Life Ain't A Fairy Tale Read online

  Few hours are left before I see her as I prepare for my first date. I bathe to make sure that I still smell clean when we meet at the restaurant. As I finish cleaning and getting out of the bathtub, I look in the mirror. My beard is already showing and has become a curse for me because it grows too quickly. It makes me look older. I put shaving spray on my face. When I shave off the beard, I do look much pleasing to the eye and younger. My head hair is all over the place when I get out of the shower. After I comb my hair and add gel to it, I manage my black hair into a Princeton hairstyle.

  In my teenage years, I had a very low self-esteem. I looked in the mirror with hesitation. I saw myself as the ugly and the most despicable thing alive. I saw my forehead as too big for my face. To address this perceived problem, I combed my hair down, covering half of my forehead. My parents claimed and swore I was beautiful, but I never believed them. The only thing I liked about myself was my body, but that is always covered with clothing.

  Now, older and wiser, I look back at old pictures of myself to see a very good-looking teenager. The only problem I had back then was acne. Everyone has that problem when they are young. Truth be told, I was better looking before than now. I did not wear glasses either at that time. I still maintain the same hairstyle since my teenage years. Unlike before when I was young, I now expose my forehead with pride.

  What a difference does having a high self-esteem makes in terms of how I view myself physically today. I don't know why I judged myself like that. To this very day, I still struggle maintaining a high self-esteem. I don't work out at all. My body is normal looking with a small belly. My thighs, legs, and butt are my greatest assets. That has never changed for me.

  My face got wider since my younger days, but it is not because of the weight gain. I gained about 15 pounds of weight since I first entered high school. My face got wider after the weight gain. It used to be oval-shaped. Now, it is a little rounder. Despite that change, my face still looks acceptable. I look more like my father.

  Mother and father are excited about me finally going out. They are in their late sixties. My parents are anxious to see me settle down with a woman. They don't want to leave me alone when they die. They always presented girls they knew to me. Unfortunately, my shyness and low self-esteem didn't help me get any of these girls. Without intention, I tormented my parents every time I said to them, "I am going to be single forever."

  In terms of personality, my parents are very different from me. They love to talk a lot while I am a man of a few words. I speak only to be a part of society. They are also very vain and prideful. They always tell me to fix my hair and clothing, but I always dress well. You wouldn't believe they are my parents. I don't care what other people think of me. My parents even care about what strangers they don't know think of them.

  For my date with Sara, I am wearing black jeans, white and black sneakers, and a beige dress shirt. There is nothing overtly wrong when I dress myself to go out. They always see a little flaw somewhere in my clothing. It bothers me when they obsess with me looking perfect, but I let them say and do whatever they want because I know how they are.

  Today, they advise me to be nice and talkative in my date with Sara.

  "Remember to talk. Don't be sitting there quietly during the ride to the restaurant and when you eat at the restaurant." My mother advises me.

  "Don't worry. He is a college graduate. He can talk, but don't talk too much. Don't overdo it. Do it when it makes sense." My father argues back.

  "I just want to, at least, make sure they stay friends after this date." My mother disputes my father's argument.

  "Your hair is standing up a little at the back of your head. Sit still...I'm going to put gel and comb it down." My father rushes to get the comb. There is nothing wrong with my hair, trust me.

  "The t-shirt under your dress shirt is wrinkled. Let me fix it." My mother straightens it out.

  "Oh, I heard a car beeping outside. Let's check if it's her." My father takes note.

  At the front of the house, we look through the windows in the living room to confirm it is she. She told me she would come in a four-door white convertible. That is the same car waiting for me outside.

  "Oh sweetie, have a good time. You look so beautiful, just like a prince. May God bless you, son. She is going to love you." My mother kisses me good-bye on the cheek.

  "Of course, he is a macho man. Look at how good he looks in those clothes." My father hugs me tightly.

  Leaving the house, I walk down the steps to get into her car. As I enter the car, we greet each other. She wears a black and white striped blouse with short sleeves and blue jeans. Her long hair is trimmed to shoulder length. Sara still looks attractive with her expressive brown eyes, her pink lipstick, her beautiful light tan skin color, and her modest makeup. She looks very sexy when she handles the steering wheel in the driver's seat. I refrain from complimenting her because I might scare her away.

  "Do you like Spanish music?" I ask. She has an English radio station on.

  "Yeah, I listen to that, too."

  "Really. I used to like English music a lot when I was younger. I listen to Spanish music more now. I like their beats." I am a man of few words. I know that today, I will have to be the opposite of myself if I want to win her heart.

  "Really. You know, I listen to anything. I like music I can dance to. I listen to many types of music. I even listen to Brazilian music."

  "That is cool." I also had to keep my cool. I can't look like I'm drooling over her, even though I am on the inside. Women don't like desperate men or men with low self-esteem. I am internally repeating to myself, "Be confident. Be confident. You are the best."

  After half an hour of driving, we arrive at the restaurant. I help her sit in her chair. We look at the menu. She orders salads and a lot of vegetables with soda. I am not a vegetarian. I order what I like best: chicken, rice, bread, and soda. I always eat with my hands, but the occasion forces me to eat with knife and fork. We eat placidly and start talking.

  Chapter 2

  "Tell me about yourself Sara. Were you born here? What is your life story? You know, in general. Feel free to share only what you want." I am very self-conscious of talking and eating at the same time. I make sure that I am done chewing before I speak to her. I also have a habit of slouching forward when I am sitting down. This makes me look weak, and women love strong men. Now, I sit up prideful and straight at all times. I am forced to play the love game.

  "Well, okay. Yeah, I was born here. I am the daughter of my two biggest loves in the world, my parents. They are the cutest couple in the world. They always like to go out dancing. My sister and I are bffs. Unfortunately, I don't see her as much. She moved to New York."

  After I am done chewing, I speak again. "Wow, that is really far away from Jersey."

  "What? Are you crazy? It's right next-door. You're sort of right. I don't see her as often as before. It was a horror story for my parents and I. It was difficult to see my older sister move out. I really loved being together with her, but she wanted to become a famous singer. My parents wanted her in college. My sister is stubborn. No one could do anything about it." Sara makes a sad face as she tells me this.

  "Is she a millionaire?" I ask this to brighten up the conversation.

  "Nah, man (she laughs). She has been involved in organizing events and staging events for Kat Kitty. She works as part of the camera crew. I do visit my sister in her Manhattan apartment. At least, I see her most of the weekends." Every time she smiles during conversation, I get a special feeling inside. It is hard to describe.

  "In terms of your parents, do they still love each other?" I am expecting an idealistic answer of what love is. To me, love or infatuation eventually ends. I can't imagine an old couple still loving each other like they did when they were young. Especially, after they discover all their flaws.

  "Yeah, man. They always celebrate their wedding anniversary and stuff. What? Don't you believe it is possible?" Sara looks at me
strange. In her mind, everyone finds love and keeps it forever. I feel sorry for her. She is like everybody else. She believes a fantasy that is not real. No matter how much education a person has; they will still cling to the belief that love does exist.

  I don't want to get into an argument about love. I refrain from going into detail about my views. "No, I do believe. When it comes to my home, my parents are together only because of me. They despise each other."

  "No way. Oh my God. Are you serious?" She asks in a surprised tone.

  "Okay. I exaggerate a little, but they don't love each other. That's true."

  "Enough of me or your parents, how about you tell me more about yourself, Jimmy?"

  "I was born here, too. I am more of a domestic person. I don't go out much. I am a shy person."

  "Oh, really. Well, I'm a domestic person, too. I do like to go out though. I am very outgoing."

  "Yes, I think that I need a person like you in my life." That is what I long for, a person like her in my life. A person I can form a lasting friendship with. I need someone who I am not so crazy over to avoid the trap of believing that love is real. I don't want to be like everybody else. The strength of our friendship will determine how long our relationship will last if she happens to like me back.

  "Oh (she laughs), probably...how many brothers or sisters do you have?"

  "None."

  "None?" She opens up her eyes wide.

  "None."

  "None?"

  "Yes, I am an only child, Sara. Guilty as charged."

  "Are you a spoiled brat?" She asks inquisitively

  "I wouldn't put it that way. I am very loved by my parents."

  "Didn't picture you that way. In our college days, 5 years ago, you were so smart. I always asked you for help. I pictured you the head of the house and doing errands for your parents. Now, I find out you are a spoiled kid who hates driving."

  "Yes, I hate driving. Don't let this fact make you believe something else. I know how to drive. It just stresses me. It is not fear. It is hard to explain. What are the right words? It is not fear, but it does the same thing as fear. I get too emotionally intense." Sara clearly doesn't understand anything I am saying. She has a confused look on her face.

  She decides to move on to another question. "How do you take care of your parents financially with just a part-time job?"

  "Easy madam. They live on Social Security, and I live on my part-time job. I am a very low maintenance guy. The truth is I am constantly telling my parents not to buy me stuff. I don't need it."

  "You lucky guy (she laughs). You know what? I loved the food in this restaurant. I want to thank you for your lovely present. You are going to drive me home."

  "What? No." I think she is messing with me.

  "Yes, you have to learn how to drive." She shakes her index finger at me.

  "I do know how to drive. I just don't like it. It is too stressful for me."

  "This will make things better for you. Just imagine I broke my foot. I need you to drive me home. You are the only one who can help me." She gets off her feet. Pretending to have a broken left foot, she drags her left foot to move around.

  "Don't do this to me?" I plead with her.

  "Yeah, come on. Let's go silly. Be a man." On the inside, I laugh at her attempt to use cultural stereotypes to peer pressure me. I am so above this.

  "Hah, I don't let society labels define me. The truth is that if your chromosomes are XY, you are a man, no matter what." I say this as she rolls her eyes at me.

  After I pay the waitress, Sara, my chosen one, drags me out of the restaurant. Pulling my hand, we walk the parking lot to reach her white convertible. In an unexpected chain of events, I am sitting in the car's front seat. The steering wheel is right in front of me. My hands are cold as ice. She sits right next to me, observing what I am about to do.

  "Where am I driving you, Sara? Well, scratch that question. Actually, I'm bad with directions. I need to use my smartphone's GPS to find my house."

  "Your home? No. You are driving me to my home."

  "Oh, I see. I am going to meet your parents already. Damn, it's just our first date." I smile.

  "Parents? I have my own house. You won't see my parents."

  "You have a house already?"

  "Like for sure. Working for Biopharm has been good to me. Finding cures for diseases and testing medications has its benefits." Sara makes the money hand gesture.

  "I still live with my parents." I shrug my shoulders.

  "I imagined that. Stop yapping and start driving." She taps my shoulder.

  I turn the engine on and put the car stick in R to drive out of the restaurant's parking lot. By the tone of our conversation inside the restaurant, I believe she thinks I don't know how to drive. When the car starts running in reverse from the parking spot, her face fills with anxiety. Next, I brake after the car is halfway out of the parking spot. I turn the steering wheel 360 degrees to the right. I release the brake to let the car move completely out to the right. Once it is out, I brake and turn the steering wheel 720 degrees to the left. I move the car stick to D and release the brake. When the car straightens out, I brake again to move the steering wheel 360 degrees to the right. I successfully drive out of the parking spot and parking lot.

  Sara directs me to her home. It is a 30-minute drive to an experienced driver. She doesn't live far away from the restaurant. Since I am the driver, I imagine it will take me 45 minutes or more to get there. I will follow the road rules. Considering my inexperience with driving, it is the logical thing to do. When the yellow light is on, I will not speed up to avoid the red light. If the speed limit is 35, I will drive between 28 and 30 miles per hour. It is better to be safe than to be sorry.

  After controlling my anxiety, I finally reach the domestic domain of my loved one. It did take me 40 plus minutes to arrive there. Her house is beautiful. In fact, it is similar to mine. From the outside, you can see it has two floors, the attic, and the basement. Her front lawn is well trimmed. The steps leading to the white front door are white as well. The front porch also has small white balusters to the left and to the right of the steps. The house's color is beige. The triangular-shaped roof is brown; it has a window bordered in white. Two windows, bordered in white, are found in the second floor. Another window, bordered in white, is to the right of the white front door in the first floor. Her driveway leads to a garage, which has the house's same color pattern.

  "Oh my God, you did it! At first, I admit that I didn't think you knew how to drive. You were steering the car clumsily for the first few minutes. Later, you drove well...wow." She grabs my cold hand.

  "Oh my, why are your hands so cold?"

  "I was really nervous. You know I really don't like driving. It makes me feel very tense." My head hurts mildly.

  "Aw, Jimmy. Don't worry. I'll make you tea to relax you." Sara pats my back gently as we sit with the car stick in P, and the motor turned off.

  Sara and I go into the living room. I comment on how beautiful her place is. She smiles and thanks me with her beautiful stare that mesmerizes me. She tells me to have a seat on the sofa while she prepares tea. My heart is still racing from the drive. The muscles of my neck feel stiff as well. I take deep breaths. I lay my head back on the soft-leathered sofa I sit on. I observe the maroon leather sofa and furniture. There is a nice brown table in the center of the living room. There is a flower decoration at the table's center. There is also a TV. Since this is my first time in Sara's house, I am too timid to grab the remote. She might not like it.

  Sara returns with a cup of tea in hand to soothe my anxiety. I receive her tea with gratitude. The cup is very warm to my cool hands. As I sip the tea slowly, I relax even further. The tea burns my tongue as I drink and swallow it down. The muscles of my neck feel more relaxed. The minor headache diminishes with every gulp of tea I drink. The cup's warmth heats up my cool hands. Instead of the tea's heat bothering me, I welcome it. I drink the whole cup to my satisfaction.
/>   After finishing my tea, Sara surprises me with a game of Parcheesi, my favorite board game. My mother and I played this game a lot when I was a child. I used to get upset when I was losing the game. My mother calmed me down by making a "do-over" so I can win and be happy. It brings many beautiful memories of my childhood. When I got older, I used the Parcheesi chessboard, pawns, and dices to reenact make-believe soccer games. The Parcheesi board was the soccer field, the colored pawns were the soccer players, and a dice was the soccer ball.

  "You love this game too, Jimmy?"

  "Yes. This was a lot of my childhood."

  "My sister and I used to play this game a lot when we were young. It was loads of fun." She claps in anticipation of starting the game.

  On the dining room table, Sara and I start playing Parcheesi, but the game's outcome is the least of my concerns. I choose the blue pawns. She plays with the red ones. If I had scripted my first successful date, it would not look like this. I am spending my first date with the woman I like. Clearly, Sara makes the most sense for me. The happiness I am feeling is indescribable. After many years of failing to even have a female friend, I finally make a new friend. Based on her facial expressions, she enjoys my presence as well. She rolls the dice that lands on the side with two dots. She finishes off the Parcheesi game winning.

  Looking at my wristwatch, I notice it is 10:00 pm on this Saturday night. I excuse myself for staying so late at her home. She says, "There is no problem. No need for excuses." Additionally, she invites me to remain there, "You can stay tonight to keep me company." I respond affirmatively. I inform her that I have to call my parents first. Smiling, she covers her face with one hand. It appears she is about to tell me something, but she doesn't say anything. The truth is that if I don't call my parents, they will start thinking that I got into an accident. I grab my smartphone to dial my father's cell phone number.