The Meeting Point by Olivia Lara

Five

If today was a story, it wouldn’t be one I’d write. Even if I hated the main character.

An hour ago, I was waiting for David to call me back so I could reveal the big surprise. I was so excited. Fifteen minutes ago, I was trying not to cry in public—or to scream; it varied from moment to moment. I was so heartbroken, mad, and humiliated. And now, here I am. About to board an airport shuttle to Carmel by the Sea, a small oceanside town. Somewhere out there.

How did I get here? How did I get from recovering David’s cell phone to not wanting anything to do with him? And why did I say yes to the Lift driver’s suggestion that I should hop on a bus for three hours to go to a town I’ve never heard of?

It probably started with the realization that I was pathetic. Why would I want David’s phone? To do what with? He was out there somewhere, busy cheating on me, and I was busy taking care of his belongings? I texted the driver back that he could keep it and do whatever he wanted with it. Somehow in our back and forth texts, it slipped that it’s my birthday and how disappointing everything is and how I imagined the day would go.

I know a place just like you said you imagined California. Ocean, beach. If that’s what you dreamed for your birthday, you should totally go. Spend the day there,he texted.

I could tell he felt sorry for me, and to be honest, I felt sorry for myself. What a crappy ending to a genuinely crappy twenty-four hours. Everything crumbled around me: my career, my love life, my accommodation—since the apartment is in David’s name.

The driver’s suggestion was kind, but it was also unusual, and I hesitated at first. But everything that could go wrong had already gone wrong. What else was there? The bus would break down? I’d be attacked by highway pirates? This wasn’t more than the lesser of two evils scenario—sitting for twenty-four hours on a chair in front of an empty terminal and the unknown. And it’s not like I accepted to spend the day with a complete stranger. He’ll just be my guide from a distance. Crazy, as far as ideas go, but seemingly safe.

By the time you get to Carmel, I’ll have an itinerary ready for you.

Why are you being so nice to me?I texted back.

Because nobody deserves to be unhappy on their birthday.

He seems like a good man. Taking the time to do this for me and keeping me company, even if it’s a virtual company. All because I told him it’s my birthday. There are still nice people left in this world. Am I a nice person? Would I have done this for someone else? I don’t know. I’ve been so caught up in my life, I don’t remember the last time I did something selfless. That’s sad.

In line for the bus, I look around at couples and families. I’m the only one who’s alone. I hope this day won’t turn into one of those cautionary stories you tell your kids.

I can’t help but think… if I’d stayed home and waited for David, none of this would’ve happened. What am I saying? That I would’ve preferred I was cheated on as long as I didn’t know it? What kind of person am I? Why would I want that? That’s not love. Come to think of it, I don’t even know if I’ve ever truly experienced love. I’ve cared about people, usually the wrong people. I’ve gotten used to them and our life together, but love… love is a big word.

At the first stop, a young woman wearing what looks like a bridesmaid dress gets on. She’s barefoot. She takes the seat behind me and I unwittingly hear bits and pieces of the conversation with the man next to her. She’s very chatty and in a few minutes, she tells him all about the ex who showed up and how she had to leave. Is she a runaway bridesmaid? I take out my notebook and jot down an idea for what I feel will be a great story, when I hear some more of their conversation. Now she’s asking him about his life, and then they jump to their childhood. That was fast. I’ve never been that friendly toward people I’ve just met. Now they’re playing a ‘twenty questions’ type of game and I chuckle. I have a feeling these two will not need one of my stories to find what they both seem to be looking for.

I call Alisa. I have to tell her what happened, and I bet she won’t believe what I’m doing right now. I wonder if she’ll say that I’m going entirely off the rails, or on the contrary, ‘Good for you, girl!’ I think the latter. Unfortunately, she doesn’t answer, and I check the time; it’s 3:30 PM in London. She must be in meetings.

It’s been twenty minutes, but it feels like forever. The row behind me is having a blast, now reaching ‘the most embarrassing moments’ category in their game.

When my phone beeps, I’m convinced it’s Alisa, but it’s the Lift driver.

Hope you brought a book. The drive is pretty dull. Sorry!

It’s OK. I’m being entertained by two people who just met and are playing 20 questions.

What is it about telling all your secrets to a complete stranger? I always wondered if that’s a myth or if it’s true,he texts.

What?

They say it’s easier to talk to someone you don’t know in real life.

I wouldn’t know. I’ve never tried that.

Me neither, he texts. And anyway, I’m more of the two lies and one truth kind of guy.

I thought it was two truths and one lie,I say.

Then I played it wrong all my life. Ha-ha.

Not my favorite game,I text.

I remember we used to play it in college, back in the early days of David and me. He refused to join and said it was stupid. So I started thinking it was stupid too and never got over it.

Oops. It sounds like we’re running out of games. What about give me a number?

What?

I’m confused. Is he asking for my number? He already has it.

It’s a game between strangers and it’s pretty simple. You write down 50 questions. I write down 50 questions, and then you give me a number and I ask you the question attached to it. And vice versa. Nothing identifying like name or what you look like because the point is to get to know each other, not to stalk each other after.

I start laughing before getting nervous, and then eventually, I calm down. Just because he thought how this might sound and he’s trying to make me feel comfortable gets him points.

Sounds like fun. Never heard of it,I say.

I just made it up.

I start laughing. I like him. I mean… I like that he makes me laugh. I have no new stories to write, no books to read, over two hours to kill, and the view is not much for now. Fields. Just fields as far as the eye can see. Sure. Let’s do it. Are we doing categories or just free for all?

Categories? Why not? Let’s go kitschy. Have you ever/would you ever, Do you, This or That, What’s Your, How would you.

Give me 15 minutes, I text.

OK. And you go first, he texts back.