Jonathan (fiction)

(The following fiction with a toe dipped in reality.)

Chapter 1: Psychiatrists Office
If you told me I’d meet the man I’d fall in love with, the man who’d take away my lifetime dream, in a psychiatrists office, I would’ve probably told you, “that sounds like me.”
And I did.
I’d seen him before, recognized the “FORGIVEN” tattoo that went from his elbow to his wrist. But this time there was only one chair separating us, and I took that as a sign.
We talked: stupid comments to pass the time. Comments on Maury, Wendy, etc. Whatever was on the big screen.
He had short, dark hair, which wasn’t flattering to his ears. His ears weren’t just big, but stuck out. A lot. The short hair also emphasized his nose. But it was his eyes, this amazing shade of blue that got me.
(Later he told me he’d noticed the hot pink thong I’d been wearing when I leaned forward, but nothing tops the fact that when I went out to buy winter boots, I bought not one, but two feminine pairs if boots, with the thought of wearing them out with him sometime.)
It was the 3rd of January, 2012. We were both waiting to see the new doctor, named Dr. Fields. )As in, fields of green.)
I was called in first. “What’s your name?”, I asked.
“John,” he replied. I tried to suppress a groan. I had a history with that name: John, Jonny, and any nickname related to “Johnathan”. My high school/college sweetie was a “John”. I’d dated his friend, Johnathan, who’d suggested I get a “J” tattooed on me. (So when I met a Johnathan/John/Johnny, I’d have their name tattooed on me. Ha. Ha.)
“I’m Kat, short for Kathryn,” I said, shaking his big, soft hand, as I left.
When I came out from the doctor, John wasn’t there.
Oh, well, I shrugged.
I left the doctors office and tried not to think about him.
The next day, as I was walking down Fulton Street in downtown Brooklyn, three guys approached me. I ducked out of their way, not noticing that the guy in the right pulled away, and turned to follow me.
“Hey!”, he called, “Kat!”
I never gave my real name to people. But this guy knew my real name, so I turned around.
It was John.
We sat on a bench and talked for a bit, and then I lied: I said I had to go.
So not true, but I liked him, really liked him, and I was supposed to be into women.
John asked for my phone number.
Usually, I’d say, “No.”
But something about him made me think I should be honest, and he got the real number.
He said he had no phone, but he’d call me soon.
I expected a few days. Maybe a week, if at all. But not that night.
“Hey, I was thinking about you. Are you free tomorrow?”
I didn’t have to think, “Sure. Meet me by the Dr’s office around ten,” I said.
We talked a bit then said we’d meet at ten.
I was hooked. And not in a good way.

Chapter 2: By The River
Coming soon


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