Frank sat in
his black leather computer chair, elbows on desk, rocking back and forth
nervously. He stared reluctantly into
the monitor at the login screen as if it were passing judgment upon him. Franklin Delano Rodriguez hadn’t had a
girlfriend since he first started to notice hair appearing in unfamiliar
places. He would be receiving a break on
car insurance after his twenty-fifth birthday the following week.
What’s in a user name? Frank thought to himself. He began to reminisce on old nicknames from high school and earlier. Names like Rodrigo and FDR ran through his mind. Frank chuckled nervously at the nostalgic thoughts, pausing with the cup of hour old coffee on his bottom lip.
Frank began typing characters into the username textbox. He moved the cursor into the password box with the tab key before quickly clicking back into the username box and hitting backspace. Frank settled for one of his favorite movie characters, Frank-the-Tank, but later eliminated the hyphens due to the alphanumeric limitations set by adultfriendfinder.com.
Frank was now faced with important decisions.
“About me?” Frank said aloud. He thought hard at this screen. Would he enter information that really described him, or just some mutation that described what he aspired to be?
When Frank was eleven his father had told him that honesty was the best policy. This, coming from a man who beat his wife for the better half of his marriage and smiled politely with her on his arm in public, didn’t make too much sense to Frank. His resentment toward his father had grown exponentially over the years following the divorce. It was instilled in Frank’s head that he had learned how to treat women by emulating his father’s social behaviors toward them.
Frank, not knowing how his potential Internet counterparts would receive him, chose the latter. He let his imagination do the typing and was now, officially, a lawyer for the IRS who volunteered part-time for the local fire department.
“Smart and tough,” Frank exclaimed.
Although Frank’s current position as manager at the local bowling alley didn’t offer him much knowledge for law terms, or a body of such physical stature, he was content. He did, after all, pass accounting II after his second attempt at obtaining his Associate degree from the University of Phoenix online.
Frank continued as he described his physical attributes. The five-foot-two, hundred-and-eighty pound twenty-four year old, with a receding hair line in its early stages, selected: 5’8, 155 lbs, athletic build, brown hair, brown eyes, from the coordinating drop-down menus. With nervous chills inching down his body he illustrated his nonexistent tattoos to the best of his ability—using descriptors such as tribal band, skull, and flames in his narrations. Frank had no piercings.
While in high school, Frank’s father made it very clear one evening that piercings were for women and that he was raising a man, not a woman. When his mother wasn’t around and his father needed to let some aggression out, Frank became the number one target. His father was in the recliner that August evening, smoking a Camel non-filter and chasing them with Miller Genuine Draft.
“Hey Dad?” Frank spoke hesitantly. The room remained silent, not unlike any other time he approached his father with a question. “Dustin and some of the guys from school are going camping this weekend. Do you mind if I go as long as I do my chores beforehand?”
“Dustin Schmidt?” His father asked with a smirk. “That boy and those earrings? What, is he going to get you kids out there and slip you roofies and his ole man’s gin?”
“No! We are going to canoe down the river and camp,” Frank said confidently.
“Well I don’t like the idea of it, and it’s supposed to rain Thursday. I think you should stay home and do the lawn Saturday morning,” his father replied.
It was always very self-satisfying when Frank’s father could hold his rule over his son and wife’s heads. It had, consequentially, made a negative impact on Frank’s mental and emotional state. Nevertheless, with the inevitable beating she would receive on her mind, Frank’s mother allowed him to go on the trip.
It wasn’t until Frank got home that he realized the consequences that a normal life in the Rodriguez household could hold. That Friday night, while Frank was sitting around a campfire drinking forties of Pabst and smoking the pack of Camel non-filters he stole from his father’s carton, his mother was put into a corner and called a whore as blood and spit ran down her cheeks. She was backhanded so many times that her right eye was swollen shut for a week after. An imprint of his wedding band outlasted the scrapes and bruising. When he had finally gotten his fill of physical punishment, Frank’s father took his wife outside and started the lawn mower. When he asked the officer who called the police, they responded by saying they had received several noise complaints from the mower running so late at night. Frank went to stay with his aunt and uncle for a while. He is yet to sleep another night in the same house as his father.
Frank continued with the registration process, although he felt increasingly uneasy. He would soon be faced with the option to upload a photo of himself. He playfully clicked the check boxes corresponding to his sexual desires: man seeking a woman, man seeking a couple (two women), interested in a discrete relationship, Erotic chat/email/phone fantasies, and fun.
He stared at the monitor in a trance-like daze, trying to contemplate a photo to upload. Knowing he would post one for the sake of getting responses, Frank started to wonder off inside of his head.
Besides the local high school’s co-ed league, about ninety-nine percent of Frank’s clientele consisted of middle aged, working class people. Desperate for another drink and praying helplessly for their 50-50 ticket numbers to be read over the intercom, most of the patrons lacked an inviting personality even more than they lacked anything worth looking at. Not that Frank would feel comfortable talking to a woman face-to-face if they did. While he was at work, Frank did his job the best an awkward twenty-four year old could be expected to.
Taking a break, Frank headed into the kitchen to make lunch. Through the years and shitty apartments, Frank had come up with enough ways to make ramen noodles to open a restaurant. Adding everything from bacon bits and eggs to saltine crackers and Caesar dressing, Frank had quite a variety in his repertoire.
In between bites, Frank fingered through his mail. Underneath the late notices, coupons, and advertisements, he finally got to a letter from his mother. A birthday card from, Frank thought to himself. It was one of three cards he received each year, the other two being a Christmas and Valentines Day card—also from his mother. This year, however, it seemed as though Frank would be getting four cards.
Inside the envelope was an invitation to a wedding party. Frank’s mother had been seeing John for just over a year. He helped her get back on her feet after the divorce, and helped her find an apartment and gave her some legal advice. They remained friends over the next two years before going public with their relationship. It had now appeared that they had eloped last weekend.
Frank’s first reaction was a confused one, followed by a slight disappointment. These emotions lasted only seconds, as Frank was genuinely happy for his mother’s good fortunes. He rinsed his bowl in the sink and set it aside. Grabbing the letter, he walked back over to his computer to put the date in his calendar.
All distractions aside, Frank was back to the issue at-hand: finding a mate. Frank wondered, why can’t humans mate like animals? Do they even have relationships? What are those crabs that march up to shore once a year and just go to town with the first potential mate they see? Frank had now successfully embarrassed himself in front of…
The phone began to ring, and Frank scurried over to it charging on the counter. The LCD screen read “dad,” a number it hadn’t read since being changed from “mom and dad.” Frank knew the reason for the call—he walked over and sat back down in his black leather computer chair. As he closed the browser window, he answered, “Hello?” He spoke eagerly.
|||||
Next time on The Hindsight Bridge:
Benjamin Champagne closes out the Summer Season with “Capitalists vs. Indians,”
from a larger piece, Security
on the Periphery. “Capitalists vs.
Indians” is a bizarre look at consumerism’s appropriation of Native American
history and culminates in an unforgettable, absurdly poignant scene between
Pocahontas and Ronald McDonald—use your imagination until Monday, August 26th,
when you can revisit THB for more. And thank you for your continued readership!
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