Page 52 of Flirtasaurus
“Like what?”
“How do I say this the right way?”
“Uh-oh.”
“No. No need to uh-oh. Have you always been… so strong and focused on creating the exact life that you want? See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”
“Ha. Not so bad, no. Have I always been like this…?” I ponder his question out loud. “I think so, yeah. I always knew I wanted to be a paleontologist. Basically from the first time I heard dinosaurs existed. And everything kind of stemmed from that. For whatever reason, little kids always seem to be into dinosaurs, don’t they? So I had a lot of pals in the early days. But then they started to move on to other things. My devotion only got deeper as I got older, though. And friendships didn’t come easy to me anymore. I just wasn’t interested in what the other kids wanted to talk about. I remember thinking, wow, you don’t realize you’re gonna die someday, huh? If you realized you were gonna die someday, you wouldn’t be wasting your time on such frivolous crap.”
“Wait. How old were you when you were having those kinds of thoughts?”
“I dunno, eight? Nine?”
“You were pondering your own mortality at eight years old?”
“Yeah. Weren’t you?”
“Nope.”
“Huh. If you were a dino lover, you would’ve. Once you learn an entire planet of your beloved creatures was wiped out, you’re primed for disaster and death at any and every moment.”
“Geez. You must’ve been a really sad, morbid kid.”
“No way! I was a delight! Soaked up every bit of knowledge I could. I just had no time for schmucks and fools. Still don’t. But back then… Nevermind.”
“No. What?”
“Back then… I was weirdly, embarrassingly romantic too.”
“Really! You?”
“Yes, me!”
“Tell me, how wereyouembarrassingly romantic?”
“Well, I remember I used to… I would… Ugh. It’s dumb.”
“Tell me.”
I avert my eyes anywhere but at him.
“I used to climb up on top of the jungle gym thing at recess when all of the other kids were playing dodgeball and freeze tag, and I would sort of... Well, I would… All right. I would conjure my future husband.”
“What?” He looks and sounds shocked, and I don’t blame him.
“It’s ridiculous, I know. Residue from my parents, I think, who were always talking about how they were made for each other, meant to be, and someday when you meet your soul mate blah, blah, blah bullshit. But yeah, I would conjure my future husband by closing my eyes and picturing him wherever he was at that very moment. I felt like he was a kid sort of like me, also surrounded by schmucks, somewhere in the world sitting on top of his own jungle gym, thinking about me. Then when I felt like I’d connected to him… I’d stare up at the sky and talk to him. And I could almost swear I heard him talking back.”
“Huh.”
“Uh-oh. Why does your face look like that right now?”
“Like what?”
“Like you swallowed a hairball.”
“I did that too.”
“Did what? Swallowed a hairball?”
