. He just got dumped. Not only dumped, but humiliated in front of many people. When the wave of embarrassment came over him, after Jim just realized everything that had just happened, he got up from the table, left thirty bucks to pay the bill, and walked out of the café.
* * * * *
A week after not leaving his apartment, Jim's friend Aisha came over. A strong, independent woman, also the vice-president of the software company Jim worked at, Aisha wasn't afraid to be blunt.
Jim could tell by the way she looked; Aisha was repulsed by the state of his apartment. A "Bob's Pizza Market" pile of boxes stood in the corner, his couch was covered in dirty clothes and crumbs of food so old Jim couldn't even remember how they got there. His kitchen was filled to the rim with dirty dishes and cups, and his bedroom wasn't pretty either.
Aisha strutted in the room and said, "You look like hell, Jim," so bluntly it was as if no thought had been put into it.
"Yea well," he replied simply.
"Shit, you need to get yourself together, boy! Just 'cus this little girl walked outta your life doesn't mean you gotta just crawl into a fetal position, and cry your eyes out while eatin' pizza and watchin' TV all the time. Get over it!!"
She was right. Jim looked at himself. He did look like hell, he didn't even recognize himself.
"Am I really that bad, Aisha? Am I," he asked.
"Yea, you that bad," she said. Aisha was from Louisiana, so she came with a good ole southern accent with her. When people listened to her, or when she comforted someone, it was as if you were talking to your mother, she told you everything you needed to hear, whether you wanted to or not.
"I'm so embarrassed of myself," Jim said as he brought his hand over his face. He put it down immediately, having felt his course face.
"Now, your'e gonna get yourself a shower and a shave, a maid, whoah, do you need one! And then your gonna get over that bitch you act as if you were in love with, and come into work. "
"Alright, alright. See ya tomorrow, Aisha," he said as he escorted her out.
"Yea, you betta!"
He walked into his bathroom and got a good look at himself, which wasn't good. How could I have let myself slip? He asked himself. He jumped into the shower, got a shave, called someone to come in once a week to clean, and slept.
When Jim woke up at 6:30 the next morning, everything was different. The maid had come last night before he had gone to sleep, and Jim woke up to a new world, almost. The skies were blue, sun was out, and people were having road rage on the street below. Ah, yes. We're back to normal!