Chapter 6: Her Longest Day

Monday, January 23, 2023.

Another painfully busy Monday for Melanie at work. She was intentionally avoiding any distracting thoughts of Mystery Man. She only took a few minutes break for “lunch,” as usual, and didn’t eat. Her daily schedule required that she leave work right on time every day to pick up her daughter without delay. (The daycare charged a stiff fee for late pickups.)

Finally, she was in the parking lot with Amy belted into her car seat. With a deep breath, she pulled out her phone and opened her personal email account.

To: fourscars@beltwest.net
From: chary974@proton.me
Subject: Hello from Jacob, Your Mystery Man

Monday, January 23, 2023

Jacob is my name.

I was so pleased to find your blog posting for me. This is a quick message to acknowledge that I have seen it.

I’d like to re-read carefully what you posted—a few times—so I can give you my best response.

Because, now more than ever, I am: Thinking of You. — 22 —

Jacob

“Just one minute, Amy.” She mashed the “reply” button on her email app.

Thank you, Jacob. I’m looking forward to reading it! ––Melanie.

At 8 p.m., Amy went down for bed. At 8:20, Melanie’s phone chimed with the “new mail” signal. Instead of peering at the phone’s small screen, she booted up her laptop.

After the usual delay, as Windows took forever to rouse itself, she opened her email, and settled in to read comfortably.

To: fourscars@beltwest.net
From: chary974@proton.me
Subject: Hello again from Jacob

Monday, January 23, 2023

Dear Melanie,

Here we are for our second Monday. At least, I’d like to think of it that way. I would like to imagine there will be many many more Mondays (and weekdays, and weekends) for us to come.

So, I need to introduce myself to you, I understand that. As I have said, I am age 28. I was born and raised here in California. I believe some parts of my family background might be Jewish, French, and Spanish, although I know almost nothing about my ancestry.

And I have no current relatives, that I know of.

I am probably going to disappoint you, at least for a while. Because I’m not ready to share everything, yet. Or anything, really, that you can use to find and/or identify me. Yet.

I will. I will. I promise!

I was pacing the floor for two hours before I could get myself together enough to start this letter.

From the beginning, then.

I never knew my mother. And nothing about her from my father. He worked plumbing and heating and electrical. He paid an old lady next door to watch me after school. Actually, I came to realize that he was paying her to watch her TV shows, and ignore me. So, as soon as I could, I persuaded Dad to let me spend my after-school hours at the local branch of the public library.

You could find me there through my entire public school years. I read all kinds of stories, many from the 1800s like Jules Verne and Charles Dickens. Even romantic authors like Brontë and Austen. I used a dog-eared old paperback dictionary to help me acclimate to the obsolete language.

In high school I was accused of plagiarism because my style was so influenced by the archaic language I was familiar with from my library readings. To prove I wasn’t copying from some college text in my high school assignments, I had to sit down and write three paragraphs off the top of my head (about the Civil War).

In my school years I had serious asthma. I couldn’t participate in sports and was often bullied. I seem to have grown out of that sensitivity, thankfully, although I stay as far away as I can from smoke and dust. But what began, I suppose, as an innate sense of shyness had become crippling by the time that I finished high school. I never dated, had no friends, and did not attend the graduation.

The strange thing about those years: I didn’t feel depressed or lonely. Detached might be a better word. Many of the stories which I read included love and romance. I accepted that these things existed, but they just didn’t apply to me. My father never dated; from him I took my example.

Absorbing so much literature meant that I romped through the college entrance exams and I earned a full scholarship and early entry to college. While I was there my father passed away, his estate and financial aid were enough to live on until I could finish my degree and then get going in my investment research career.

My work is far too boring to describe here, but it does pay well. Even better, it happens almost entirely on paper and/or on-line, so I’m not meeting with people very much as part of my job.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m older now, I can present myself and have conversations. My behavior is normal enough that people can be comfortable interacting with me. It’s the tension hidden inside that’s so unpleasant for me.

I am still incapacitated when I feel any attraction towards women. It’s bad. Even frightening. I’ve watched as women that I want to talk with have moved off, before I can sputter out word one.

So, in the language of business, how am I presenting myself to you? Quite the catch, this Jacob, yes?

Jacob, “language of business” is right. You’re giving me a biography, a goddamn résumé, and describing your incapacity to date.