MARCELLO'S FINAL DATE WITH SIMONE - Salon

Simone was almost screaming. Marcello, I am not going to let you do this to me.

What are you talking about, amore mio? Marcello said in discombobulation.

It was yet another misunderstanding, a story within a story. A palimpsest of a woman, Marcello thought, an overlay of emotions and surprises. If only Marcello could make room in Simones soul to write a new story the flash story of them.

This tale, however, ought to have a happy ending, Marcello thought.

You are inspiring, Marcello told her while driving together to Loca Luna, one of his favorite restaurants in midtown. He could have never imagined that their third date consisting of romantic dinner segueing into intense dancing would be the prologue to a break up.

Simone, tall, fair skinned, Nordic blonde, with blue eyes that had a mesmerizing effect in Marcello. He has always believed that a woman with blue eyes can hide secrets well, something that drives his creative soul to yearn for this type of woman.

Simone, the long-hour working microbiologist at the Centers for Disease Control, happened to like some of Marcellos stories, which she recently discovered online by sheer accident while running a Google search for the best dating web sites. After reading a couple of his short stories, she began following him on Twitter. When Marcello checked her avatar, he followed her back. They were exchanging messages soon, and their first date occurred a month ago today, a result of a difficult time coordination due to her complicated schedule.

Dating sucks for us scientists, Simone had said upon their first date at a Caribou Coffee. I have to be at the lab at unusual hours to watch my gel, or take the cells out of the incubator, and many times I have to be in at six in the morning to start incubation.

At 45, Simone declared that her career still came first, although she wanted to explore the probability of finding her soul mate, arguing that such probability now seemed stronger than ever based on what she termed the Fibonacci series of dating Simones ultimate man would equate to the golden ratio or number following a carefully considered sequence of dates ever since she had her first date at 19 years old.

Marcello found this approach mind blowing. While they were dancing salsa, he let Simone know that he would take proper note of it and eventually use it in a story that could be finished pretty soon now that he no longer worked for the advertising agency and was devoted to writing full time instead.

Youre going to do what? Simone asked.

Marcello held her hand imagining they were walking towards the future. Simone, your silky smooth skin and your glossy blonde hair and your satiny gardenia lips should be written into a poem. I want to be the writer who will take the time and energy to create such a poem. Help me write it, please.

Lets go outside to talk, my feet hurt, said Simone and removed her shoes.

As they headed to the front door of the restaurant, Simone saw Marcello pulling out his iPhone and taking a picture of her.

Simone, amore, ti prego let me capture your beauty so that I can look at it later when you are away.

Simone,walking in bare feet, her low heel shoes held in her hand, realized Marcellos mind traveled at a different speed than hers. Simone, a woman looking for a controlled sense of adventure, suddenly saw Marcello as a far-beyond-average specimen. Unusual and unpredictable and chaotic. How could a woman like her handle a man like him?

Simone, the soft-spoken scientist, stopped walking and shouted.

Marcello, I am not going to let you do this to me.

Marcello, taking the last picture of Simone, oblivious to the people around turning heads, What are you talking about, amore?

I am breaking up with you right away, she said.

Why are you telling me this?

I know you will use my quirks in your writing, and youll make me look ridiculous Simone said. Yeah, Ive read your stories. So, the less you get to know about me, the better.

But you know I love to make up stories, Marcello said. Why are you so upset?

Whatever, Simone said. Then she sprinted towards the street, waved at a taxi cab, jumped in the car, and left.

Marcello, an unexpected dent on his Italian ego, stood at the entrance of Loca Luna caught in desultory thoughts. What went wrong this time? How much of love Marcello meant to say, desire, was about the heart or the mind and how much was about hormones? The chemistry seemed to be there, right? Chemistry could one create it, or did it just happen? Finding the right fit was it all about timing? Why women couldnt be figured out more easily? Did his writer self really upset Simone? What if American women couldnt handle him? Why the search for Grand Love feels so meaningless sometimes? What if he was living in the wrong town?

All of a sudden, Marcello remembered what Albert Camus wrote in The Myth of Sisyphus --

His fate belongs to him...

the absurd man

The struggle itself towards the heights is enough to fill a mans heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy.

Marcello drove back home with listless resignation.

He cheered up a bit as he thought of his dog Beulah and how much he enjoyed walking her late at night when the working people were sleeping.

One must imagine Sisyphus happy.

And after walking Beulah, Marcello spent the hours at his desk to write away his misadventure with Simone.

Courtesy of Irene Verstraete