Universe of Soulmates

"One Hundred Fifty Years of Loneliness"

Happy birthday to me, I guess, I think, blowing out the one candle I popped on top of a cupcake I bought from the bakery directly underneath my studio apartment. You'd think after living here for seventy-three years, the loneliness would fade and the repetitiveness of my daily routine would replace it, but that has yet to happen. The loneliness is also why I moved here in the first place. After losing every childhood friend I had and the rest of my family passing with their soulmates by their sides, I got fed up with being surrounded by it all and moved from Florida to Vermont. Even then, I was already seventy-seven, although only my birthday can truly corroborate that fact.

I'm one of the miniscule few that doesn't find their soulmate in the first fifty years of life, doomed to look eighteen for the rest of eternity. Technically, it's possible to find my soulmate now, but the likelihood—at least, based on census records—is at nearly zero. Only a tenth of a percent of people find their soulmate after turning a hundred, whereas almost seven percent (6.992% is the exact number from the most recent worldwide census) don't find it at all.

"Girl, it's your HUNDRED AND FIFTIETH! Come on, let's go find a club and party!" My roommate, a much crazier, more energetic person than I have been in several decades, screams as she walks into the apartment.

"Rosie, please. A hundred and fifty isn't a special birthday. It's boring, just like all the rest." I wave her off, putting up an act that a hundred fifty isn't a special age. It's how I cope with the eighteen year old body I have but feel as though I've lived a million lifetimes. Every birthday has a special significance to me, but sometimes it's as mundane as seeing a newly released movie or going on a blind date with someone.

Blind dates, despite what you may think, are one of the most common things to do. After the initial date, almost everyone ends up dating that person for six months or a year. A year, especially for those who stopped aging a while ago, doesn't feel as long as it might seem, and any change to one's appearance is a cause for alarm. As someone who is already a hundred fifty with no wrinkle lines, I would definitely notice something different if I ended up meeting my soulmate. It'd also be pretty obvious because I'd start my period for the first time. Nobody, and I mean no one, starts their period before they've met their soulmate, but it does usually start within a month or so of meeting them.

Today, I have my seventy-sixth blind date, with some guy named Dean Acosta. I could look him up, but I actually enjoy the surprise I get when I meet them. There have been a couple—ten at the most—that have not met my standards for looks, but I didn't deny them the blind date or the subsequent dates until I determined they weren't my soulmate. Plus, this Dean, whoever he is, is a hundred sixty-three, so he understands the whole concept of what it's like to date people over and over again.

"You're boring. If I was a hundred and fifty, I'd live it up. Party like it's 1950." Rosie says, sashaying her hips. She's eighty-one, but I can tell that some things about her have changed since her last blind date with someone named Sam Redding. But, she'll notice eventually, since it's ingrained in our brains to find nuances like that. "So, which club is tonight?" Rosie's eyebrows shoot up, and I feel a little bad that I have a blind date tonight.

"I have a date, Rose. But, tomorrow we can." She narrows her eyes at me, before caving to the compromise.

"Alright, Jay. You owe me a dance, though." As I walk away from her, I hear her iconic line, "Leave it all on the dance floor!" shouted through the apartment almost loud enough to piss off the bakery right below us. But, I don't reprimand her like I usually do because I can't bring myself to care enough. Today is my birthday and nothing can dampen my spirits.

Inspecting my closet in my bedroom, which has plenty of clothes that went out of fashion decades ago. The diner Dean picked is a 20's themed diner, a place I've been a couple times, but that was a few decades ago. Picking a cute 20's era inspired shirt with layers of fake jewels ordered in geometric patterns and a pair of white skinny jeans, I decide that's the perfect outfit for tonight. I'm expecting tonight to go exactly how the last twenty have gone: decent, but the only reason I kept in touch was in the event I did start to age.