Infinite Possibilities

We broke up. Technically, we were never together; but I guess I began to think we were. I began to imagine our future together although I didn't make much of it; it was just a possibility.

 We could have been happy together. Ava, that would be our daughter's name, we'd laugh and play in the garden of our small home. We'd grow old in each other arms. It was perfect but that's only one way it could go. A possibility. 

We live in a world of infinite possibilities. There always would exist another probability, we could have dated, got married and divorced. Maybe in that alternate reality we both find someone else or only one of us.

Infinite. Infinite possibilities. Maybe we never meet or maybe we do. Maybe we would be happy in some, maybe not. Maybe there's someone else, a soulmate. Soulmate? Is there even such a thing. 

The concept of a soulmate is a fallacy. The belief that your other half is somewhere out there, the one to complete your story and make it wholesome.

The hitch is that the world is full of complex variations. What if someone chooses a wrong soulmate or their soulmate dies prematurely or rejects them what then? Does the said partner remain single and wander the earth feeling incomplete.

Or is there some sort of reshuffling system.

Have you ever been in Love? You have, well good for you. On the other hand, I don't believe in it. Bare with me, let me explain. Have you only ever loved one person? Okay, you don't have to answer but chances are you haven't.

You meet someone and then you have the clearest conviction that there are the one, your soulmate. You get together but there's one possibility, it doesn't work out.  

You realize then that they are not your soulmate. Maybe you even get heartbroken. You move on and one possibility is that you find someone else. This person makes you forget the first person and you don't know how you could ever love the first.

But you see that's the thing, you did; or you thought you did. You loved him or her and in that moment that was the thing you were most sure of.

Imagine when you met the first person, your first love, you walked away. Now at that moment instead of being restricted to a few possibilities you are opened to infinite possibilities.

I mean don't you think that maybe if you didn't love the person you love right now, there's thousands of people you could love instead and those could all lead to different possibilities, infinite.

Who's to say you actually love that first person or the present one? Who's to say it's love? Who's to say it's real? The answers to that is also Infinite.

That's why when Fayth asked me out, I said no. We've been friends for over six years. We had met in a coffee shop. I couldn't decide on what to get as each choice had a different consequence. Each choice an unlimited possiblity. If I was in a different coffee shop, there would be a long line of angry and impatient customers behind me. But it was Shelly's, they hadly had that many customers coming in. And as their customer for over twelve years, they'd gotten used to my . . . for lack of a better word, indecision. It's not that I'm indecisive, I'm careful, a thinker or at least that's what I tell myself.

I sat on my table, it was at the center of the old musty shop. Through the transparent glass windows I could get a clear view of the street, the idle road, pedestrians of different form and kind and the opposite stalls along the T section. I could get a clear view of the counter. I could see Shelly's new Cashier, Wanda, a shy latina, pull out a ten dollar bill to give a customer and I could see Paul, tired from all the drinking of the night before, fumbling at the coffeemaker and I could see all the customer as they came and left, each with a story and each had a limitless possible endings all hinging on their choices. 

The story of how and why I chose this table is a long and funny one. I should tell you . . .No. Perhaps, I'll tell you later. 

I sat at my table and thought over all of Shelly's thirty eight drinks, usually it was fifty, but Shelly had informed me they were out of Coconut, Chestnut and skim milk that day. What would it be? It took usually thirty minutes to an hour to decide depending on my mood. I toiled it over and was down to twenty, when a woman walked up to me.

She had the warmest and nicest smile I'd ever seen, it wasn't the way her cheek pulled back to reveal huge dimples but it was her eyes; those little brown gems were filled with emotions of hope, hope that I haven't seen in a long while. But at that time the smile was appalling, I glanced around the shop to find out what could possibly be amusing before setting my glare on her but that didn't faze her smile. She asked if she could seat at my table. She followed by gaze across the empty wooden tables and I hoped she would understand and leave. At that moment, I regretted the table choice I made twelve years ago but looking back now I'm grateful. 

She asked again, there were only two choices, yes or no. But what if I said yes and she turned out a kidnapper or a serial killer or a thief or worse a detective who wanted to ask about the Murder that happened down the street . 

Or I said no and she happened to be suicidal or depressed or . . . but before I could reply she had already sat down.

She introduced herself as, "Fayth with a y." She was one of those people who could make friends with strangers. She initiated a handshake, I glared, she retracted her hand, I was relieved however the form of her pale fingers changed into a fist bump and then a high five.

'A toucher', I had thought in contempt but later on her touch would be my comfort. Be it her hugs, from the long ones to the quick ones, to the life changing hug at a point in my life when I had become suicidal. Or our secret bestie handshake, she of course insisted that we must have one. A must. It was nothing really, a handshake then a fist bump then an high-five, like our first time. It wasn't a ritual. I don't think we did it up to ten times but I do remember having done it in major moments of our life. Weirdly enough it did make me feel like I belonged, that our relationship was something more and that I was important to her.

Eventually, gravity made her hands weary and she ran her fingers through her brown hair before laying it back on the table. The hair glide I had later come to know was an habit of hers when she was nervous or she'd chew her bottom lip.

She moved here some weeks ago from Tennessee and had seen me around. When I inquired as to why she moved to New York, she shrugged "I picked a place randomly on the map and without thinking I packed my bags and ta da." The Horror.

She also happened to know I was a Professor at the local University, for a moment I thought she was a stalker but dismissed it because I didn't believe she had the cognitive ability to carry it out successively but that I would have to admit to be wrong as Fayth to my amazement is actually highlyintelligent, she ranked within the

top 20% in the world.

"Turn off your brain Harry and listen to your heart and feel the music beating within you," she had once said.

With which I replied, " I believe you have a little knowledge in biology, your brain simply isn't a switch where you simply turn it off or on as you like and if you were to turn off your brain you'd only live for an average of eight days."

She wanted me to help her get a job as an arts director in the university. I kept in a word in the Faculty and she got it, not that she needed my help. We'd been friends ever since. Although, I never did get my coffee that day.

Six years later, we're back in the same coffee shop, only the table are not as crusty and it's more crowded. Paul had died in an accident and had been replaced with Carl. Lucia, the shy Latina girl is now goth. Shelly had a little Shelly. Fayth was still Fayth and we were the best of friends or so I thought.

"I've been meaning to tell you something," she said bitting her bottom lip, which did nothing for me but create tension. "I wanted to think it through but it's not me. I don't overthink things. And Harry it's okay to not think and just do." And that my friends is why Humpty Dumpty fell off the wall.

She ran her fingers through her hair for the third time before tucking it underneath the table. "If you spent all your time thinking you have little time to do things." Yet, who among the two of us had four Phds.

"I guess Harry what I'm trying to say is I love you and I'm guessing and hoping you do too. Cause Harry I'm tired of waiting and thinking, what do you say will you go out with me? "

Two options: yes or no. A choice as a consequence. Every choice as a consequence. The probability is limitless.

"Come on Harry you don't have to think it through. It's either a yes or a no. Do you love me Harry?"

Do I love her? What is love ? It's just the neurotransmitters, it'll wear off eventually, it's temporary, short lived and I couldn't make a decision based on that.

"Harry feelings isn't something you think about. You just know. Do you want me or not?"

What did I want? I liked what we had but I don't know if I want anything more than that. I want her in my life. But things change, people change and preferences change.

"Harry . . . "

I couldn't look at her. How could I face her? I hoped she was not crying. I stared at the black coffee in the white mug. Black. Black. Black.

"I got a job over in Austria, I'm going to have my own studio and everything. It's my dream. They like my art, they love it. I want to know if there's something I'm waiting for here."

I finally made eye contact. She was smiling, her dimples said hello but her eyes cried in pain and in them I could see the monster who had hurt her. I hated myself. Beads of tears gathered around her eyes and I painfully watched as the drops flowed down her red puffed face; a sharp pain pierced my heart and my stomach turned in agony. I wanted more than anything to catch them in my hands and hold her; but I figured that wouldn't be as comforting as an answer. A million thoughts and possibilities raced through my head.

I reached for her hand but she pulled away. "I don't know what to say Fayth. I'd have to —"

"Think about it?" She nodded her head with an half smile, she sniffed and picked her bag. "Good bye Harry."

That was the last time I saw her. I heard from Shelly that she would be traveling a week later. The day came but I couldn't bring myself to face her or to say goodbye. I couldn't bear to hurt more than I had. Shelly later informed that she had arrived safely, she wanted to show me pictures but to which I declined.

Today, I'm back at the same coffee shop. Alone. Tired. In a pain that I cannot explain. I ordered an Affogato, Fayth's favorite; I don't like it much but it reminds me of her.

Did I love her? Was it love? Or Was it Dopamine. Should I have listened to the NT and told her I loved her? Did I? Would it have lasted? Would I regret this? Have I lost 'the one'? Will she find someone else? Would I ? Would we meet again? My thoughts were muddled and I couldn't think clearly.

I made the right decision, I couldn't allow Fayth make a life altering decision because of the neurotransmitters in our brain. Or was it?

There's one possibility, she left for Austria, she's amazing so everyone will love her. She'd find someone else, someone that makes her forget about me. She'd be happy and forget the pain.

We both have different possibilities each hinging on our choices. I hope she is happy wherever her destination ends.