Spoiled Fish- Sade' Louis
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My phone catapulted from the edge of the flower-patterned couch and onto the fake wooden floor panels in my grandmother’s living room. “It’s real bamboo, Sade,” I could hear her convincing me. 50% of my prayer was hoping the screen didn’t crack and the other half hoped that someone matched with me on Tinder seeing that I was at my wits end. I walked to her Windex-clean screen door and imagined what she could possibly be doing now, careful not to let my nose touch. She left to go to Trinidad, her home, to vacay with her favorite son, my Uncle Wayne and house sitting had become my life for the first month of my summer. Remembering her rules to not be oblivious to the “no good neighbors”, I moved from the door and collapsed on the couch. I reached for my phone, squinting my eyes and hoping my prayer was answered.
The sun fell into the bottom of the sky and Tinder seemed to be staring me in the face. I glanced at the paused TV on House of Cards. I didn’t want to hear Frank Underwood be a narcissist anymore. The fact that it was summer ’15 and I hadn’t found a “toy” for the season was bothering me immensely, not to mention not enhancing this house sitting experience. The endless possibilities of activities I could be enjoying with someone else began to jounce about in my head.
“This can’t be life.”
I tapped on the Tinder square, pushing all my frustrations into the tiny screen. It had been almost a year since I had the app after a friend had given me the ridiculous idea to download it.
“I’m not really into online dating though.”
“Okay, but I have a movie date on Friday and he’s pretty cool. This will be our second”, Marcia said as she swiped to find her next culprit.
“How do you even use this shit?”
She hands me her phone spieling instructions. I swipe aimlessly with a twisted face.
Our relationship should be like Nintendo 64—classic, fun to spend hours with, and every issue easily fixed by blowing on it and then shoving it back in
“Oh, this is crazy as hell,” I said, snidely laughing at her desperateness to even download the bullshit. “I’m good.”
But I wasn’t good. I wanted to swipe right and fall in love and see fireworks in my eyes magically be taken out on a movie date of my dreams with some Tinder creep. I wanted to find and stuff a random in that gaping whole somewhere near my heart to make my self-esteem somewhat okay again. I had obviously fallen into the desperate, bullshit trap and was subconsciously okay with it. I never really took the time to read the profiles until a face caught my pretentious eye.
Transitioning from a long-term relationship
23 years old
5 miles away
Sees a rainbow or two girl emoji
I really couldn’t believe how much my breakup had made me low-life Tinder skeez. I was the girl that took pride in never dating online and purposefully catching every episode of Catfish just to laugh at the crazies and idiots in the world that believed in it. Loathing in my behavior, I continued swiping. Frank Underwood was yelling at me now and Tinder was a blur.
It’s a match!
The screen lit up with a dark silhouette and fancy lettering. My profile picture appeared beside my match like we were predestined to have a life together. I glanced at her photo and tried to recollect when I came across her profile.
Send a message or Keep playing
Because yes, this is a game and I am going to play Steve Harvey. Before I could even prepare myself to play, I already had a notification from my match.
How are you?
This was it. This was the beginning of my magical experience. I began my response with a nervous smile.
Good, how about you?
I’m pretty good, about to go to the club, but I’m not really up for it.
I glanced at the time to see if it was “club worthy”. “I’m not up for the club,” I predetermined.
Are you up to hang?
I looked at the blaring television in deep thought. Wrinkles formed in my forehead contemplating how wrong this Tinder excursion could go. I didn’t respond.
To be continued...