The Dating Site

Benny and Abby first met on a dating site a month or so before his final run.

She started it.

He had been eastbound on I-94 in Montana going to Minneapolis with a load of lumber from a mill on the Oregon coast when his cell phone did that text ding thing, letting him know that somebody from the dating site had sent him a message. That always set his thoughts in motion imagining all the scenarios that might possibly be about to unfold. What was love like in your 70s? Could it be… finally… honest? Was it ever not?

He pulled his truck to a stop on the gravel shoulder of the next exit ramp. It was the northern plains, hardly a tree in sight in any direction to any horizon -- rolling grasslands dotted with black specks of grazing cattle far off in the distance near where Custer made his last stand.

He set his air brakes, sat back, pushed a couple quantum age buttons on his cell phone and read:

[ABBY] “Hello there. I like your profile.”

She added an emoji with a questioning expression on its yellow face, like, “Mmm. Wonder what this one’s like.”

With his right index finger, he pecked out a reply:

[BENNY] “On the road in Montana. Haven’t had a chance to read your profile, yet. Will I be impressed?”

Glancing at her profile waiting for her to reply he noticed her age.

He wasn’t into “younger” women.

They were the same age.

Same generation.

They could talk about the Mickey Mouse Club. He could ask her what Mouseketeer she had wanted to be? He’d told his mother once that he wanted to be Annette. “That’s nice,” his mother said without looking up from the stove, “but we won’t tell your father… it can be our own little secret.” His best friend in the neighborhood, a girl, a girl with red hair who threw like a boy, said she wanted to be one of the Hardy Boys solving mysteries. Her name was Mary. Benny often imagined how different his life might have been had Mary not been killed in a car accident in high school.

He took a deep breath and looked around.

Inside a great blue dome enclosing Montana.

He’d met other women his age on the dating site in recent years, mostly all of them looking for “that someone special” with whom to share their final golden years of femininity… sunset walks along a secluded beach, travel and a healthy, natural and perfectly balanced diet. Some wanted to ride motorcycles. Some liked going to casinos. Some wanted to get lost in the mountains. Most worked out regularly at the gym, or so they said on their profiles. Few turned out to be like their profiles. Benny figured that maybe they were just bad writers or didn’t know themselves.

Not that Benny was any guru of self-awareness. He’d never found the love that stays and always figured it must be his fault. He’d had a Dominican education. Everything was his fault.

Scrolling through her profile, he noticed that Abby (if that was her real name) lived in Denver, or, actually, in Denver’s easternmost suburban area -- Aurora, where Benny’s daughter lived and where he’d be settling until he decided on his next move into retirement.

She described her body as “athletic.” Her favorite song was Judy Garland singing “Over the Rainbow.” The face in her profile photo expressed confidence without makeup or pierced ears. The hair was a little reddish, but mostly white. The eyes were dark and deep set with a color that didn’t have a name. Looking at her looking at him from behind the iPhone screen, Benny got the feeling she knew what he was thinking. It freaked him out a little at first, but then his iPhone went ping again:

[ABBY] “Depends on what impresses you.”

[BENNY] “Did you see on my profile where it says I’m a trucker? But I’m getting ready to retire. Just a few more runs and that will be it.”

[ABBY] “Yes, I noticed that you’re a trucker, but that’s not what impressed me.”

[BENNY] “Maybe that I’m a writer? I think I mentioned that in my profile, too. I wrote the profile years ago and I can’t remember what’s in it.”

[ABBY] “Yes, I noticed that you’re a writer, too. But what impressed me was your answer to the question about your idea of a perfect first date.”

[BENNY] “What did I say?”

[ABBY] “You said that if I cooked, you’d do the dishes.”

[BENNY] “True.”

[ABBY] “And vice versa. And I liked your answer to the question about what interests you.”

[BENNY] “What did I say?”

[ABBY] “Everything.”

[BENNY] “That’s pretty true, too.”

[ABBY] “What do you write about?”

[BENNY] “Right now, I’m writing a book about economics. It has to be a novel with a love story and international intrigue, though, because nobody read a book about economics.”

[ABBY] “How’s it going?”

[BENNY] “Ok. I’ve been working on it for almost twenty years, since shortly after 9/11… just two big problems… I don’t understand economics and I don’t know how to write a book.”



[ABBY] “Sounds like a good start.”