He Will Be the Right E/Guy For Me

There is nothing you can say to me that will convince me otherwise. I am undoubtedly in love with Eddie Suzuki-Brown. No, this man is not interested in me. Yes, I understand that fully. But still, I can’t help but think about him every day. Even now, four years after a whole lot of nothing.

No contact.

No social media peripheral interaction.

Nada.

He is, I am sure, still as beautiful as ever.

I can remember the first time that I noticed him. Short little man with curly hair. That’s all he was at first. A little dude, far to vertically challenged for the likes of a woman my stature. I am model tall. He is hobbit high. And yet. There he was.

I had just broken up with Eduardo. My mother always did say my infatuations tend to be patterned. First, all my romantic interests had J names until I remembered that was my brothers second initial which weirdly grossed me out, so I, switched to E’s – not exactly intentionally. But I am pretty sure there is like, not a single soul in the whole of my family with a name that begins with a vowel at all, so there you have it and you can do what you will with that information. All the same. Here was Eddie.

Sigh.

Sexy little man.

I am getting side tracked and I’m sure you need a fair bit more exposition to understand why this is all important enough to even be reading about. So yeah, I had just broken up with Eduardo who left me in Mexico alone. As in, all by myself. In a country I was visiting for the very first time, and without any warning.

I woke up at his father’s house in Monterey and was forced to be a terrible house guest, combing through rooms and inspecting all dark corners until I happened upon the tan and gray man who donated his baby gravy to the likes of the disinterested mother who birthed the bastard I called “love” on occasion. He said the only five English words to pass through his withered lined lips during our entire four-week stay: “I so-ree, he no here.” He pronounced “here” like “hear,” and somehow, I heard the difference, and something about it drove me to the edge. I turned and committed yet another act of house guest treason. I ran to my room and slammeed the door. Not unlike an angsty teenager. Definitely not a model millennial. But then again, angsty teen, millennial – kinda the samesy’s, ya know?

Any who, so it was like my second week back to work and my colleague Terrance, Big Brother Blackwood – a nickname both crass and way too aggrandizing - was done with me moping around. On my break, he pulled me to the domed and windowed stair case, and leaning back on the ever pilling (pretty sure with lead paint because our company was shit and were likely trying to kill us in more ways than just the soul-crushingness of insurance billing) and folded his arms like an old man. All solemn and shit.

“Becks. This last one wasn’t even two-months long. I told you that trip was way to early. Ya fucked up,” Terrance says.

I glared at him. I fantasized about ripping that ratty thing he called a hat clean-off his head and down the middle of the spiral case. I imagined how’d it float down and land in someones food as they were just about to start the journey up from the cafeteria. How I’d point a finger at him and saunter off.

“Becks!” he yells.

“Shit, Terrance. The fuck?”

“Attention,” he said. “Can you just pick your next crush already so that we can speed through this sappy sad Becky needs a man who can love her stage?”

And that’s when Eddie walked by. Looking like a black and Japanese Jesus. All long hair and hazel eyes.

Kind eyes.

Fuller lips.

I thought I needed a man. Looking back on this now, I probably needed church more.

Yet, it could not be helped. I winked at him. Then, I nodded, and said to Terrance, “Done.”

Next day, I ran into Eddie in the breakroom. Well, if you can call purposely monitoring the rest of his activities throughout the remainder of the previous workday to get an idea of the friendlies (close colleagues that he smiled at and occasionally chatted with) and his afternoon breaks (food or bathroom), and then using that information to orchestrate a stumblingupon.

“Uh, hi.” My voice was way too high. Like, Hello Kitty if that bitch ever decides to grow a mini-mouth and talk, high.

He either didn’t hear me or just flat out ignored me. And he didn’t turn around from his apple cutting with one of those clever little death traps that are a plastic ring with metallic blades that fan out inside the circle like one of those colorful parasols. Not until he was done using it. And when he did, we barely made eye contact and he just kind of nodded awkwardly and bumbled by.

And then the pandemic hit. And the company went virtual. And I never saw him again.

 Especially not after he blocked me on Facebook for no discernable reason.

Be still my beating heart. These memories still doe something to me.

I am sure, once he is ready and learns my name, we’ll get married. On our honey moon, he won’t abandon me in Guadalajara like Elias did before Eduardo. No, he is a man of few words but he’s not from Mexico. His eyes, so wide and cowed, they are too innocent to even think of such a heinous thing like international ghosting.

Terrance thinks I am “wrong.” He’s of course uses other dramatic words to describe what he really thinks. But he’s still single so he can just shush it. I even heard from Sydney in the coding department that “Big Brother Blackwood” is disproportionately only as big as his need to overcompensate.

Back to me though. If the need should arise, I can start my search for guys with A names. There is this one guy Alex who I see in zoom meetings. And, he gives good head. And shoulders. Since that’s all I can see in the little video box provided. But, I’ve still got hope that Eddie is the right E, I mean, guy for me. 

This is a work of quasi-fiction. Names, characters, events and incidents are the products of imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or living is purely coincidental.