Slings & Arrows

a modern day cupid

It's a mistake to assume I'm a chubby-cheeked cherub, floating around and shooting arrows at pedestrians. We tried that once, in 1456, and let me tell you: It was a terrible idea.

Instead, it's better to imagine me as more of a conceptual being, the way you think about a long-dead relative you never met.

Sure, your great-great-grandmother Helen existed, but you've never met her. She died in 1933, so barring some freak temporal accident, you never really could. Helen exists on the fringes, a distant part of a long-spun family history or as a vaguely familiar face in old photographs (you apparently have her eyes).

I'm like that. Ancient, distant, and significant.

Without Helen (and without me) you'd likely never be here.

I am, however, more of an abstract concept than a grandmother.

So, maybe I'm the reason a baggage clerk mixes up two bags at the airport. Or the reason that two hands meet while reaching for the same item at the store. Or, the reason your great-great-grandmother Helen's car broke down two miles out of town, right outside of your great-great grandfather's diner.

But. Enough about Helen, though. This is about you. Up late at the Starbucks near your studio apartment, staring at your phone and contemplating downloading Tindr again.

Of course, there is no judgement here. I have been around for too long to throw any stones, and I have seen just how hard these breakups can be. And I understand the unusual cruelty of him dumping you in the laundromat.

There are some who claim that courtship is dead, what with modern dating sites and changing societal expectations. To that, I say pah. Maybe you can no longer take someone to a jazz show at the Ritz, but just the same you can no longer kidnap a woman from the fiefdom next door and make her your wife. It would be disingenuous to say that things haven't changed, they're just different.

And, well, different isn't bad. It's just different.

Besides, I'm an adaptable sort. You've got to be, in my line of work. So I'm long past sending mail to the wrong address, or forcing young couples to stumble together at the sock-hop. Instead, it's accidentally knocking over someone's drink at a house party or making sure the right profile appears at the right time while you're idly swiping through a dating app.

Like you're considering doing right now.

Maybe I whisper just the right words for that first message into your ear, like a burst of inspiration.

Or, maybe, instead, you begin looking through your other apps for something to do. Anything but dating again.

That fear, I've seen that too.

You cannot hear me, but one day you will come to understand this: those who have loved before will certainly love again. But you're not there yet, not quite. Not with David's rejection still stinging in your blood.

So, what I'm doing is small. A little nudge in the right direction. What I'm doing is this: a small jolt when you're sending a snap of your latte to your friends, just enough of a twitch that the message accidentally sends not to any of your friends, but instead to her.

And, of course you remember her. Becca. How could you forget her? She sat in front of you in intro psych last year, and always offered you some snack from her bag with that small, sweet smile. You remember the thoughtful way she tucked her highlighter behind her ear, into that soft blonde hair, and the way she tapped her foot anxiously each time class ran late.

You remember the flush in your cheeks each time she looked you in the eye.

I was busy then, or maybe I would have done something. Or maybe I wouldn't have. Timing is a curious thing, after all.

Regardless, the timing is right now, and I see you swallow down the anxiety at the mix-up and I see how you smile when Becca responds - not negatively. Instead, with a polite Looks yummy!

This is it, that foot in the door. That nudge in the right direction. I can do no more, and no less. From here, it's up to you, but know this:

You have loved before, and you will love again.