Джордан Шор - The Search

But then she saw him. He conspicuously paraded his way down the departure hall, and unknowingly imitated an oversized penguin. Staring at him almost caused her to throw up the outsized fast-food meal she’d just consumed. As anticipated, he was dressed for the occasion, and obviously deceiving himself into believing the layer of clothes on his back could ever compensate for the cruel miscalculation of nature. The chewing gum didn’t remove the bad taste in her mouth, or the horrific memory of having sex with such a repulsive man.

As he approached her, she made sure to turn her head away from him. She didn’t want anyone to understand the two of them were an item. She’d worked briefly as a temp at the airport during the summer, and her biggest fear was that a former colleague would see them together and realize what kind of person she really was.

“Hi,” the penguin disobediently said.

With a short, stiff smile, she glanced at his chest for a brief second, only to acknowledge his presence. She noticed the coffee cup in his hand. Despite her numerous appeals for him not to greet her in public, he’d once again ignored her request. But she caught no condescending or gasping expressions from the rest of the passengers, so she assumed no one had noticed.

And why would they? Why would anyone believe such a beautiful person as I would ever be with such a dreadful person like him?

His only outstanding quality as a human being was his desire. But his desire was also his greatest weakness, and when she had explained to him what love was, it had only increased his longing to treat her as a gentleman would.

Love is when you give, without expecting anything in return, she’d told him.

Friday evening

As the blade of the fantasy knife penetrated his skin, he tried his best to imagine the sharp pain it would have caused.

That excruciating pain.

A woman wearing high heels walked past his table, and he was distracted by the sudden smell of perfume. A spicy floral mix of violet and roses. He closed his eyes completely and tried to focus even harder on the sharp pain each time the imaginary knife pierced his skin. He reminded himself that his life was unpleasant. He was alive, breathing, moving, but no more than that.

It’s not like I’m enjoying life.

His brain started to respond, and he felt the level of discomfort dropping. As the feeling of guilt decreased, he decided to give it another chance. ‘It’ being the delicious apple pie he’d purchased at the airport café. He thought his choice was as obvious as the sales pitch. He glanced at the counter and read the sign once more.

The scent of coffee and fresh apple pie defeated the smell of old perfume in a one-sided air battle, and the floral mix never had a chance. Though the scoop of ice cream served on top of the pie had almost entirely melted, and the pie crust had turned wet and soggy, nonetheless, the taste was sweet and delicious. The amount of sugar and fat sparked his brain to reward him with a solid dose of dopamine, leaving him with a sensation of joy, and therefore, indirectly, increasing his level of guilt and self-loathing. As he finished his coffee, the imaginary knife frantically stabbed his neck, slicing his arteries, crushing his larynx, and bringing him a sense of relief.

A young, female employee passed his table, and he noticed how the young woman glanced at him just as she passed his shoulder. He then observed a happy couple across the room sharing what appeared to be an omelet. They seemed quite content together and enjoying each other’s company. The man couldn’t take his eyes off the woman. Suddenly, the young employee came toward him, her eyes focusing on the floor as she approached his table.

“Did you enjoy your apple pie, sir?”

He wasn’t sure how to answer that question. “It was delicious.”

“Will there be anything else?”

“No, I’m fine, but thank you just the same.”

The young woman quickly cleared the table, and as she did, she bit her lower lip and exposed her teeth. She suddenly leaned in toward him, close enough for him to feel the heat of her body.

“Four customers are at the counter waiting for a table, so maybe…” The waitress trailed off.

Now he noticed the group of people by the counter, holding their trays of food and waiting in despair to eat.

“Oh, you want me to leave?”

“If you don’t mind?” the waitress asked with an apologetic tone.

“No, I don’t mind.”

As he gathered his few belongings, he felt as though the rest of the customers were watching him, judging him, and wondering what he’d done wrong. On his way out, he felt as if his old high school coach had substituted another player for him, and he now did the walk of shame and was relegated to the bench. He left the café with a feeling of rejection and insignificance. He felt as if he wasn’t worthy of doing business there. But the feeling of guilt was gone, and so was the imaginary knife.

He arrived at the gate early and found many seats available, so he selected a seat the furthest away from the counter, one with the back against the wall. An old man was sitting on the row opposite him, with a beard as white as his hair. The old man must have been at least thirty years older than he, but despite all the wrinkles on his face, the old man still looked quite healthy and elegant.

He noticed a woman and a young child entering the waiting area. The young boy was obviously upset, screaming and crying as he tried to break free from the woman’s firm grip. The boy finally broke free, but the chase was over within seconds after his escape. The scene reminded him of all the times he used to chase after his mother, begging and pleading with her to stay.

He closed his eyes, and bowed his head, as he thought of his own childhood. As a young boy at his most vulnerable age, his mother would suddenly and for no apparent reason, threaten to abandon him. ‘ I’m leaving you and I’m never coming back ,’ she would yell. He remembered running toward her in the hallway, and how terrified he felt of his mother reaching the front door before he could get to her. He used to grab onto one of her legs, holding on as hard as he could, knowing she would be unable to leave for as long as he managed to hold on. ‘ Please don’t leave me, Mommy. Don’t go. I love you ,’ he would scream, at the same time crying tears of despair. Then his mother would wipe the tears off his face and comfort him, caressing him with hugs and kisses, and perhaps offering him some candy or ice cream. Then, suddenly, his mother was happy again, and they would enjoy each other’s company, watching television together, or going for a walk together. He promised himself never to let her out of his sight, making sure his mother was always within his reach. This promise was hard for a young boy to keep, and as soon as he devoted his attention elsewhere, he would hear the shouts from the hallway, and his chase for survival was back on again.

His mother’s threats of abandoning him never ceased, but as he grew older and became more independent, his fear of abandonment decreased. His mother would stand in the hallway and shout endlessly, and sometimes she would actually leave, but she’d always come back, and when she did, she would be furious at him, accusing him of being a bad son and not caring about her.

When he finally became a teenager, his mother had lost all interest in him, and they hadn’t spoken since. All these years as an adult, he always thought his mother suffered from depression. But lately, it had come to his attention, that his mother wasn’t depressed. On the contrary, she thought she was perfect.