I scratch my nose nervously and check the thin, white strip implanted on my wrist again. It reads 00d:00h:06m:23s. Six minutes until I meet my Soul Mate. I stand up from the bench near the train tracks, and scan the crowded station. This place seems as good as any to meet them. But the chattering people all around me all seem to be with someone, unless my Soul Mate happens to be with some friends or something.
I check the watch again. 3 minutes, 46 seconds. I’m so fidgety that I start to pace, sweaty hands clasped in front of me, and I am no longer aware of the activity going on around me, which is probably how I accidentally run into a lamp post. It comes out of nowhere and suddenly, my ears are ringing and I’m on the ground. I hear a few gasps, and a gloved hand appears in front of me, which I take graciously. The owner of the hand, a smiling ticketmaster with a silver walrus mustache pulls me to my feet and says, in a gentle voice, “Are you all right, miss?”
“Ye-, yes I’m fine,” I reply, rubbing my right temple that already seems to be sprouting a bump. “Just didn’t see the stupid post.”
“I’ve always thought that post should be removed,” replies the old gentleman, amused. “D’you need some ice or somethin’?”
I shake my head quickly and say, “No, no I’m fine, I just…I’m actually waiting for someone.”
“Your Soul Mate?” he nods understandingly.
“Yeah,” I reply, and blush.
“Ah, well then, good luck,” he smiles kindly again before he touches the brim of his hat and turns on his heel.
“Wait!” I call out suddenly. He pauses and turns back, a curious expression on his lined, worn face. “How did your first meeting go?” His face immediately goes from curiosity to a sad smile.
“Never had one,” he says simply, “my watch was stuck at zero since I can remember. I guess I was never meant to have a Soul Mate. But it’s ok,” he adds quickly, “I’ve had a happy life, if a little lonely.” He turns around again and continues his way as my throat constricts at his words. I may be nervous and about to fall apart, and my head may be pounding from a recent blow, but at least I know I get someone to share my life with. I scratch at the watch and glance at it again. 1 minute, 2 seconds left. I bite my lip nervously and play with my fingers incessantly, wondering which of these people is going to have to spend the rest of their lives with me. Poor chosen person. I’m sure they’re great and did nothing to be stuck with me. What if they don’t like me? What if my pencil-tapping habit annoys them? What if they find out that I can’t cook or bake to save my life?
00:00:00:05. Maybe I should leave.
00:00:00:04. No one seems to be coming this way, I could always slip away and avoid humiliation
00:00:00:03. But then I’ll never meet my Soul Mate!
00:00:00:02. I think I’m gonna puke.
00:00:00:01.
“Whoa, I’m so sorry!” I hear as someone crashes into me and sends me tumbling to the ground for the second time in 5 minutes.
“No, no,” I say, “it’s fine, it-,” I freeze as my eyes make contact with a tall boy towering above me, holding a small, wrapped plate in one hand and holding out his other one for me to grab. I take it and glance at his watch, just to check. Zero. “Wait, are you my Soul Mate?” I ask as he grabs my arm and pulls me up.
“I… think so?” he says, laughing.
“Oh great, that was a good first impression,” I joke, brushing dirt off my knees.
He laughs then says, “Oh!” and hands me the plate. I take it curiously and inspect it’s contents. “I made you some brownies and I know that’s really lame but I hope you like them and I put some walnuts in them,” he rattles off in one breath, terribly flustered, “so I hope you’re not allergic to nuts because then this’ll kill you and I’ll feel terrible and I don’t even know if you like brownies and oh no this was an awful idea I’m sorry I should have stuck to roses right?” He knits his eyebrows together in concern, and I can’t help but laugh. “I was gonna get some roses, but then I thought ‘Nah maybe they’ll like brownies better,’ but I really should ha-,”
I cut him off and laugh again. “I’m allergic to roses, Soul Mate.”
“Oh, good. I mean not that you’re allergic, obviously, but-,” his cheeks turn a deep shade of pink as he rambles. Sweet angel of all things merciful, he’s perfect.
