Edna, meet The Divine Den

He was the sexiest man Edna had seen in years. She instinctively pulled out her phone as he approached to walk past her, impersonating someone who regularly receives texts or calls (or any social media notifications for that matter), to remove herself from having to make eye contact with Lord of the Sexy.

Just as he was getting within personal-bubble distance, Edna’s shoe caught a lip in the sidewalk that lurched her forward, making her phone go catapulting onto the cement sidewalk before him.

He glanced up and gave her a kind of what-the-fuck look as he shuffled past her. She bent over to pick it up and heard a few seams on her ass cry for help.

She wished she could say that one day long ago she was an attractive woman but that would be a damn dirty lie; Edna had never been attractive. Now in her 40’s, she was reluctantly surpassing more-than-plump, with a too-big round nose and a ruddy complexion. While her bob with bangs was a low-maintenance hairstyle, the grey that had begun to feather through started to make her simulate an I-have-four-cats-but-what’s-a-few-more appearance.

If you hadn’t already assumed (although really you shouldn’t because it makes an ass out of you and me), she preferred to wear stiff, unflattering outfits accentuated by her ergonomically sharp and aesthetically hideous dark brown loafers. Sex in a jar, as they say.

She wasn’t one for social activities, or any sort of social interaction. She lived her life in solitary – a total and complete loner. She didn’t mind it, really. She would prefer to be alone than to deal with the anxieties or rejections of the public world. Growing up, she was accustomed to her mother’s constant reminder that she wasn’t anything special. She wasn’t enough, as her adoring mother so often put it. She didn’t care to do her hair, or attempt to coordinate even remotely cute outfits. With her mother’s sad imitation of a Stepford wife (albeit one with an extra thirty pounds and hair as red as a fire ant’s ass), they were wildly unalike.

“What boy is going to want to date you Edna? Leave your books behind and throw on some damn lipstick once in a while,” a memory Edna had of her mother’s eloquent advice.

At one point twenty years ago Edna had almost had a boyfriend, but then he started dating another girl all because of some innocent flatulence. No, really – one harmless toot had ruined her chance at a boyfriend. They had been watching a comedy when Edna laughed so hard she farted. Big whoop, right? Afterwards she never heard from him again. Broccoli subsequently became the bane of her existence.

She worked as a librarian, finding solace in the silence. Books were her friends; they were largely the only ones she had growing up. Edna had lost her index and middle finger on her left hand when she was three in a power saw accident. Why she was even near that vicious of a machine when she was a toddler is anyone’s guess. Probably the correct one would be her mother was too busy schmoozing over her younger, cuter brother and couldn’t give a rat’s ass about the fugly child.

For some reason, eternally unbeknownst to Edna, that deemed her a freak as a child. She was abnormal, different, so the kids in her class would always make fun of her. She was bestowed the honourary title of “Cootie Queen,” which as every child knows: cooties, the chronic ailment of elementary school, are far worse to have than even head lice. It’s a pretty fair conviction when you think about it, the only thing that can be worse than live bugs living and impregnating your hair and scalp is the imaginary and tangibly non-existent cootie virus. Cooties, defined as “an imaginary germ or disease that one can catch by touching a person who is disliked or socially avoided.” The more you know, right?

Around the corner from the library where she worked was a small spiritual-type bookstore called “The Divine Den.” She walked past it every day, always wanting to go in but never making the move. It was that Tuesday afternoon when she was walking past and saw a book on display that made her finally step in – “The Reflection of Rejection.”

Immediately upon entering she was accosted with a strong scent of incense – mixtures of peppermint, cinnamon, lavender, cow manure. Not literally the last one, of course, but the combination of the roughly sixty that were lit created a concoction that violated the senses.

The store was empty except for one lone, older man with long grey hair sitting on a mat: legs crossed, palms up, chakras aligned. The room was dead silent and adorned with pink salt lamps, candles and wacky art décor.

Edna almost instantly regretted entering, and as she turned to quietly remove herself her hand hit a metal vase that was surrounded by a variety of sister vases, creating an obnoxiously loud crash in the stunningly quiet room.

Her eyes widened with embarrassment as she turned back to look at the man, whose chakras were now in complete disarray and whose eyes were now on her.

“I’m so sorry, I just didn’t want to disturb you,” she grimaced.

He stood up and walked towards her, eyes unblinking with an unreadable expression.

This is it, she thought, this is how I die.

He approached so he was standing a foot away from her, looked her directly in the eyes, took her deformed hand and said, “This way.”

He led her to the same mat he was sitting on when she walked in.

“Please have a seat.” He motioned to the floor. “I’m Arlo, and you are…?”

“I’m Edna, nice to meet you,” she replied.

“What brings you in here today, Edna?” Arlo asked.

“I saw a book in your window that I thought looked interesting.”

“And which book would that be?”

“Something about rejection… I wanted to look at it,” Edna stopped. “For a friend,” she added.

Arlo smiled, a smile that told her he had seen right through her shitty façade.

“There is nothing wrong with self-discovery, self-acceptance, self-help. Surely you know that?”

Actually, she didn’t. She had been raised to believe that those who needed help were weak.

Just push through it and move on, don’t be a fucking baby, her mother would say to her when Edna was facing any sort of trepidation. Oh, what a peach she was.

“Do you know a lot about this sort of thing?” Edna asked.

“I should say so, my dear. It's what I feel is my purpose in life, my calling. I have people who come to my store to meet me with me, to discuss life and personal acceptance. It’s how I make my living, financially and spiritually.”

As they talked, Edna learned that many moons ago Arlo had worked as an investment banker for a successful global firm. Although hard to picture now, he wore expensive suits complemented by leather shoes and a Rolex. He earned six figures annually and could afford virtually whatever his wealthy little heart desired.

But alas, it seems it’s true what they say: money can’t buy happiness. While financially fulfilled, his soul and spirit felt vacant and void. After his wife left him, not allowing him to choose his career over her any longer, he decided to make a change. He swapped suits for ponchos and let his hair down (literally – it was halfway down his back). After conquering the hard time in his own life, he felt compelled to help others conquer theirs. Now thirty years later, his soul and spirit flourishes once again.

He certainly wasn’t what Edna would expect as a self-help mentor. She pictured someone immaculate and clean-cut like Tony Robbins, whereas Arlo exuded more of a Tommy Chong aura. But she guessed that’s why you’re told not to judge a book by its cover (not that anyone ever listens to that shit; everyone judges a book by its damn cover. We're only human, aren't we?).

“So what about you, Edna? What’s your story?” Arlo asked her.

Her eyes lowered as she started rubbing the soft burgundy mat they were perched on.

“I don’t really have much of a story, to be honest. I’m a librarian. I live in a small apartment with no animals and some dying plants. Don’t really have any friends, no kids, never married, and I’m not close with my family either. I’m a lone wolf I guess you could say. Abolished and rejected from the pack, that’s how it’s always been,” she said.

“But is that how you want it to be, Edna? Is that how you want to live? Or are you afraid?”

When Arlo asked if she was afraid, Edna quickly flashed back to a memory of the time her brother was teasing her, asking if she was too chicken to jump off the cliff into the water sixty feet below. Reluctantly, to prove she wasn’t pussy poultry, she acquiesced. She may have redeemed her cowardice, but once she hit that water her bathing suit bottoms went so far up her ass she was certain the nylon had dangerously infiltrated her anus.

“Afraid of what?” Edna asked.

“Afraid of inviting people into your life or putting yourself out there. Afraid of what someone might say or how he or she might make you feel, whether good or bad. The sense that I’m getting is that you’ve always lived your life quite remotely, and the longer that continues the harder it is to break that barrier and navigate towards any type of relationship. Social interaction or a relationship would be very healthy for you, it is for almost anyone.”

“Arlo, you’re really very kind, but I’m sorry I’m not interested.”

He frowned. A misguided attempt at humour. Yay Edna!

“I mean any sort of relationship, even a friendship. I understand that you’ve grown up with feelings of exclusion and rejection, you’re not the first and you won’t be the last. Ultimately, a person shouldn’t measure his or herself by how many friends they have or how popular they are. They should measure themselves by how they feel within. And I hate to break it to you, Edna, but the only person who has control of how you feel about yourself is you. You can point fingers and feel sorry for yourself all you want, but it’s not the universe’s problem to fix, it’s yours and yours alone.”

She wasn't sure whether it was the bluntness or the honesty in which he spoke, his preach had somehow somewhat resonated with her. It wasn’t that she necessarily hated being alone all the time, she had spent the last forty years this way – but could she stand another forty like this? After her romance-ending incident she did enjoy the gratification of passing gas in privacy, among other things.

“I appreciate what you’re saying, I really do. But I can’t imagine it’s as easy to fix as it sounds. Am I supposed to just go grip it and rip it on uglypeoplemeet.com?”

“No, Edna,” Arlo said. “That’s the opposite of what I’m saying you should do. If you release all hazards and go out guns blazing, at the first hint of even mild rejection you’ll close up again. You need to ease into a sociable atmosphere.

“In my opinion, you should start by gaining one acquaintance. Learn that the world isn’t filled with only assholes. As you become more comfortable with yourself and with opening up to someone, the big, bad world of friendship won’t seem so big and bad anymore. You don’t jump into the deep end when you want to learn how to swim. You make your way through the shallow end first, become comfortable and work up to it. The same can apply here.”

“I guess.”

She scanned the room, digesting his suggestions, then her eyes caught the antique clock on the wall. She hadn’t realized how much time had passed; she had been here for almost two hours now already.

She looked back to Arlo. “It’s getting late, I didn’t mean to keep you for so long.”

She stood up and stretched while Arlo followed suit.

“It was my pleasure speaking with you, Edna. Please, feel free to take a copy of the book you wanted… for your friend. On the house.”

For the first time during their entire conversation, she smiled.

“Maybe I’ll come back next week and check it out, then I have an excuse to stop in here again.”

Arlo reached out to put his hand on her shoulder.

“You don’t ever need any excuse to come by here. I’d be pleased to see you again.”

She left the store that day feeling lighter than she had in years (figuratively, obviously – her gut was still awfully existent to her under her shirt).

When she got home she realized that she hadn’t opened up to anyone that way in years, if ever even. And to a complete stranger, no less. It felt unusual to her, but it also felt satisfying in a foreign way.

Little did Edna know when she left the store that day, she had already gained a new friend.