A Flame Reignited.

I have always dreamt of a perfect life, a normative life, one that conforms to what society deems not only acceptable, but commendable. For a woman, which I identify as, that means being married by 30 years old, having children, and being physically attractive. Some may say that the notion I just presented goes against feminism- but, I call BS. I personally believe that all a woman wants is to be loved, to be beautiful, and to be a mother.

Well, here I am, at 35 years old. I have none of that. I am not trying to perpetuate a victim complex mentality, but I can objectively say that I am what most would call a loser. A frumpy spinster. I am fat, or shall I say "thicc", hell- let's go with rubenesque or cherubic. I also possess zero talent, as I have long decided that as a fat woman, my talents would get me no where in an image based society. I have only been in one relationship, with a man who I still pine for years after our final encounter.

My name is Jennifer Reefman, and I believe the "is" will turn into a "was" quite soon.

This is not a suicide letter, but an ode to myself, as no one else will do me the honor. I don't plan on offing myself, however, because I would probably fail miserably at that too.

It's a Monday afternoon, 2 PM to be exact, and I have sat on my deceased father's chaise lounge since the moment I woke up, about an hour ago. I spilled red wine all over the burgundy fabric, so it's not too bad. It is, however, only a bleak reminder of my spastic nature.

I really would like to call Edward, the only man who has ever been close to loving me. Our relationship was more like a sexual friendship. I know he loved me, but he was not "in love" with me, as he so charmingly put it time and time again.

I had met Edward at a supermarket, in a cliche fashion, by the grocery aisle. He was holding raw broccoli in one hand, and speaking on his antiquated flip phone in another. I couldn't help but stare, it was 2020 and this man was still using a flip phone- a Motorola RAZR to be exact. I believe he was using a flip phone as bait to lure in eccentric women such as myself- because it worked. The man, Edward, theatrically flipped the phone shut and put it in his back pocket and proceeded to glance in my direction. He grinned and walked over to me.

"The produce here is rotting", was his opening line. I chuckled and began telling him about my distaste for anything healthy.

"As you can probably tell, I am a carb girl" I blurted out. What was that? What a dorky line- I still cringe at it, yet, Edward responded with a flirtatious wink.

"Not sure what that means, but I like girls who enjoy food. I'm not much of a vegetable guy myself, just trying to be healthy- but it's not working".

He seemed to be an over sharer. I appreciated his attempt to make me feel better about my blatant body image issues. Our dialog lasted through out each of our grocery store outing, we spoke to each other as we rummaged through the aisles- at one point, we made our way to the "junk food" section, aisle 11, and bonded over our mutual love of Fig Newtons, which we simultaneously decided was a healthy snack.

After checking out of the store, Edward gave me his number. He told me to call him if I ever wanted to "eat something that wasn't from the supermarket", whatever that meant. I chuckled nervously, and nervously grabbed the business card he handed me.

The business card read, "Edward Mann, CEO", but the paper did not specify what company he worked for. I thought it was intriguing, albeit a little strange. I decided not to ask too many questions and went on my way.

Some days had passed since my meet cute with Edward, and I couldn't get him out of my mind. Every outing I went on, I was hoping to run into him. Every night before I laid myself to rest, I would imagine him knocking on my door with lustful eyes and an intent to make love. Of course, he didn't have my address, so that would be a little creepy. I didn't care, I was completely infatuated with the man I met once at the supermarket.

By the eighth day, I decided to call him. The phone rang exactly twice before he answered, as if he was anticipating my call.

"Hello!?" He answered in a breathy tone. As if he had just ran five miles and decided to take a vital business call during his jog.

"Hey, it's me... I don't know if you remember me-"

"Jennifer?"

He remembered my name. I began to blush and twiddled my thumbs as I laid my phone on the table and put him on speaker, as I am a fidgeter, and I had to begin fidgeting like my life depended on it. I was nervous as all hell.

"Yes, it's Jen... It's cool that you remember me"

"How can I forget? I really enjoyed our first date."

"Date? You mean, us meeting at the supermarket?"

Edward began to chuckle, as if I had just told a Norm McDonald tier one liner. I giggled in response, but only nervously. I was not exactly finding our conversation to be comedic gold, or anything.

"Well," he proceeded, "Yes, I consider us hanging out at the grocery store to have been a date. Wouldn't you?"

I didn't say anything, because I didn't exactly know how to respond. Was I supposed to make small talk and flirt? Was I supposed to set up another "date", perhaps this time at Costco? I wasn't exactly experienced with dating and I could tell Edward sensed my reluctance to partake in the proverbial dance of romantic mingling.

"Hey, do you want to come over to my place tonight?" he inquired hesitantly. Of course, I said yes.

Later that night, I arrived to his abode, I drove my Honda Accord into his mason paved driveway, which was decorated with three sports cars, 2 Porsches and 1 Mercedes. I suppose Edward was wealthy, as he lived in a secluded mini-mansion in the hills of Los Angeles- where as I lived in a one bedroom apartment in West Hollywood, which mind you, was still pretty pricey. It's all my deceased father's inheritance could get me in Los Angeles.

Edward met me by the door, he was wearing an Adidas sweater with some jeans and loafers. I couldn't tell what his aesthetic was, but it looked a bit bummy in contrast to my skin tight black dress and Louboutins heels.

I could feel my back fat protruding over the sides of my dress, the straps cutting into my shoulders like string on ham at a butcher's deli. I was physically uncomfortable and neurotically obsessing over my fat rolls, Edward could sense it.

"Hey, you know what, I feel like an asshole wearing this while you're all dolled up and dressed to the nines. Do you want to slip into something more comfortable?"

I belly laughed and asked if he was a mind reader, he smirked back and disappeared into his room. A few minutes later he came out with PJ pants and a "Space Jam" shirt, he threw them at me.

Who is this man? I wondered to myself. It's as if he was sent to me from the sky.

Edward was a good looking man, and he was wealthy. He stood at what seemed to be around 6'3 and had thick dark hair, a chiseled jaw and a very endearing smile. He could have easily been a Hollywood hearth-rob from the 50s. Yet, his demeanor was humble and he was very gregarious.

Is this man a serial killer? I wondered to myself, now beginning to psych myself out. I was clearly lost in thought, but Edward snapped me out of it by offering me a hit from his joint.

"Hey, can I ask you something", I attempted to sound breathy and sexy when saying that, but I probably just sounded asthmatic. Edward gazed into my eyes, awaiting my inquiry, without a word uttered from his pillowy lips.

"Why do you like me", it's as if I was in a cheesy romantic comedy, about to be pranked by the popular guy and his hot harem of gal pals. But it was jus the two of us, so it all felt very surreal.

Edward snickered and rolled his eyes, "oh, you're one of those girls", he took a drag of the joint and put it out. He shook his head, got up and walked back inside with a swagger. I was left bewildered, he never answered my question.

I took a moment in isolation on his back deck. The stars were glowing, which was a rarity in Los Angeles. I was stoned and trying to make out some constellations in the sky, the only one I could ever find organically was the Big Dipper. I just lost myself in a daydream, staring at the beautifully glimmering night sky.

Edward came back out and sat next to me, on the same lawn chair. In his hands were two cosmic, neon blue drinks. I didn't even care if he were to roofie me at that point, I was basking in relaxation, for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

"To answer your question", he began, as he handed me a glass, "I think you're interesting, Jennifer."

Interesting.

Instantly, my elation turned into a spiraling loop of negative thoughts. He didn't say beautiful, he didn't say cute, he didn't even say attractive- but... interesting.

"I'm not interesting. Just ugly and fat." I blurted out, again, this time in a stoned neurosis. I wish I could take back those words at that very instance, it was the second time I had referred to my blatant self hatred.

Edward laughed, this time it seemed sincere and not an attempt to be witty and charming. "You are not ugly or fat", he reassured me as he rested his hand on my blubbery thigh. A stretch mark started peering out, as my dress began to hike itself up as I repositioned myself into a more comfortable pose, or lack there-of. I was melting into his lawn chair.

We stared into each others eyes, and my legs began to involuntarily part- only to reveal my "special occasion" panties. I felt Edward's hand explore my inner thighs and make it's way into the lining of my underwear. He held his gaze into my shit-colored brown eyes, as I stared back into his optical, piercing blue pools. Our lips grew closer and closer, and suddenly we were making out- after that, what felt like a fever dream ensued and all I could remember was waking up the very next day in his bed, nude.

I guess I never wore the "comfortable outfit" he had brought out for me.

Our relationship after that night was basically a typical one, the first sexual encounter was the hottest, and everything after that began feeling like a routine. He'd come over every Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday- we would eat and make love. This lasted for about a year, until one day, he had told me he met someone new.

"I met someone new", he bluntly stated as we sat down at a generic coffee shop near his house. I began to bawl, he looked away.

"Who is it?" I wimpered.

"Doesn't matter, you don't know her." He took a swig from his drink and got up.

"I don't even get a goodbye kiss?" The desperation poured out of me.

He looked back at me, gave a wry smile, and continued to walk out of the shop.

I sat there in my lonesome, tears pouring down my face. I couldn't tell if I was making a scene, but Edward's departure felt foreign to me- as if he didn't even know me.

As if I were a stranger.

Cut back to today- I don't think that I have recovered. I had tried my hand at dating, but as the story goes, dating in Los Angeles (especially as a 35 year old woman) is nearly impossible. I also found myself trying to replicate what I had with Edward, and personally, it just felt very obvious.

So... Here we are, back on my chaise lounge. I have stared at my phone for the last forty-five minutes, contemplating whether or not I should call Edward, for old times sake. I've been trying to manifest him calling me instead but, that's wishful thinking.

I'm calling him.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

Unlike the first time, when he answered instantly.

Ring. Ring.

"Hello?" he answered the phone.