Audio: A Short Story

Part 1

Somersault was a natural matchmaker. When he was a child, Somersault arranged each of his grade school friends into cute little couplets. Most of these childhood sweethearts would grow old together. He had a mystical ability to find one’s soul mate, or at least someone they could get along with. He was famous for it in his hometown. Desperate, thirty-five year old women, hysterical at the thought of dying alone, would seek him out after he left school and ask him for advice. Together, they would make their way to the town square where little Somersault would sit on a bench and people watch. The longing women would try and follow his gaze in desire. With no warning, he would snap his head up, pointing at a male pedestrian. “That’s the one”, Somersault would say. And, sure enough, it was the one.

Somersault had easily attained a job, after earning his degree in public relations from the state college, at a nationwide online dating site, www.entwiningsouls4life.net (“.com” was taken by a website for string enthusiasts), after he helped the CEO discover his future wife. Somersault was president of the customer service department. He would call customers to ask how their experience was going with the dating service. Customers would also call in and describe how their dates went with the matches the website had paired them with. He would write down their comments in a database for an unknown grunt to transform into numbers and subsequently enter into an algorithm in an effort to improve its love finding abilities. If they had a good experience, he wished them luck; if bad, he would review their profile and find someone whom they might like. Somersault had a 95% success rate compared to the algorithm’s measly 37.48264905%.

He enjoyed his job; he got satisfaction from it. However, he was somewhat dissatisfied with his social life. During his breaks at work he would make small talk with his coworkers. Most of them had children, some of them went to school, others were like him and didn’t do too much of anything. He liked them well enough. Somersault was never involved in office drama, and maintained good relations with the whole of the tribe. A few of his coworkers became his acquaintances over the years; the occasional beer together at the local bar was the right amount of contact for both parties involved.

Somersault, well into his thirties (he was secretive about his age), had not yet found his own match. Some said it was because no woman, or man for that matter, deserved him. Others said he was too picky. Somersault had been with a few women in his life. He was as good looking as any woman could ask for, amiable, and supportive. However, all of his relationships ended in unfortunate circumstances. One relationship ended when the woman discovered she was highly allergic to the only detergent that Somersault wasn’t allergic to. They discussed the matter in the hospital and Somersault said his goodbyes. He was single again after another relationship prematurely ended when the woman won the lottery and moved to the French Riviera. She left Somersault with a collection of Clint Eastwood films and a tool set as parting gifts. Another relationship ended when the woman lost her cat, Opuss, her “little masterpiece”. She was so distressed over Opuss’s disappearance that she ripped out half of her hair, began eating large amounts of paper and was entered into a mental hospital. Somersault never heard from her again.

After work one Friday, Somersault received a voice mail from a woman with whom he had had one of his more serious college relationships. Her name was Rebecca. They had never consummated the fling, she was religious. Somersault never pressured women into anything, he was a firm believer in Time’s wisdom. He had really liked Rebecca in college, but she was two years older than he was and was sucked into the real world immediately after she stepped off the graduation stage. Her voice mail informed Somersault that she was in town on a business trip and wanted to catch up with him over drinks. “Perhaps my luck is changing!”, he thought. After deciding that he would quite enjoy her company, at the very least just to catch up, he accepted her invitation for drinks.

He spent that afternoon picking out his most complimenting outfit. He shaved his face, sprayed cologne, brushed his teeth at least four times, and brought two condoms, just in case she forgot to bring her religion. Somersault picked her up from the hotel she was staying in that night. On the way to the bar she revealed she had just filed for divorce; her husband cheated on her with one of their neighbors. She became roaring drunk at the bar thanks to seven consecutive tequila shots. She offered to ride home with Somersault. Somersault accepted, anxiously. Upon arrival at Somersault’s apartment Rebecca removed all clothing from her body with surprising agility.

“So, you ready?” Rebecca asked in a manner similar to the way in which a lunch lady might slop a scoop of spinach on a student’s tray.

Somersault asked for two minutes. She begrudgingly consented. He dashed to the bathroom; He checked to make sure there was nothing in his teeth and prepared himself mentally for the task ahead. After exactly one and a half minutes, Somersault walked out of the bathroom to find Rebecca asleep on the couch, still naked, limbs sprawled out in every direction. He tried to wake her up. There was no use. Rebecca was a petite woman so he was able to carry her to his bed. He tucked her in, folded her clothes, and turned off her phone’s alarm. He slept on the couch.

The next morning Somersault woke up before Rebecca and made breakfast: waffles with pecans. Once breakfast was ready, he went to wake up his guest. He shook her gently. Her eyelids fluttered for a serene second and then snapped open. Her mouth followed suit.

“What happened?! Where are my clothes?! Get out! Get out! Now!” she yelled at Somersault.

He retreated back to the kitchen to take cover behind the counter. Rebecca stormed out of the bedroom not two minutes later with her hair awry and skirt on backwards. “I knew this was a mistake, you can’t trust anyone!” she glared. Before Somersault could explain what happened, she slammed the door shut behind her.

Part 2

Somersault had never been treated so unjustly; he had no idea how to handle the situation. Most people respected him or were, at the very least, polite to him. In fact, he had never once been in an argument. Rejection had been a wholly foreign concept to him up until the moment that Rebecca slammed the door shut.

After the meeting with Rebecca, Somersault fell into a bit of a slump. It was impossible to tell anyone about the way he felt. Any time he tried to open up to someone they either ignored him and found some way of slipping his matchmaking abilities into the conversation in an effort to solve their own problems, or questioned why a man with his natural abilities could be sad at all. He was in the business of love for god’s sake! But, much like sake, whether it be God’s or not, love can burn.

Somersault ceased to make small talk with his coworkers. He would make up any excuse he could think of to deny their invitations for drinks; he found the process pointless and boring. He no longer daydreamed of his yet-to-be wife. The thought of finding someone he could love and trust for the rest of his life seemed absurd. All Somersault thought of now was going home and sleeping after a few beers and Letterman.

He found it hard to trust anyone now. Anytime advice or help was offered he forced himself to doubt it, questioning it’s every motive. His guard was up and Somersault felt trapped by his own devices. He longed for interaction, communication of some sort. But, whenever it made itself present, he shut down completely. He tried picking up new hobbies every weekend to distract himself: leatherwork, writing, guitar, cooking, fishing, tennis, ships in bottles, and many others. Yet, none of these hobbies provided relief from the loneliness he felt. He wasn’t able to go to a party and get drunk enough to where it seemed like everyone was a sensational conversationalist; he was much too old for that. Besides, he had no way of receiving an invitation to any party at all.

Somersault decided to try going to church. He picked the most popular church in town: Fundamental Union for Christian Kin. The pastor would speak of fellowship, good-will toward all men, and community. After service, Somersault would walk around the auditorium looking at all the happy families and friends, chit-chatting and laughing. They were all well dressed, had a coffee in one hand and the Holy Bible in the other. They all seemed content with life. Yet, Somersault had never felt so lonely in his life. He was in the same building they were, why wasn’t he content? Somersault left the church jealous.

Months went by without any sort of legitimate social interaction. Somersault had lost all hope for recovery at this point. He began to accept his fate as an old, crotchety, lonely man, who watched reruns of Law and Order all day, every day. “I think I’ll go buy a ‘God Bless America’ hat, just to play the role. And maybe I should take up smoking? No! Chewing tobacco. Perfect. I wonder how much a shotgun costs? No, I don’t want to be seen as violent. Where can I buy a pair of those Velcro shoes all of the seniors have?” he thought.

Somersault began to slack at work. His ‘successful date’ percentage dropped down to 90%, the lowest it had ever been. All of the smiles, hugs, kisses, and dates that he saw on profile pictures and heard about through phone calls upset him. He prayed to whatever god was out there that no one answered his phone calls so that he didn’t have to hear another fairy-tale love story. The only part of Somersault’s work that he looked forward to, the thing that made his day bearable, was hearing the voice mail operator speak to him on the phone. Her voice gave him a peaceful calm, no longer troubled by the possibility of hearing yet another love story. He wished and begged for that voice to come on every time he made a phone call. Over the years he had become used to her to a point where he practically ignored her existence. But, now, Somersault was beginning to genuinely appreciate her constant flow of useful information (“The person you’re calling has a voice mailbox that has not been set up yet”), her queues (“Please leave your message after the tone *tone*”), and her sympathy (“I’m sorry, the number you’ve dialed has been disconnected”). Somersault developed a Pavlovian response to her voice. Whenever he heard that strong, certain, womanly voice, a small amount of dopamine was released into his brain and spread throughout his body. It was relief, it was joy, it was — love. This relationship blossomed with every phone call; the pupils in Somersault’s eyes would dilate with every disconnected phone line and he would smile every time someone’s voice mailbox was full. He would sometimes call random numbers from his personal phone at unreasonable times of the day, usually between 2–3 AM, when he knew no one would pick up, just so he could hear her voice. Somersault would dream about the voice at night. “Please hang up and try again” the voice would whisper in his dreams, triggering a response that added ‘Wash Sheets’ to Somersault’s to-do list.

Somersault viewed this as the healthiest of office relationships because it made work much more enjoyable, even more so than before the incident with Rebecca. He worked overtime whenever possible in order to spend more time with the voice. He built up a considerable savings fund due to his affair with the voice mail operator.

One day, Somersault decided to name the luscious voice mail operator. He didn’t know who the actual operator was, and the Google search for her revealed nothing. He spent a lot of time deciding on a good name for the operator. He went through countless names: Angelina, Jennifer, Halle, Scarlet, Zoe, Audrey. But, none of them seemed to fit. She was refined, unwavering in all her actions. She wasn’t fragile or fickle like the women he knew. He spent weeks looking for the perfect name before he settled on — Marie. That had to be her name, nothing else would fit. Strong and sexy, with a certain joie de vivre to it; the first syllable almost muted before the second is left to expand, with childlike joy, throughout the universe.

Every morning Somersault greeted Marie with cordiality. To better understand the dynamic relationship between Somersault and Marie, here is a sample of a conversation they had during the fourth week of their relationship (all conversations were recorded and documented through the phone system of Somersault’s work; there is no reason to doubt its validity):

Somersault: “Hello, Marie. How are you this lovely morning?”

Marie: “The number you have dialed has been changed, disconnected, or is no longer in service. Please check the number and try again.”

Somersault: “Thank you, Marie. I appreciate that. Did you have a nice weekend?”

Marie: “Please, leave your message after the tone.”

Somersault: “Right. Back to work! You are so determined with your work, Marie. I like that in a woman. It motivates me. I really wish we could meet sometime, Marie. I do enjoy your company.”

Marie: “I’m sorry. This phone is not accepting calls at the moment. Please call again later.”

Somersault: “Ah, I see. Later is better for me anyway. My schedule is quite full for the foreseeable future. Yes, definitely later.”

Conversations similar to this one went on for weeks. The clever Somersault picked up on the seemingly non-existent hints dropped by the cautious, secretive, hard-to-get Marie. Occasionally they were interrupted by people who answered Somersault’s call or called in themselves, but Somersault found a way to end the call quickly and get back to discovering everything he could about Marie. The more Somersault loved Marie the more he fell away from society. She was wrapped up in his thoughts, and he imagined he was wrapped up in hers too; how could he not be? This was love. Somersault knew he was going to have to work for his reward, but he knew, without doubt, that it would come. And, sure enough, one day it did.

Somersault was dreamily dialing one Tuesday night while working over-time. All of his co-workers were long gone. It was just him in the sterile white office room, but he didn’t notice. He was busy flirting with Marie.

“Marie, you have such an attractive voice. It sounds like you’ve seen the world and experienced so many things that most people could never dream of. It reminds me of a wise mage, but mixed with a sexy Hollywood starlet. There are so many layers to your voice. It’s simply magnificent, Marie. I wish I could listen to it constantly. It doesn’t matter what you say, I just want to hear those specific tones that make up your voice, together, speaking to me, forever. Then, I could be happy.” Somersault wooed.

He dialed a new number to hear Marie’s response.

“Hello?” Marie answered.

Somersault froze. He had never heard her say that, but it was undoubtedly her voice. He knew it better than anyone. It was definitely her voice. Somersault, however, couldn’t find his own.

“Heellllloooooo? Is anyone there? I’m about to hang up.” said Marie with more emotion than Somersault thought possible.

He couldn’t believe his ears. The voice had a fantastic effect on him. It erased everything he had in his brain, his muscles tensed, his heart was beating one million miles per hour. He could barely think, much less speak. He had to though; she was going to hang up if he didn’t. Seconds, eternities passed. Finally, Somersault gathered himself and found the owner’s name of the phone he was calling on his computer screen.

“Yes, yes, I’m here”, Somersault fumbled. “Is this… is this Marie Masking?”

Her name really was Marie.

Part 3

“Yeah, who’s calling?” Marie questioned in the same voice that Somersault had come to adore.

“My name — is Somersault. I’m calling with entwiningsouls4life.net,” he nervously replied.

“Somersault?” said Marie.

“Yes, that’s right,” Somersault confirmed. “I see you had a match with another profile, and that you went on a date with him. How did it go?”

“Little personal, huh?” Marie retaliated.

“Yes, I sincerely apologize,” groveled Somersault. “I’m just trying to see how well our algorithm for matchmaking is working, or if I could help you in your search.”

While Somersault was running down his list of required questions he was madly scanning her profile online. She looked wonderful. She had a nice face; round and soft. Her lips looked splendid, deliciously shaped, the bottom lip slightly plumper than the upper. Her nose looked like it pointed up slightly, however it didn’t detract from her beauty. Her almond shaped eyes stared at Somersault with tenderness and lust. Her brown hair draped to just below her shoulders, straight and merciful. Her beauty hit Somersault like a bullet train raging gracefully through lush German plains. He was done for. Somersault began sprinting through Marie’s pictures, devouring her ‘Bio’ page and soaking up all the information he could about her. He discovered she lived in the city of Green; only six hours away!

“Well, for your information, Ricky, or whatever the hell his name was, is a fuckin’ liar” volleyed Marie, shocking Somersault into attention with a violence he had never heard from cheri Marie.

“I’m sorry, could you, um, would you elaborate a little more?” poked Somersault.

“He lied about everything,” Marie rushed. “His height, weight, income, interests. You name it, that guy lied about it on his profile. You know, you guys should really have something that protects honest women like me from lying scum like that guy. Wastin my time.”

Somersault wasn’t used to this side of Marie. He didn’t realize she was so firm in her convictions. “I apologize ma’am. It doesn’t sound like the date went too well,” he sympathized.

“Got that right,” blurted Marie.

“Would you mind telling me what you’re looking for in a potential partner?” Somersault asked.

“I don’t know. I guess I got a few things,” Marie said, pondering. “Let’s see. Confident, caring, needs to be a leader, good with kids, he should like, not love, art, moderate to high income, well dressed, tall, cultured, athletic, not power hungry but knows when to assert himself, lives close to home, loves reading, can’t travel too much, loves the outdoors, likes to clean, can fix anything, likes poetry, handsome, loves to travel, brave, gentle, Christian, determined, knows a foreign language, have a dash of skepticism, experienced, wise, has seen the world, knows the finer things in life, not a couch potato, willing to spend all day watching movies with me, regular church goer, strong chin, a six-pack is preferable, proud of his heritage, willing to change for me, knows what I want, not jealous, willing to be my defender, good at …. well you know, intelligent, strong, caring, did I say that already? Maybe. Well, those are some pre-reqs. Oh, and of course, honest.”

Somersault took a deep breath “…..Oh. Okay. I will add that into the system for you,” he said, in an unnaturally pleasant tone.

“That would be great. Make sure you stress the honest part,” Marie piped.

“I’ll be sure to, Ms. Masking. Have a great day,” he said with every ounce of care and longing he had in him.

“Yup, bye,” she said, a little confused.

Somersault went into a panic. He had the keys to success right in front of him. This was his chance to win the love of his life. He packed up his belongings as quickly as he could and rushed out of the office. Once home he sprinted to his laptop. He went to ‘www.entwiningsouls4life.net’ and began creating a profile. He changed his name to Miles Holdon. It sounded strong enough. He found the best picture he had of himself on his hard drive. It was taken at a dinner he had had with his family over eight years ago. He had put on some weight and lost some hair since that picture, but it was close enough. In the physical attributes section of the sign-up form, he shaved off some weight and years and he added three inches to his height. He described his body type as athletic, when it was average at best. He changed his hometown to Green. He described himself as everything Marie had asked for. His profile was perfect (for Marie at least). Dream-hunk alter-ego completed, he hunted down Marie’s profile and sent her a message.

It read: “Hi Marie, My name is Miles Holdon. I just ran across your profile and I think we would really get along! I’d love to have dinner with you sometime. Let me know what you think. Sincerely, Miles”

He debated for two hours whether or not the punctuation and grammar of his invitation to the beginning of a life filled with unimaginable love was correct. He fished out his high school English book to double check the accuracy of every comma and clause. When he was confident that not even Shakespeare could find fault with his message, he hovered the mouse over the ‘Send’ button, did a quick Hail Mary, and clicked.

He paced about his house for thirty minutes, waiting on a response, before he decided to take a warm shower to try to calm down and go to sleep. When he got in bed he realized any attempt at calming his nerves was futile. He was too excited. It was Marie! It was actually her! And he had a chance to meet her and make something marvelous happen. “Sure,” he thought “I used a fake name and altered a few details about myself. However, I’m willing to change my identity for her. It shouldn’t be too hard. People do it every day. Besides, once our love for each other kicks in nothing else will matter.” He tossed around in bed until 4:30 A.M. before he finally fell asleep. He dreamt of himself and Marie, falling, together, from a lighted tower. The world around them looked blurry brown except for the tower located directly behind them. It was yellow with muted light, powerful, and perfectly rectangular. He looked at Marie to see how she was handling the situation, but her hair was covering her face, blocking his view with its anti-gravitational force. He couldn’t decide if he enjoyed the dream or if he was terrified by it. He woke up at 12:07 P.M. “Shit! Work!” his mind screamed. “Shit! Marie!” his mind screamed louder. He dashed to his computer while buttoning up his work shirt. His screen read ‘One New Message’. “Praise God!” Somersault shouted at the top of his voice.

The message read: “Hey Miles! You’re definitely right! I think we do have a chance together. I would love to meet for dinner. When and where were you thinking? Truly, Marie”

Somersault was sweating. He hadn’t planned this far in advance. He scoured the internet as quickly as he could, forgetting all about work, looking for an appropriate restaurant in the city of Green. BBQ? No, too messy. Italian? Too cliché. Burgers? Not fancy enough. Sushi! Perfect. Somersault hated sushi, but Marie wanted someone cultured and he figured that would fit the bill well enough. He looked up a sushi bar in the city of Green and sure enough there was one. The name of the bar was Sushuzushuzishii; it rated at four and a half stars and three out of four dollar signs. “Aha! Killing two birds with one stone,” he thought.

He replied: “Marie, I’m a bit of a sushi fan myself. Have you ever had Sushuzushuzishii before? It’s fantastic. We could go tomorrow, around 8, if you’re available? Sincerely and Truly Yours, Miles”

Somersault remembered that his job was still a necessary component to his life (for the time being) and went for his phone. “Thirteen missed calls from work; small price to pay for happiness,” thought Somersault. He called in and let the vice-president of his branch know that he was sick with a stomach flu, but that he would be out for the rest of the week. As he was informing the VP about his future absences,Somersault heard his computer make the familiar “You’ve Got Mail” jingle. “Ok, bye now,” Somersault said and abruptly hung up.

Marie had responded: “Miles, No, I haven’t! Looks exciting though, Mr. Cultured. However, it’s short notice don’t you think? Lucky for you my plans tomorrow were cancelled, so 8 will work! Faithfully and generously yours until further notice, Marie”

Somersault could barely contain his excitement. It was really happening. This was his chance to turn his luck around. The two of them worked out all of the details over a few more emails. It was agreed that Somersault would pick her up the next day and drive her to dinner.

Somersault spent that day shopping for new clothes and working out his new persona for the date the next day. He did about seventeen push-ups and signed up for an REI membership online. He found two pencils and practiced using chopsticks. He studied Renaissance art and read the first chapter of Genesis. In short, he became an off-brand, substandard, surface level, pseudo Miles Holdon; he was ready for the most important date of his life.

Part 4

Before he knew it, Somersault was in front of Marie’s house about to ring the door bell. He checked his breath and armpits and rang the door bell. He heard “One minute!” in that familiar voice and almost melted. He heard the knob twist and the door opened in slow-motion.

He took a step back. Marie did too. She was nothing like her profile picture. She was much shorter, and far stockier. She had frizzy hair. Her face was nice enough but it wasn’t the face from the profile picture, and she must’ve been at least seven years older than she had said.

“You ready?” was all Somersault could get out.

“Yeah” she replied in her familiar voice.

The car ride to the restaurant was silent.

After the painfully noiseless ride, they finally got to the restaurant and told the hostess they wanted a booth for two. Once they were seated, Somersault attempted to start a conversation with Marie.

“So… I saw you like the outdoors?” he said.

“Yeah, I guess. It’s alright. I don’t really get much time to go out though with work and everything. I saw you like to work out?” Marie said as she opened her menu.

“Yeah, but my gym membership just ran out. It’s a pain, you know, can’t miss a day!” Somersault feigned.

“Right,” Marie said.

Their waitress arrived. They both ordered waters. Marie’s with lemon. Nothing was said as they reviewed the menu. Somersault had no idea what to get. When the waitress returned and it was time to order, Somersault picked the only thing he recognized: tuna. Marie ordered the kid’s chicken strips.

With the waitress gone, Somersault felt a little more comfortable delving into the subject that landed him in his current predicament.

“This might sound weird, but I think I’ve heard you from something or somewhere. Your voice seems really familiar.”

“Oh. Yeah. Voicemail operator, right?” Marie said nonchalantly.

“Oh my god! That’s it!” Somersault said, confirming his prior beliefs.

“Yeah, in college I did a bunch of recordings for a telephone company,” Marie said, playing with the straw in her glass of water. “I did all the voicemail operator commands. Turns out, other companies thought my voice worked well enough and bought the recordings from the company. Now, my voice is heard worldwide and no one knows who I am. Bastards gave me $30 bucks and a gift card to a diner for that job.”

“Wow, I bet people ask you about that all the time, what an interesting story!” Somersault said. He raised his eyebrows and opened his eyelids wide, hoping to give some life to the date.

“Eh, ya know, a few people notice. I hate talking about it though. It puts me in a foul mood.” Marie said

Somersault didn’t know how to direct the conversation after that. Their food soon arrived and Somersault was greeted with the reddest piece of flesh he had seen in his life.

“Excuse me, Ma’am. What is this?” He asked.

“It’s the tuna sashimi you ordered, sir,” the waitress responded cautiously. “I can get you something else if you would like?”

“Right, my apologies, there’s no need for that. It looks great,” Somersault said.

Somersault looked down at the slanted line of meat down in front of him. He reached for the chopsticks, paused, went for the fork instead. He gently stabbed the tiny brick of tuna and raised it to his mouth. He stared at it, and then saw Marie eyeing him behind the fish. He brought the entire piece into his mouth and began to chew. He almost had to spit it out immediately. This was something he hadn’t prepared for.

The meal continued in silence, at least that’s the way Somersault remembered it. Something might have been said but he was too busy battling the sashimi. Every bite triggered his gag reflex and it was all he could do to keep it down. He eventually won the battle against his food and it was time to go. The waitress brought the bill. Seventy-eight dollars total.

“Jesus Christ,” whispered Somersault.

“Everything alright?” Marie asked with a smirk.

He reluctantly added on a fifteen percent tip and they left. Another silent car ride and they found themselves back at Marie’s.

“Well,” Marie said as she was about to leave the car.

“Wait… Marie,” Somersault said longingly. He impulsively decided this was the last chance he had to win her over. Somersault went in for a kiss. His seat belt stopped him about six inches from Marie’s face. She recoiled in disgust.

“What the fuck? Do you really think the date went that well,” Marie asked, staring at Somersault in disbelief.

Somersault tried to find the words to explain his actions, but all he said was: “Well…. No, not really.”

“Why did you try and do that then?” Marie demanded.

“I don’t know… Social norms? Maybe?” Somersault said.

“Maybe if you hadn’t have lied about everything about you, I would feel more comfortable kissing you. Goodnight Miles,” Marie huffed as she slammed the passenger door shut.

Somersault was stunned. “That fuckin’ hypocrite!” he thought. He sped out of her driveway, tires screeching. Somersault began to think about the past few days’ events and about his affection for the voice mail operator’s voice. He took a mental step back and looked at everything that he had done since the meeting with Rebecca, and even before that. He started giggling. This giggle then turned into a chuckle. The chuckle into full blown laughter. He couldn’t control himself. Everything about his life seemed so absurd. All he could do was laugh. He pulled the car over to the side of the street because he could barely steer properly due to his hysterical laughter. “I’ve gone mad.” He thought calmly, still cackling uncontrollably. He had to get out of the car because the seat belt was making him claustrophobic and he was getting extremely hot in the car. In the middle of the street he continued laughing, louder than anyone thought humanly possible. He put his hands on the hood of his car and dangled his head between his arms to try and calm himself down. Lights began to turn on in houses and people began poking their heads through front doors. Some neighbors told him to shut up. Eventually the cops were called. They tried to calm Somersault down. He tried to explain but he couldn’t; he was laughing too hard. The cops decided Somersault was obviously on drugs. They arrested him for a DUI and took him to jail.

Still laughing, he was thrown in a holding cell to calm down for the night.

“Great, another crazy,” his cell mate said blandly. He was tall and lanky with long blonde-silver hair and horn rimmed glasses. He must’ve been at least fifty. He was clean shaven and had a few tattoos. One of the tattoos was on the inside of his forearm and looked like a double-thumbed fist holding a flower. Somersault suddenly stopped laughing.

“What is that?” Somersault asked.

“What is what?” the long haired man responded.

“Your tattoo,” said Somersault

“Don’t worry about it, man. Are you, ya know, mentally stable?”

“Yeah, just a bit of a laughing spell, I guess,” Somersault said.

“Good, I thought I was gonna have to deal with that shit all night. Can’t do it, man, can’t do it.”

There was a long period of silence. They sat side by side on the bottom bunk, elbows on knees, heads either faced to the ground or staring straight ahead.

“What are you in here for?” Somersault finally asked.

“Got caught with some Lucy, man,” the long haired man answered.

“What do you mean?”

“LSD. I took some before I went to my girlfriend’s parents house for dinner. That’s why I shaved, I used to have a beard. Her parents must have noticed my eyes or something. They called the pigs when I wasn’t paying attention. Let them in through the front door too. Who the fuck does that? And here I am trippin balls asking about the ingredients in the potato salad and next thing I know I got handcuffs on me. Fuckin pigs, man. Probably should have just told my girlfriend I couldn’t make it after I dropped that shit. But hey, shit happens.”

Somersault nodded his head in understanding. “Do you love her?”

“Who?”

“Your girlfriend.”

The long haired man smiled. “Of course I love her man. I try to love everyone. Except for these fucking pigs.” He spat on the floor.

“Everyone? Hasn’t anyone ever screwed you over or lied to you or anything?”

“Sure man. Happens all the time. Just gotta say fuck you and move on, ya know. Can’t let it get you down. Shit happens. Life’s too short to get caught up on it.”

“Yeah I guess,” Somersault said quietly.

“No, it is, man. There’s no guessing. We got 80 years on this fuckin’ sphere, ya know? Gotta make the most of it. Gotta make the most of it. Can’t let a few people distract you from the goal, man.”

“And whats that?” Somersault asked offhandedly.

“Love, brother. What else is there? Fuck the assholes that try and soil your love. They’re leeches man. Jealous. They can’t stand it when people love. You just gotta look at em and say ‘Fuck you, leech.’ And throw them back into their rotting lake of self loathing.”

Somersault was silent.

The long haired man patted Somersault on the shoulder. “Look, man. All I’m trying to say is that there are a lot of liars and assholes out there. But they just make finding the good guys that much better.”

“Huh, I actually kind of like that,” Somersault said, mildly surprised. “What was your name by the way?”

All of a sudden the long haired man’s face contorted in fear. He jumped off the bunk bed and pressed his back to the cell bars. “Whoa! How did you get here?! Who are you?!”

“I’ve been here for an hour. What are you talking about?” Somersault said utterly perplexed.

The long haired man relaxed and dropped his guard. “Oh, sorry. I might still be trippin’ a little.”

At that moment a guard came up to the cell.

“Mr. Somersault?” the guard asked with a stone face.

“That’s me.” Somersault raised his hand.

“You got one phone call. Make it count”.

Somersault had no one to call. Any remaining family lived too far away, and he didn’t have any friends that would be willing to bail him out. So, he decided to call the only person whose number he remembered and start making things right again in his life.

He called Rebecca. He had made a song about her number in order to remember it after he heard her voicemail asking him to dinner:

“Somersault’s Song to Remember Rebecca’s Phone Number”

(To the music of “Superstition” by Stevie Wonder)

Very super6tious

9ings down the hall

Very super6tious

Ladders bout 2 fall

1–3 month old baby

Broke the look1 glass

7 years of bad luck

The good 3ngs in your past

When you believe in things, that you don’t understand, then you suffer. Super6tion ain’t the way.

The guard told him to stop humming on the walk to the phone.

Somersault dialed the number, dancing a little. After several rings Rebecca answered. “Hello? Tom? Is that you? Did you get fucking arrested again? You son of a bitch, I’m not bailing you out this time.”

“Rebecca, this is Somersault.”

“Oh. What? Somersault? Why are you calling me collect? Why are you calling me at all?”

“Well, you know it’s been a few months since we met,” Somersault said.

“Yeah, I do, asshole,” Rebecca barked. “When you took advantage of me? I remember that.”

“Rebecca, we were both so drunk. It was just one of those things,” Somersault said as convincingly as he could. “But, I’ve been meaning to tell you something for a while.”

“What, that you’re sorry? Well I don’t accept. Men like you should be taken out in the street and caned for their depravity.”

“I want to apologize for something, but not that, Rebecca.”

“One minute!” yelled the guard.

“Rebecca, I have syphilis” Somersault said

“Syphilis! Syphilis?! WHAT THE FUCK?!” Rebecca screamed into the phone.

“I’m so sorry, I should have told you sooner.”

“So, let me get this straight. You’re telling me I have fucking syphilis right now? At one o’clock in the morning? On a collect call from God knows where?”

“No, no, not that you have it. Just that there’s a very good chance that you do have it.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ. Jesus fucking Christ.”

“You might want to tell any of your previous or current partners, Rebecca. And, I’m sorry but I have to go now.”

“Go? You have to go?! Are you fucking kidding me?! Just like…”

Somersault had already hung up the phone. “Fuck you, leech,” he said quietly with a smile. He was returned to his cell. The long haired man was asleep on the cot. Somersault took a seat on the toilet and waited. A few hours later the guard came and led him to his belongings and he was set free; there were no charges due to a complete lack of evidence.Somersault eventually managed to get his car out from the impound lot and headed home.

When he got home he immediately fell onto his bed and passed out. He woke up thirteen hours later. It was Sunday afternoon. He called the CEO of his company and explained that he could no longer come to work due to an office relationship, it wasn’t professional and it was making his work suffer. It wasn’t fair to the company.

For the next few weeks Somersault devised a business plan to set up his own office as a dating consultant. He used his savings from all the overtime he had worked for start up costs. Within three months business was rolling. He became a nationally recognized dating consultant and had clients all over the country.

He worked at his company until his death at the age of eighty. Somersault never found his soul mate, but he had found everyone else’s and he figured that was better than most people could say for themselves. He died in his sleep, happily and alone, lying in his bed, tucked into his sheets, with his telephone on his night stand next to him.