Tracy sat looking at the OK Cupid Profile for a long moment. The picture was an extreme close up, but it was definitely Blake, her boyfriend. Remembering she was at work she looked over her cube wall to make sure her boss was not coming. She saw the tops of her coworker’s heads. They were quietly working at their desks as if the world had not just changed completely. She sat back down and looked at the profile again as her hands began to shake.
It said he was 32 (he was 36). It said he liked CNN and he always fell asleep during the news. It had a quote from Edgar Allen Poe, even though he’d never read anything by him. He looked a lot better in the picture he had posted; you couldn’t see his gut or his bald spot.
Tracy started working again in a daze. She was hurt and angry, but more than anything else she was shocked. She became angrier as she thought about all the lies he had told on his profile. He said he was really good at balancing life and work when in actuality he was on the verge of being fired. He said he was a social drinker and he drank almost every night. He said that he was working on a master’s degree in film production when he took one class the year before. He said that on a typical Friday night he was trying a new restaurant with friends when really he was passed out on the coach after downing a six pack and a frozen pizza.
She went back to the profile right before leaving for the day. She thought about writing something back, but decided that that wasn’t the best plan. She drove home He had listed six things he couldn’t live without. He said that that he first wanted to say that he was not a very materialistic person.
“bullshit!” she to herself.
He said he couldn’t live without The Subterranean Homesick Blues 45 that he had, his favorite plaid shirt, his harmonica, his copy of On the Road, his keys and his sanity.
“Bullshit” she screamed. ‘Except about the shirt. ‘He Never listened to that old record it hung on a wall, he got the harmonica from his mom at Christmas one year, he skimmed On the Road, he was always forgetting his keys and he certainly wasn’t sane.
“You’re the most materialistic person I ever met,” she screamed.
She got home and drank a large glass of vodka, than another than another. She thought about calling him. She picked up the phone several times and then put it back down. She began to cry. She realized that he was a fat, balding fake with no talent and nothing interesting to say. She’d known it for months now.
She wondered when he had stopped thinking she was worthy of being lied to. Did he think he could stop because he thought she belonged to him or because he didn’t thing she was worth impressing anymore? She wondered if he was even home. She hated cell phones, they made it too easy to lie. She drank more of the vodka, soon she was sweating a strong smelling sweat. She took a shower trying not to look at her rejected body.
She got on the computer and looked at the profile again. It said he had been on early that morning. He must have gotten on right after she left his place. She wondered if he was out with someone right now, or worse if he was staying in with them.
She dialed his number but did not hit send. She wanted to plan what she would say. She would tell him how full of utter garbage he was, she would point out every lie on the profile and tell him how she knew everything about him.
She looked at the phone and at the profile.
She knew EVERYTHING about him.
She put down the phone picked up her lap top and began to take an educated guess at his password.