by Alex Mellen (Winner-Leaving-Alone)
I met her because she was in line behind me.
I was alone. No one wanted me, no one thought I was special. Why would they? I have a giant purple birthmark that stretches its tentacles from my forehead to my neck and across my left eye. I’ve never dated. I stopped trying pickup lines a long time ago. I stopped trying to make friends a long time ago. I work from home; my success depends on people not meeting me.
So I figured the best job in the world must be one where I’ll be alone for the next hundred years. Maybe by then, they’ll have figured out how to fix me.
Besides the birthmark, I’m in perfect shape. I usually run a few miles every morning in the forest trails by my apartment, I eat healthy, and I have no allergies or conditions. That’s the first criteria on the colonist application.
The second is having a job that contributes to society, and I have that too. NASA classified it with a list of skills that they would need out in a colony, and I.T. and systems fit the bill. The odds weren’t very good, but at that point in my life, applying to be a deep space colonist was just another thing to do. I figured people brave enough to risk their lives and then start from scratch didn’t care too much about appearance.
I was trying to keep a low profile in line, trusty baseball cap pulled low over my face, when an emotionless female employee told me to please take it off. I grimaced but complied. To her credit, the brunette didn’t flinch, but kept moving.
“It’d be a shame to send a head of hair like that off the planet.” The voice came from behind me. Was she talking about me? I ran my fingers through my wavy black hair to un-flatten it, trying to figure out what to say. I balanced the truth with politeness and replied, “Thanks. Most people don’t notice,” as I slowly turned around.
I stared—gaped, really—at the woman behind me, about my age, who had made the comment. She was petite, in great shape with bleach-blond hair—and a shiny, white scar stretched from her right temple to the edge of her lip. Two smaller ones traced along her chin and nose in ragged lines.
So this was how people felt around me. Apparently, the woman felt the same way, because her cheeks turned red—everywhere but there.
“I try,” she quipped. “I mean, it is a shame.” Awkward silence. “Listen, I didn’t mean anything by the pickup line. I do it for fun, since no one takes me seriously.”
“I know how that feels,” I said.
She smiled wistfully. “I had one boyfriend once,” she said. “Then I learned rather painfully that he was only after my older sister.”
Since she seemed in a talkative mood, I tried my luck. “How’d that happen, if you don’t mind?”
“Farm equipment when I was a kid. I was fearless. So was the harvester. I’m guessing you were born with yours?”
I nodded. “Every year in school, I didn’t think it could get worse, but it did.”
“For me, the worst year was the one with the stitches and giant bandages. I used to plaster my face with makeup, but you can’t live like that forever. It just made it hurt more when the guy found out.”
Another silence, but this one was less awkward. “So what do you do for a living?” I asked.
“Computer programming,” she replied. “According to the website, I have a decent chance of getting picked, especially since I’m a woman. Of course, decent is something like one in a thousand.”
I tried being brave again; it was kind of easier around her. “That seems a shame too. We need more great personalities like you on earth. A lot more than we need good hair.”
She smiled, a shy but genuinely happy smile. It was definitely the first like it I had produced in a long time, and I guessed she didn’t have reason for it very often.
“So, can I get a name to go with the gentleman who knows how to put a woman at ease?” Not just any woman. I rarely made it this far with anyone, let alone a woman.
“Rick. And your name?”
“Bella. And if you give me any more compliments, I might just have to get your number for the next day I can’t look in the mirror.” Did she just ask me for my number? I thought frantically if I had any paper, then realized I should make another comeback. That teasing smile had returned, and I couldn’t resist.
“Yeah, my house gets pretty lonely without any mirrors.” That was pretty shallow, I realized as soon as I said it. But she laughed anyway.
“Trade you, then,” she said, pulling a small notepad out of her purse. She was serious!
“Trade you…over a cup of coffee after we finish these stupid forms?” Did I just say that?
Bella smiled that shy smile again. “Actually, I’m more of a smoothie person myself.”
“That sounds good.” I didn’t really like coffee anyway.
“Excuse me, sir?” I turned. That brunette was back, looking at me impatiently. “You’re holding up the line.”
**
Over smoothies at Jamba Juice, Bella and I learned we had a lot in common. Being loners, we liked the outdoors, running, and, amazingly, video games. The more we talked, the more comfortable we became, the more we found we enjoyed having someone who cared about us as people, not an ugly face.
By the end of our smoothies, Bella had invited me to dinner at her apartment, and I had offered to take her hiking at one of my favorite parks. If I had friends, they might have told me I was moving too fast. But since Bella was all I had, I was seizing the day.
The next few months were bliss. Bella and I began running together, first once a week, then twice, then three times. She was the better cook, so I contented myself with bringing dessert and doing the dishes. We learned we had fewer things in common than we thought. I was a Methodist. She was a Democrat. But we agreed we couldn't be picky. We didn't want to be.
One Friday night, after getting groceries, I got my mail and headed up to my apartment to find Bella inside, flipping omelets.
“How in the world did you get in here?” She had that silly, teasing grin on her face. That was her second-best, behind the now-less-shy smile.
“You really need to find a better place for your spare than the lamp socket.” I rolled my eyes and kissed her on her good cheek since both of our hands were full. I skimmed through the envelopes and ads. A blue circle caught my attention.
“NASA.” My hands started shaking. I let all the mail fall on the floor but this one. Bella appeared at my side, squeezing my elbow.
When I finally got the letter out and unfolded, I read the first line.
“Dear Mr. Singleton, we are pleased to inform you....”
I met her because she was in line behind me.
I was alone. No one wanted me, no one thought I was special. Why would they? I have a giant purple birthmark that stretches its tentacles from my forehead to my neck and across my left eye. I’ve never dated. I stopped trying pickup lines a long time ago. I stopped trying to make friends a long time ago. I work from home; my success depends on people not meeting me.
So I figured the best job in the world must be one where I’ll be alone for the next hundred years. Maybe by then, they’ll have figured out how to fix me.
Besides the birthmark, I’m in perfect shape. I usually run a few miles every morning in the forest trails by my apartment, I eat healthy, and I have no allergies or conditions. That’s the first criteria on the colonist application.
The second is having a job that contributes to society, and I have that too. NASA classified it with a list of skills that they would need out in a colony, and I.T. and systems fit the bill. The odds weren’t very good, but at that point in my life, applying to be a deep space colonist was just another thing to do. I figured people brave enough to risk their lives and then start from scratch didn’t care too much about appearance.
I was trying to keep a low profile in line, trusty baseball cap pulled low over my face, when an emotionless female employee told me to please take it off. I grimaced but complied. To her credit, the brunette didn’t flinch, but kept moving.
“It’d be a shame to send a head of hair like that off the planet.” The voice came from behind me. Was she talking about me? I ran my fingers through my wavy black hair to un-flatten it, trying to figure out what to say. I balanced the truth with politeness and replied, “Thanks. Most people don’t notice,” as I slowly turned around.
I stared—gaped, really—at the woman behind me, about my age, who had made the comment. She was petite, in great shape with bleach-blond hair—and a shiny, white scar stretched from her right temple to the edge of her lip. Two smaller ones traced along her chin and nose in ragged lines.
So this was how people felt around me. Apparently, the woman felt the same way, because her cheeks turned red—everywhere but there.
“I try,” she quipped. “I mean, it is a shame.” Awkward silence. “Listen, I didn’t mean anything by the pickup line. I do it for fun, since no one takes me seriously.”
“I know how that feels,” I said.
She smiled wistfully. “I had one boyfriend once,” she said. “Then I learned rather painfully that he was only after my older sister.”
Since she seemed in a talkative mood, I tried my luck. “How’d that happen, if you don’t mind?”
“Farm equipment when I was a kid. I was fearless. So was the harvester. I’m guessing you were born with yours?”
I nodded. “Every year in school, I didn’t think it could get worse, but it did.”
“For me, the worst year was the one with the stitches and giant bandages. I used to plaster my face with makeup, but you can’t live like that forever. It just made it hurt more when the guy found out.”
Another silence, but this one was less awkward. “So what do you do for a living?” I asked.
“Computer programming,” she replied. “According to the website, I have a decent chance of getting picked, especially since I’m a woman. Of course, decent is something like one in a thousand.”
I tried being brave again; it was kind of easier around her. “That seems a shame too. We need more great personalities like you on earth. A lot more than we need good hair.”
She smiled, a shy but genuinely happy smile. It was definitely the first like it I had produced in a long time, and I guessed she didn’t have reason for it very often.
“So, can I get a name to go with the gentleman who knows how to put a woman at ease?” Not just any woman. I rarely made it this far with anyone, let alone a woman.
“Rick. And your name?”
“Bella. And if you give me any more compliments, I might just have to get your number for the next day I can’t look in the mirror.” Did she just ask me for my number? I thought frantically if I had any paper, then realized I should make another comeback. That teasing smile had returned, and I couldn’t resist.
“Yeah, my house gets pretty lonely without any mirrors.” That was pretty shallow, I realized as soon as I said it. But she laughed anyway.
“Trade you, then,” she said, pulling a small notepad out of her purse. She was serious!
“Trade you…over a cup of coffee after we finish these stupid forms?” Did I just say that?
Bella smiled that shy smile again. “Actually, I’m more of a smoothie person myself.”
“That sounds good.” I didn’t really like coffee anyway.
“Excuse me, sir?” I turned. That brunette was back, looking at me impatiently. “You’re holding up the line.”
**
Over smoothies at Jamba Juice, Bella and I learned we had a lot in common. Being loners, we liked the outdoors, running, and, amazingly, video games. The more we talked, the more comfortable we became, the more we found we enjoyed having someone who cared about us as people, not an ugly face.
By the end of our smoothies, Bella had invited me to dinner at her apartment, and I had offered to take her hiking at one of my favorite parks. If I had friends, they might have told me I was moving too fast. But since Bella was all I had, I was seizing the day.
The next few months were bliss. Bella and I began running together, first once a week, then twice, then three times. She was the better cook, so I contented myself with bringing dessert and doing the dishes. We learned we had fewer things in common than we thought. I was a Methodist. She was a Democrat. But we agreed we couldn't be picky. We didn't want to be.
One Friday night, after getting groceries, I got my mail and headed up to my apartment to find Bella inside, flipping omelets.
“How in the world did you get in here?” She had that silly, teasing grin on her face. That was her second-best, behind the now-less-shy smile.
“You really need to find a better place for your spare than the lamp socket.” I rolled my eyes and kissed her on her good cheek since both of our hands were full. I skimmed through the envelopes and ads. A blue circle caught my attention.
“NASA.” My hands started shaking. I let all the mail fall on the floor but this one. Bella appeared at my side, squeezing my elbow.
When I finally got the letter out and unfolded, I read the first line.
“Dear Mr. Singleton, we are pleased to inform you....”