Rewriting Shakespeare

Chapter 1

Nothing accents an entire Saturday alone, like a Saturday night alone. It was a choice. I could have gone out with friends or accepted a setup, but I opted for a weekend to wallow. It happens when you are single. You are moving swiftly in life with great things happening around and to you, and then you see that adorable old couple that has been together for longer than you have been alive. They flow seamlessly as one through the market or down the sidewalk as your eyes cling to them in a mix of awe and envy. Suddenly, all the significant parts of your life are buried beneath the weight of your single status. This weight can only be lifted by diving into it, admitting what you don't have. The remedy is a night of wallow.

I could have gone out instead of cruising delivery options on my phone. I could have let my friends pull me out of my funk with infectious laughter and a few drinks, but I wanted to be angry. It had been almost a year since I had gotten out of my last relationship, and since then, I had only been on a few dates, each one more disastrous than the previous. My mind began to meander through the hall of shame.

There had been Ernie. I had thought he was aloof in an endearing way. When he arrived 15-minutes late and dressed like he had been doing yardwork, I tried to convince myself that he was not vain. When his order started with a request for two beers, I called him efficient. It was when he asked me to switch seats with him so he could 'keep an eye on the score of the game' that I knew the date was over.

Still, Ernie was a dream date compared to Luke. Luke arrived on time and in a sleek dark grey suit with perfectly styled hair. He was more beautiful and had clearly put more thought into his appearance than me. Again, I stifled my concerns; he was looking to put his best foot forward. As he approached the table, I realized he was on the phone. I anticipated he would slow his pace and wrap up the call before he reached me, but instead, he arrived at the table and immediately, without any other greeting, stuck a finger up. It was the universal sign for one minute. I knew it; I had used it many times, but for some reason, this being his first impression felt like it was foreshadowing the whole relationship. I would be in a relationship with the one-minute finger, which would eventually lead to me giving my own single-finger gesture as I ran screaming from the scene. That date was clearly over before it started.

The cream of the crop, the bad dates of all bad dates, the one that I am so glad got away, the fish that should never be pulled from the sea, Trevor. He arrived on time and looking handsome in a casual jeans and white t-shirt combination. Our conversation meandered easily without any starts and stops. He was a gentleman the entire time, from the moment he pulled out my chair until he held the door as we left. For a few brief hours, I saw possibilities. The whole evening was warm and fun. I let my guard down; I should have known better.

We had paused on the sidewalk to exchange final pleasantries. As I hoped for a good-night kiss, a voice interrupted us.

"Trevor?" The voice came from behind me and caused his eyes to grow wide. "I thought that was you. Did you get out of work earlier than expected?"

The woman was pulling up beside him in more than a friendly way.

"Hey," he said with a mix of exuberance and raw fear. "Yeah, I was just getting dinner with a friend." He looked at me with pleading eyes.

"You should have texted; you could have picked my food up for me and saved me a trip," she spoke with a relaxed, unsuspecting tone.

I quickly surmised the situation. He had a girlfriend, and he desperately hoped that I would not let his girlfriend know that he had just been on a date with me. It was the literal worst. I flipped between telling her and not telling her. On the one hand, she needed to know that her boyfriend was a lying, cheating piece of scum. On the other, she didn't deserve to learn this on a sidewalk from the woman he had just been on a date with moments earlier. I had never understood murderers until that moment. I wanted to kill him. I played the trial out quickly in my head but wasn't convinced that his lack of moral character would be enough to absolve me of the crime, and I had a mani/pedi scheduled in the morning, so I quickly moved away from any illegal plans. Instead, I said my goodbyes and walked away.