Groom's Day

The door rolls up, but it's not the bride. My bride. It's a man. This must be a mistake. He's at the wrong place. It's OK, though, Strange Man, you're not disturbing me. I'm not in the middle of dinner, or finishing the big report, or trolling around on the internet.

I'm just waiting. For her.

In fact, why don't you come in and stay awhile. It's been so long since I've seen someone else. Or, at least, I think it's been a long time. Not sure that time actually passes in here. It's stopped, stagnant, pooled in the corners, waiting to rejoin the flow of time on the other side of the door. Waiting for her.

Strange Man makes his way through the space, looks at the dress, the cake, the booze. Like those glasses? I spent a pretty penny on them. Hey, crack open a bottle, would ya? I'm a little parched. I could use a drink.

Strange Man stops short, draws a sharp breath. He's looking right at me. Do I look that bad? It's been a rough few...weeks? Months? I don't really know, but there hasn't been much opportunity for grooming in here, so to speak. See what I did there? I'm still funny, sense of humor intact, in good spirits. Pull up a chair, grab a glass - have I got a story for you.

Strange Man just stares for a few more minutes, moves his way back through space, and the door rolls shut again. Darkness, again. Oh, well. It's not the worst. Not even close. I just wish it had been her.

My bride. When will she come back for me? Still so clear in my memory. Those hazel eyes, that blond hair falling through my fingers, shining like a hundred thousand strands of fibre optics.

I found her online.

Not a dating site, or Face-whatever, Tinder. Just a good, old fashioned online classified ad on one of those city sites. It used to be so hard, finding someone willing, understanding and able to do what you need. God bless the internet, though. It's practically like putting your order in at a restaurant. No fumbling conversations, no clubs to join, much less networking to do, or easier networking, at least. Just type in, "I need a woman to do X, Y and Z," hit enter, and bam! Order up. They come to me.

It helps to toss in a few clues that you may be fancier than most, that money might be spent, even if you're a cheap SOB. You get higher quality that way. Who needs to bother with catcalling or groping on the train? That's such a numbers game, penny slots gambling for suckers. Naw, I like to work smarter. Or, at least, I used to.

She answered my ad, and agreed to meet. I didn't believe the picture she sent, not at first. I thought maybe she'd fixed it in some photo program, or just knew the best angle for a selfie. But no, she was the real deal. Banging body, smokey eyes, that hair. She gave me the once over, and I could tell that she was in.

I asked her if she had ever done this before. Answer an ad, or what you're...interested in, was her reply. She was holding a glass of wine just under her bottom lip, and for a fraction of a second, pressed the rim slightly against her skin, the tiniest bit of lipstick smudging the glass. And I knew. I KNEW. This would be different. This would be like no other. Never before, and never since.

So good. So, so good. She knew just what to do with me. Those hands. She's tall, with hands to match. Strong. Strong enough to do the trick, with or without other devices. Nothing like seeing her face swirling behind the spots and flashes of light bursting from my eyes. Until the day she faded away completely, and suddenly I was here.

Not sure how I got here, alone in the dark. It's a little like being underwater. Quiet. Things have happened to my vision. Strange Man looked distorted, wavy. Did I hear him speak? Hard to say. Everything's muffled. Whoever he was, I can't imagine I'll ever see him again.

But when will I see her?

The door's rolling up again. I don't know how long it's been - like I said, there's no time in here. Whoa, oh, my God...it's her. She's come back!