Fundamental Jelly

Linda and Tom met in the Lido Room at a local hotel while attending a $400.00 seminar extolling the virtues and antioxidantal wonders of  Açaí Berry Juice.  Both Linda and Tom had been divorced for about three years and both were a year or two north of fifty.  They were at that age when you weren’t old, but neither were you hip.  They were on Facebook and used The Google occasionally, but just didn’t understand the whole texting thing.  Both ached in places they couldn’t properly name and ate dinner earlier than they ever did before, but were too young to get a senior discount. 

Linda worked as a dispatcher for a regional trucking carrier.  She was good at her job and justly proud of her ability to ‘multi-task.’  She got along well with her co-workers, had what she considered was a good sense of humor, and thought chocolate donut holes were especially good. 

Linda was fond of using the phrase, “That’s a mute point.”  Her daughter, Emily, corrected her mother one day and told her the proper word was moot, to which Linda said, “No it’s not, its mute, it’s like there’s nothing left to say.”  Emily rolled her eyes, but thought that her mother’s explanation made some sense.

Gravity and adipose tissue had rounded out the edges of her beauty.  She tried her best to ignore her spider veins and the hot dog buns that had formed below her bra strap on her back.  Linda thought she was still someone who knew how to have fun, even though she vomited at a Jimmy Buffett concert two years ago at the MGM Grand in Las Vegas. 

Tom barely finished high school and didn’t care much for book learning, but he was quite mechanical and had managed to keep a steady job installing and maintaining elevators.  He didn’t like being told how to do anything and used the phrases, “Have a good one,” and “That’s Bullshit,” with great frequency.  The ball cap that he wore everyday had the number 3 on it.

Tom had a beer belly, wore his hair in a crew cut, sported a porn mustache, and had chronically dirty fingernails.  He loved sports and had opinions on nearly every subject and referred to all Asian cuisine as Chinese food.  Tom didn’t know who the Dayak were, never heard of Julius and Ethel Rosenberg, nor would he ever know that Sisyphus would know frustration forever.  He didn’t give shit about that stuff, but he did know a thing or two about hydraulics and counterweights. 

Despite his rough exterior, even Tom had to admit he missed the company of a woman.  Sex, to Tom,  was a physical and mechanical thing.  The sexual haiku of a female body was not something he thoughtfully considered.

After the seminar, Tom asked Linda out on a date and was pleased when she said yes without much hesitation.  He took her to Chili’s, which she found somewhat disappointing.  She tried not to be too critical of him, but was frankly grossed-out by his description of a co-worker who had contracted “Asian Clap”.  According to Tom, the disease had, “Kicked the ass of every antibiotic known to man.”  Tom followed-up this nugget with, “Did you know that all dolphins have syphilis?”  Linda was starting to wonder if this relationship was going anywhere, but she was lonesome. 

The next three dates went pretty well and their fifth date found them in the jacuzzi at Tom’s apartment getting somewhat drunk on White Merlot.  They ended up having sex on Tom’s futon.  As lovemaking went, their union was ungraceful and awkward, but it was something.  After several years of sexual drought, she had finally ‘been with a man’ and Tom had finally ‘got laid.’ 

Both knew this wasn’t a perfect relationship, but fuck it, they had tickets to see REO Speedwagon at a Reno casino in three weeks. 

Photos by Robert J