Match Me, Matchmaker

Chapter 1: Michael

I sit at my desk. My blonde and blue hair sits on my shoulders while the rest falls behind my back. My combat boots perched on the top of my desk. The jeans I'm wearing are ripped from my thighs down, and my shirt ends just above my waist line. I wait.

Then, I hear a knock. My feet hit the floor of my apartment, and I make my way to the door.

There's a girl standing there. We make eye contact, and before I can get a syllable out, she slips me a fifty. I nod at her gesture and lead her in.

"In the back," I say. I leave her to find the room and I grab my laptop and other materials.

In the back room, there are no lights except for the lamps. Each of them decorated with sequins and stained glass. I actually can't afford to pay for this half, so I just pay for the front rooms to have lighting. I like it, though. It makes everything feel more intense.

I take a seat in my beanbag, she sits on my Persian rug that my mother gave me before she passed away. The unique pattern forms around her crossed legs as she waits for me to begin.

I clear my throat and open up my laptop.

"Homo or hetero?" I ask.

"Hetero."

"Hair color request?"

"Brown, if possible."

I eye her. She smiles and I look away.
"Eye color request?"

"None."

"Okay," I hand her a piece of paper, "take this test. It shouldn't be that hard, but answer honestly." I hand her a pencil.

She smiles and starts the test. I get up and go into the living room. I have huge windows covering my wall so I can see the lovely New York City. It's beautiful. The morning light perfectly reflects off the skyscrapers.

I moved here after my mom died. She was strong. Her head always held high, she was hard on me. But, she wanted me to be who I was, not pretend I was someone else. So that's what I did. I found myself, followed my dreams, and now I'm in New York. I know she'd be proud of me. As long as I wasn't pretending, I was in the clear.

I wait a while longer, watching the city buzz beneath me. I could only afford the third floor when I first moved in, but I'm now grateful the ceilings are high so I can still feel like I'm in the air.

Lost in thought, I suddenly hear her yell, "Done!"

I sigh. People act like it's the greatest thing to be helped by a matchmaker. Honestly, if it wasn't my way of living, I would tell them to go get their asses out in the city, but this was my life work.

"Okay. Congratulations," I say unenthusiastically, "you have taken the match test. I will do my lovely work, and I will find your match." I smile.

"When do you think my results will come in?" She asks eagerly.

God, it's as if these people were finding out if it were a boy or girl.

"Um, I'm not sure. Probably, two weeks, if I don't call you to tell you your match by then, give me a call." I hand her my card.

"Thank you so much! I've dated tons of boys, and none can seem to actually be there for me!" She huffs, but soon looks back at me and smiles.

"You're welcome." I return the smile. "Now," I said, "go do something with your life."

She looks offended at first, but then laughs it off. "Okay, I will!" She thanks me again and waves me goodbye.

Once she's left, I plop down on my couch. I've had this job for a few years now. I love helping people, but the only way they are truly going to find their soul mate is by actually trying. It begins to become a little aggravating. However, I still continue to do it. It makes people happy. So, I let them be happy.