Part 1 of 3
“. . . damn . . .” Ronald “Ron” Vermont stroked his nose and walked away from the unwelcome response to what he thought was a romantic overture.
Ron felt like he would never find anyone again. For the last year, he’d been facing closed doors when it came to finding someone to date. Now, it had become literal. What was wrong with him? Sure, he was no Brad Pitt, but he was neither over or underweight. He brushed his teeth and bathed regularly. He still had his hair and his car didn’t spew black smoke. WTF.
With the afternoon sun still shining, he decided to walk through the Commons to people watch if nothing else. As he strolled the winding path, his smartphone buzzed. “Sounds like the text tone,” he thought, so he looked down to see if maybe the dating app he had signed up for had generated interest. He looked to see who texted him.
“Crap!” Suddenly Ron had run into another person. Both dropped their smartphones simultaneously, and as both bent down to pick them up, they hit their heads together.
“I’m seeing stars now,” Ron said as he tried to adjust his vision to see who he butted heads with.
“I’m so sorry, I was looking down at my phone . . .” The woman then realized that he must have been too.
Ron noticed the cracked screen on his $600 iPhone, and heard cursing from the woman, who must also have experienced some damage.
“The hazards of not paying attention when walking in public, right?” The woman said, as she showed him the cracked screen on her device.
“This is the first time this has ever happened to me. I’m usually good at avoiding phone crashes. I just had a lot on my mind.” Ron apologized.
“The funny thing is I hate it when people text and walk at the same time. I got caught up with the message because I just got dumped.” She started crying.
Ron looked around, unsure what to do, but seeing that she was attractive even with mucus bubbling under her nose, he tried to comfort her. “Hey, listen, why don’t we get our screens fixed and go get a cup of coffee or tea. My friend had his screen busted and he told me where it can be fixed right. It’s not too far from here.”
“I don’t even know you. What if you’re a serial killer?” She started crying again.
Ron introduced himself and told her where he worked and lived. He even shared his distaste for horror movies and violent video games. “I couldn’t kill a spider even if you put it in front of me,” he concluded.
“We have almost the same names. My friends call me Ronnie, short for Veronica.” Ronnie’s crying subsided, replaced with hiccups. “I guess we can walk together to get our phones fixed. . . Thanks for assuring me you’re not a slasher.” They both laughed and started to walk toward the shop to get their repairs.
After they dropped off their phones, they walked to a coffee shop to wait. As each ordered tea, they found they had quite a lot in common. Ron found he liked her enough to worry about his secret. . .