Missed Connection

It was December 1986. There were no cell phones. There was no email. There was no social media. We still had landlines. Voicemail was still not a thing. It was still physical answering machines connected to the landline phone. Calling in to listen to your messages was also still in its infancy. You had to have a real expensive answering machine to have that feature. You had to wait until you got home from work, from shopping, from wherever to listen to your telephone messages.

My best friend, Ellen, asked me if I wanted to go to a singles holiday party sponsored by a popular gym in the River North neighborhood of Chicago. A few of her coworkers were planning to attend. I didn't really like going to these types of parties where you didn't know anyone and it was a "meat market" but I thought it would be good for me to get out of my anti-social rut so I agreed to go. I wasn't really "looking" but I thought maybe, you just never know. When you least expect it is what they say, right? That's when you're most likely to meet someone. Really? Hmm. Okay, maybe. Maybe not. My expectations were very low. I was 26 years old, not too confident, and in a funk. I wasn't expecting to meet anyone. But I kind of was. No, not really. I had a poor attitude, yet I was hopeful. I was a young cynic, yet I was a dreamer. I was a living paradox!

We arrived at the party about forty-five minutes into it and the place was packed. Ellen's coworkers were already there and, immediately, they began talking shop. Their topics of conversation were foreign to me. Bored, I excused myself to get a drink and, as a courtesy, asked if I could get anyone a drink as well. I didn't expect that my offer would be taken seriously. I was wrong. Ellen asked for a glass of Merlot and one of her coworkers asked for a whiskey sour. Really? Okay.

After ordering the drinks, I was trying to figure out how to carry them back to the table without spilling something. Then, I heard a voice behind me. "May I help you with that?" I turned around and there he was.

He looked just like Don Johnson in Miami Vice. Except that he wasn't. His name was Matt. We chatted and it turned out that a friend dragged him to the party and then disappeared. Matt and I had immediate chemistry. That this could be the one brand of chemistry. I hadn't felt that in so long, it was intoxicating.

Matt told me that he worked for a large management consulting firm. Or so he claimed. I was a dreamer, but also a young cynic, remember? Doubt was an essential item in my toolkit of life at that moment in time. But, oh, the chemistry. Our conversation was filled with smiles and laughter. It wasn't awkward like so many of the dates I'd been on the past couple of years.

Long story short, he asked for my number before he left the holiday party. I scribbled my first name and telephone number on a cocktail napkin, as was customary in 1986. The odds were 50/50 for him that my number was legitimate. When I got home, my answering machine was flashing indicating that I had messages. I excitedly went to my phone only to see that the receiver was off the hook. I pushed the button on the answering machine to listen to the messages.

Hello, Paula. This is Matt. From the party tonight? It was great meeting you tonight. I really enjoyed our chat. I'd love to continue talking. When you have a chance, I hope you'll return my call. My number is...BLEEP, BLEEP, BLEEP, BLEEP, BLEEP, BLEEP. That must've been when the receiver went off the hook.

You know, I really, really loved my cat, Romeo. He had been with me for five years. I adopted him from a no-kill shelter right after graduating from college. He was so cuddly and sweet. He didn't have that aloofness that cats are famous for. That night, as hard as it was, I really, really, really tried hard to remember how much I loved my cat.

Romeo meowed innocently.

Matt never called back.

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