Imperfect Heroes

By D. J. Kelley

"Online dating? ... I could write a book."

THIS IS THE BOOK!

Chris Osborne is a dating novice that faces a calamitous fate as he culls the Internet for the love of his life. Ten years after his wife left him on the day the Towers fell he begins his online dating adventures. Despite the discouragement of his tough-talking but soft-hearted best friend, Ebby, Chris jumps in with heart and soul without regard for life or limb. Ill-prepared for this fast paced world of Internet dating, Chris quickly finds himself embroiled in a thrilling web of online opportunities.

Set in beautiful Tierra Verde, Florida, Imperfect Heroes offers a look into the world of online dating through the eyes of a vulnerable man. Despite selecting women of substance and beauty, Chris’s adventures turn to chaos. As his world appears ready to crumble he falters but remains sustained by a heart that never seems to completely lose hope. Filled with an unforgettable cast of fun yet fallible characters, readers will find themselves frantically turning pages to see what will happen next, and occasionally pausing to realize what they want in life is not so different from the love these real-life characters seek.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Feb 24, 2012
• ISBN: 9781935586654

Book preview

Imperfect

Heroes

A Comic Story of Love and Survival

in an Internet World.

New York

D.J. Kelley

Imperfect Heroes

Copyright © 2012 D. J. Kelley

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher or the author.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious.  Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Published by:

Aviva Publishing

Lake Placid, NY

518-523-1320

www.avivapubs.com

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012903451

ISBN: 978-1-935586-65-4

Editor: Tyler Tichelaar

Cover Design: G. Bruce

Interior Layout: Fusion Creative Works

For additional copies visit: www.ImperfectHeroes.com

Write! Write! Write!

Right! Right! Right!

Many Thanks…

Thanks go to so many people for helping in the writing of this book. Some gratitude is due to friends who simply agreed with the timeliness of the subject matter. Some of my appreciation goes to those of you who actively participated in the production of this book. Finally most of my appreciation is for those who encouraged me, laughed with me, and gave me the confidence to finish. I am truly thankful.

To Samson678, I cannot thank you enough for being a friend and defining dedication for me. I thank Patrick Flavin for being the living example of a great attitude and the definition of courage in the face of adversity. To Felipe Molina, thank you for your friendship, sensitive artistic eye, and living proof that love never dies. I offer a mound of gratitude to Patrick Snow and Tyler Tichelaar for their hard work and guidance. Special thanks go to the voices of wisdom in Mr. Wood, Mr. Bruce and Dr. Zed. Most of all, thanks to JJ for loving me and believing in me.

Dedication

To my kid….Never lose that joy!

Introduction

42 year old SWM, fit and looking for the love of my life.…

I want a friend first and a fun partner who becomes my lover. I am a hardworking individual who is pretty smart and likes to find time for fun too. Organizing balance between my work and my life is my ongoing challenge. But I expect that finding my perfect long-term partner here should fix that.

I would like for us to be best of friends and share all the many fun and wonderful things to do in this life. I am loyal, honest, caring, passionate, and compassionate. I hope you can emulate these same traits. I like to be outside. On the beach, by the water, or by the pool is fine with me. But going out to dinner at a nice place or traveling is nice too.

My ideal match is someone who is gentle and caring, even passionate and romantic. I want a woman who will share ideas about the world. Do you enjoy jeans during the day and maybe a black dress and pearls in the evening? Are you someone who loves life? Are you someone who likes to get dirty but enjoys cleaning up? I hope so.

Send me an email. We can get started right away.

Profile Summary

Ethnicity: White/Caucasian

Body type: About average

Height: 5’11"

Relationship: Divorced

Have children: No

Want children: Let’s talk

Sign: Cancer

Smoke: No

Drink: Social Drinker

Religion: Spiritual but not religious

Employed: Yes

Career: Business Consultant

Income: Greater than $120K

Interests: Reading

Travel

The beach

Canoeing

Jogging

Staying fit

1: Calamity

It was an act of desperation threaded upon a fabric of reason. Somehow, it made sense then. Business travel required a kind of self-absorbed mind that reasoned that my flight schedules should dictate how the rest of the world should operate. My excuse for everything was the imminent departure of my flight in the morning. In my world, the staff of reservation specialists, car rental clerks, and flight attendants knew all too well that they were my family, my only family. That is except for Ebby and Emily. Of course, the close-knit airport community didn’t invite me to dinner, buy me Christmas gifts, or kiss me goodnight. I needed to fix that. After ten years of failed blind dates and pickup lines lost in the din of crowded bars, online dating was the single most efficient way to find the woman of my dreams.

Trains and planes wait for no one. In this world where travelers are governed by rules, policies, and check boxes, there is no room for an explanation. Yes, but is not an answer. Since 9/11, the comfort of travel has eroded into the instruction to get in line and simply fill in your answer in the space provided. It has become a boolean world, a world of zeroes and ones, a cold electronic world. This is the community in which I participated. I was a seasoned citizen of this boundless gridiron, a willing participant, ready to accept my fate cast down from the departure monitors, seat availability charts, and cockpit announcements. In my innocence and brainwashing, it seemed reasonable that I should be able to apply this electronic process to the selection of a companion.

When it came to love, my heart and my logic did not blend well together. I was ill-fitted to understand the mind of a woman. My best friend Ebby once told me, Don’t talk. Whatever you do when you meet a beautiful woman, don’t talk! Just be quiet and look handsome. I didn’t really understand. The advice remained unheeded for most of the time I remained married. Most likely, that was the reason why I had so much trouble with marriage. I talked.

My wife, well, ex-wife, had picked me. I was boyishly cute and reasonably handsome, a bit of fresh clay really, ready to be hand-thrown, kiln-fired, and glazed into a gleaming specimen of a husband. But I never really got through the finishing process. I suppose I wasn’t a great student. My boyish cuteness, natural tendency toward selfishness, and persistent ignorance regarding women eventually exhausted what little wife was left in my marriage. My high school sweetie left me for another man. Her departure came at a tumultuous time—a catastrophic time. She left the day the planes hit the Towers.

…

Moping and self-pity, usual and customary for at least one of the parties of a broken marriage, became a staple for me for a few months after the break-up. Her affair, then the divorce, was like a one-two punch that, at first, stunned me. I was on the ropes emotionally throughout the break-up. Then, in one knee-buckling moment, I was left on the mat, unconscious and oblivious to my role. My wife had left me for another man. I could only pledge to myself that the age of innocence was over. I pushed off the mat, shook off my bleary ignorance, stitched up my wounds, and sat in my corner, planning my next round. I make it sound like it all happened quickly, but truth be told, I am probably still recovering today.

It may have been an advertisement that I saw while watching a movie last year, or some comments from friends about the popularity of online dating. The reasonableness of the concept suddenly dawned on me. Why of course! Just dial in the details of the woman you want. Just check the boxes to explain your desires. Just fill out the multiple question questionnaire and your companion will be delivered to you—as easy as finding a car on CarMax. And today, after so many texts, chats, likes, pokes, and emails, somehow it still makes sense. Doesn’t it? Isn’t it just a glorified classified ad for the most important relationship of your life? I thought so. So I began by signing up at an online dating service.

…

It began with a glowing smile. I had found the profile of a stunning woman. She wore an evening gown in her profile photograph. She seemed to carry herself well. The evening gown gave her a regal air, one that later I would find out was based on her association with the accomplished. You might call her a trust fund baby. As I learned later, her regal air came from wealthy business-owning benefactors called parents.

The website provided chat and private email exchange services. It took me a few visits before I felt comfortable using the tools provided. Once I had the tools under my belt, I needed to figure out my communication style. I needed one that worked for me. Both through medium and content, several ways existed to communicate with potential dates. In total, it amounted to defining one’s style more than anything. For example, bulk mail is a style. Although, I think its recipients typically can see through impersonal emails that try to impersonate wit. The bulk mail method used cut and paste pre-written templates. Search for potential dates, hit the email button, then cut and paste your standard e-line. Really, a line—just like one you would use in a bar or in the grocery store.

Bulk cut and paste really wasn’t my style. I tried it for awhile. I figured it was the quickest way to cull the herd—the most efficient method to get to the complete audience. But the response rate was horrible. So I had to believe that my energy, or the lack of it, could be perceived in email. I wrote some general stuff about what I wanted, like quiet nights in front of the fire, wine and roses, and all that stuff. But I never once acknowledged anything about the woman I had addressed in the email. So the personalized Dear Joan form letter was abandoned unceremoniously.

The online dating service provided an indication of members who were presently logged on to the service. A special page even listed all the women who were presently on and listed their residence as reasonably near. It was the closest thing to looking down the bar to see who was sitting alone. And therefore, much like the bar, invited the brusque approach of just walking up and saying hello, meat market style. After a few attempts at first lines, I realized that my smile, my humor, and the timing of my comments were lost in cyberspace. Me, my personality, and I were chopped down from four-dimension living color to two-dimension served up in black and white, with rejection delivered in the blink of a cyber eye.

I experienced numerous failures—walk-up failures. Hey! How ya doing? failures. After a number of them, I decided to take people’s profiles seriously. I read each one with my intuition and personal wisdom filter on high. I put two and two together. I reasoned that these profiles were written by real people with real lives. And perhaps they had a real interest in meeting someone, in some cases, anyone. But they were not seated at the bar.

…

Her smile lit me up each time I saw her photographs. I had arrived home late one Monday night. My flight was scheduled to land at 11:20, but on this evening, the plane hit the tarmac just before eleven. We taxied to the jet way quickly. I was curbside and hopping in a cab within minutes. It was good to get home before midnight for once.

When I arrived home, I set up my laptop, turned it on, and went into the bathroom. By the time I got back to my desk, I had a logon prompt. In seconds, I had loaded my favorite dating site and was perusing the list of women members. Sara, as I later learned was her name, was presently logged on. Her handle was BrightEyes62. I was fascinated. I savored another look at her photos. She had posted another. Her radiant face fed my fantasies of sweet nothings, Sunday mornings in bed, and late night whispers. I hit the message button and wrote.

Dreams111: Breathe in my breath whilst I breathe yours. Could our souls ever grow so close? Your smile speaks of eternity. Speak to me.

I hit send before I could proofread the words that had just been emoted to a complete stranger. I watched the screen for a moment while I waited for a response. Suddenly, reason overtook emotional release. My feelings had been thrown upon the chopping block, soon to be split into tinder and smashed into oblivion. How could I be so stupid, so naive? I shook my head in disbelief at my own vanity, my own ego. How could I think that my poetic license was valid in this venue? She would never respond to that gushy garbage. I wanted to shut down my session and simply go to bed.

My screen chirped while I lamented my poetic poop. She had responded. I grabbed for my mouse but found myself moving my cell phone around on my desk with no response from the cursor. What a fool I was. I finally positioned the cursor over the Chat link and clicked.

BrightEyes62: r u a poet?

Now my head was shaking in further disbelief. Wow, she had responded. But now was only the beginning. I didn’t want to blow my opportunity.

Dreams111: Do u like poets?

BrightEyes62: Only if they have smiles like yours

Dreams111: Your smile lights the room

BrightEyes62: u r 2 kind. What do you do?

Dreams111: business consultant/writer

BrightEyes62: i c. romance novels? LOL

Dreams111: Technical stuff, very romantic

BrightEyes62: u must be very smart

Dreams111: Smart enough to know a beautiful smile when I see one

BrightEyes62: very smooth too

Dreams111: I only speak the truth.

BrightEyes62: gotta go. cu again

The conversation could not have lasted more than five minutes, but I was in shock. Maybe just in awe—in awe that I had made contact with this bright smiling debutant. I wondered whether the 62 in her handle was her birth year. Perhaps it was her birth date, June 2nd. Her profile said she was a Gemini. Does it matter? I wondered. My mother was a Gemini.

Sleep came easily to me that night. I had worked a long day and then flown from Columbus to Cincinnati, and Cincinnati to Tampa. Travel was a regular thing for me. Getting home was the best part of the week. My own bed, my own sheets, my own pillows welcomed me back.

…

I awoke to the sound of an Osprey, seemingly just inches from my head, calling out its piercing cry. It had found a perch just above my bedroom on the roof’s edge. From there, it had the proverbial bird’s eye view of the water and me as a client hungry for its counsel. I had read many years before that hawks were a sign of impending wisdom, and I was eager to listen. My taste for instant gratification, however, would not be fed by that legend. Impending wisdom, as I was soon to find, is delivered in small doses over long periods of time.

It was a morning like most others in St. Petersburg, Florida. I turned on my laptop, brushed my teeth, put the coffee on, and began reading email. The news service is usually my first stop. I like to peruse the headlines. So much stuff seems like marketing these days. It is either the airlines, the beverage magnets, or the White House that has something to gain by at least half of the news. Maybe more.

I skimmed the headlines, but my curiosity was too strong. Abandoning patience, I clicked on my dating link and logged on. BrightEyes had been on this morning and was gone already. Having missed my opportunity to chat with her, I drafted my first email.

Dear BrightEyes,

Last night was too short for me. I wanted to have your smile show up on my screen some more. Perhaps we can chat again soon.

I suppose that a lot of guys tell you how pretty you are. For me, this is something different. I’ve seen lots of pretty women on here. But your smile and your eyes make me feel quite comfortable. I feel like we have already kissed, already loved each other.

I await your response.

Dreams111 (Chris)

Much like my first message, as soon as I hit the send key, I started feeling regret. Or maybe it was just a feeling of loss of control. I couldn’t take it back. I couldn’t qualify my comments or evaluate her response. It was gone. The die was cast. If she heard my message without fear or judgment, I would hear from her.

I checked on her a few times prior to lunch, but she did not appear. It started to feel like an apparition, like the phantom sense of human contact that virtually appears and disappears with each new page or chat room; it is only one step up from a video game or a remote device for a television with hundreds of channels on cable. The Internet is a mental place like another room in your brain—a place in which to play, to hide, to avoid, and to console.

That evening, I visited again after some exercise and dinner. She had been on, but there was no response. My sense of exposure and regret surged. I tried to let go by entertaining myself. I poked around, trying some automated matches. Matching tools produce lists of people who share interests or specifically fit the qualities you have identified. The results are, most of the time, disheartening. Everyone ends up answering the questions according to his or her ideals and with responses that represent whom he or she would like to be. I love sunsets and long walks on the beach or I like to stay fit. I exercise regularly and try to eat well. Everyone wants these traits or these activities in his life. But who actually takes the time to go watch the sunset? Who actually has the time to take a long walk on the beach?

I pulled up a list with twenty or so women organized by their likelihood to match my criteria. I scanned through the list and noticed that one woman was presently online. Her photo displayed a great smile. Perhaps the most attractive quality was her name. I had seen the movie she referenced in her handle many years before. I initiated.

Dreams111: Nice Smile. Why the movie handle?

I figured that my casual conversation approach would convey a tone of confidence. It seemed comfortable to me just to sort of belly up to the bar and say hello without a big scene or a big line. I waited a moment, but a response didn’t come.

I got up from my chair and grabbed a glass of mineral water from the kitchen. While I was walking back, I could hear a chirp come from my computer. She must have responded.

BrightEyes62: I was hoping to find u here tonite

My heart raced as I hurried to place my glass on the desk and sit down in my chair. She was hoping to find me here tonight. I was ecstatic.

Before I could type out a message, my screen chirped again.

SnowFallingOnCedars: thx, the movie touched me deeply. You know it?

I flipped the screen back to BrightEyes and started to answer.

Dreams111: Good evening. Good to see you!

My screen chirped again.

LatinaNina: I love that sweater you are wearing in your photo. You look so sexy.

I flipped back to the movie girl.

Dreams111: Yes the movie was very tender. Are you Japanese?

After I hit send, I realized how stupid that was to ask. I had looked at her photo and she wasn’t Japanese. She looked kind of Italian or Spanish, brunette with dark eyes. Maybe she was from South America. Then I wondered whether I should respond to the Latin girl.

I switched chat sessions and found LatinaNina’s profile. She looked kind of cute, but she was forty-five years old. That seemed too old for me. I mean, I was forty-two and I wanted a younger woman who could keep up a little better.

BrightEyes62: Your letter was forthright and honest. Are you really like that?

I answered immediately.

Dreams111: Why don’t we talk and you decide?

I hit send and my screen chirped instantly.

SnowFallingOnCedars: No I am a Scottish Italian mix.

Dreams111: I am Irish Italian. It’s a good balance. No?

BrightEyes62: We’ll see. How long have you been divorced?

SnowFallingOnCedars: I like to cook pasta and wear plaid.

This was wild. I had to be careful not to give the right answer to the wrong session. The excitement was intoxicating. Flipping from one session to the other was making me laugh. I decided to take on one more. I answered the Latina lady.

Dreams111: The sweater is my favorite. Where are you from?

I jumped back to BrightEyes.

Dreams111: I have been divorced for 4 years. You?

I knew that it had been more than four years, but I did not want to share that I had been single for almost ten years. I switched again.

Dreams111: I like to cook pasta with pesto sauce.

LatinaNina: Mexico but I live in Miami.

BrightEyes62: not long enough. How is this service working for you?

Dreams111: Te gustas Miami?

SnowFallingOnCedars: LOL I get it, green sauce. Do you really like to cook?

Dreams111: I just started using it. I guess I am lucky that I have met you.

Dreams111: Yes I love to cook, especially for friends and family.

LatinaNina: You speak Spanish?

LatinaNina: Miami is loco. Too many Cubans!

SnowFallingOnCedars: You must be Italian. Maybe you will cook for me.

Dreams111: Good thing you speak Spanish.

Dreams111: Cooking is a little like lovemaking.

LatinaNina: My best friend is Brazilian.

SnowFallingOnCedars: That is loaded. Did you see Like Water for Chocolate?

I couldn’t help but notice that BrightEyes had been quiet for awhile. I wondered whether I had said something wrong. I couldn’t even remember what I had said with all the chatter flying by. What had I said? My thoughts began churning through the ways that words had hurt people in my life. Some words or phrases had caused arguments, and arguments had caused sleepless nights, and sleepless nights had caused breakups.

Dreams111: Do you speak Portuguese too?

Dreams111: Yes. I love that movie too.

But my thoughts were drifting. My attention had shifted. I wasn’t having fun anymore. I thought that I should courteously bid farewell and call it a night. I was tired.

SnowFallingOnCedars: Do you like to go to the movies?

Dreams111: Listen I need to logoff. It was nice chatting.

LatinaNina: Just a little. I love the sound of it. What languages do you speak?

SnowFallingOnCedars: Nice chatting with you too. Good night

Dreams111: Good night.

Dreams111: I have to go. Thanks for the chat. Buenas noches.

I disconnected without waiting for any more goodbyes. It had been lots of fun. But some sadness had come over me. I didn’t want that kind of energy floating around on the net.

…

The morning delivered a clear blue sky. The sunrise knocked on my window and woke me up. I stumbled to my desk and turned on my computer before visiting the bathroom. By the time I returned to my office, I had brushed my teeth, put on my shorts, and was headed out the door. No new emails had come in. I surmised that BrightEyes was lost.

It’s only a five or ten minute drive to Fort Desoto Park. The island of Tierra Verde sits to the north of this county park separated by a narrow channel but joined by a bridge. This morning, my thoughts were far away from my present reality. When I arrived at North Beach, I didn’t remember the drive. I could not tell whether the drive had sped by or taken an hour. By the time I stepped out of the car, I was uncertain of my purpose. I abandoned the idea of taking a run. Instead, I began walking along a sandy jeep road through the dunes. I walked for forty minutes or so, without a word, without a thought. By the time I returned to my car, my sense of disconnectedness was replaced with resolve. There was pure energy in this place, an energy I wanted in my life. I wondered how I could find that with BrightEyes62 or SnowFallingOnCedars.

By the time I returned home, my inbox had filled up with daily newsletters, catalog advertisements, and an American Express promotion. The very moment I looked at the screen, my email chirped. BrightEyes was back. I sat down.

Dear Chris,

Sorry about last night. My daughter came in the room. She needed help with her homework. Although I think she was just being nosy. I minimized the screen and ended up speaking with her for thirty minutes. By the time I came back, you were gone.

I reread your profile. You sound interesting to me. So I would like to spend some time on the phone with you. May I call you? Please let me know how and when I can reach you.

Sara (BrightEyes62)

I hit the reply button and began to write. I paused to consider whether her email could be part of an Internet con game. Was there something that could happen as the result of giving out my phone number? It wasn’t my bank account number or my Social Security number, but it was in my nature to be cautious. I abandoned the thought but promised myself I would be careful.

Dear Sara,

Thanks for the note. I thought that you might have been swept away by a virtual Romeo. How many children do you have? Well, I suppose that we can talk about this stuff on the phone. Please call me at your leisure. I am home all day today.

Chris

[phone]

The mail was gone in an instant. I jumped in the shower, shaved, and dressed as if I were going to meet someone face-to-face. My excitement was tempered by the sudden thought that if Sara called while I was in the shower or any other time when I was unavailable, she would get my voicemail and my greeting would announce my full name. The veil of anonymity would be lifted. I panicked. I ran for the phone. There were no messages indicated. The veil was still intact. Or was it? Could she have called while I was in the shower and not have left a message? I checked for missed calls. There was one Caller I.D. listing that was marked as private. How could I have been so stupid?

The phone rang moments later. Before answering, I inspected the caller. The caller was marked as private.

Hello, I answered with a rising intonation in my voice.

Hi. Is this Chris?

Hi, Sara. Thanks for calling. I tried to sound confident.

How are you? Sara sounded mature and relaxed.

A little nervous. I can’t believe I am actually speaking with you. I put everything on my sleeve.

I guess I’m a little nervous too. Sara giggled quietly.

Okay.

Okay.

Okay, so now we start twenty questions, right? I needed to take some control.

Who goes first?

Ladies first, of course.

What a gentleman. Sara giggled again.

We aim to please, ma’am. I answered with a little southern twang in my voice, hoping to keep her entertained.

Are you single?

Yes, of course. That’s a strange start.

Some aren’t. She sounded firm.

You mean to tell me that married people get on the service posing as single?

Absolutely. I found out the hard way last time, so now I just flat out ask.

So are you single?

What do you think? But I am the one asking the questions. Remember?

Sorry. But I had to check, I laughed.

How long have you been divorced?

I wanted to say that I had told her when we were chatting last night, but I couldn’t remember if I had told her or someone else.

About ten years.

What happened?

Can this be a multiple choice question? As an essay question, it could take a lot of time. I tried to avoid the question.

Okay, let’s see. A. She ran away with her boss. B. You ran away with your secretary. C. You fell out of love, or D. She was too possessive.

I hesitated for a moment while I considered the options. She took the opportunity to add to the list.

Oh, wait. E. All of the above.

E.

No, really?

Well, yes, probably something like we fell out of love; then we stopped caring; then we started caring for others more.

What about the too possessive part?

Well, that was probably what started the whole thing to unravel. I may have been too possessive.

Why do you think you were so possessive? Are you insecure?

Frankly, I don’t think she really loved me. So I started to feel insecure. One thing led to another. And the unraveling began.

Did you have children together?

No.

Did you cheat on her?

No. But she did. I mean on me.

So, I guess you had reasons to feel insecure.

"I guess so. Who knows how dynamics in a relationship form? I certainly don’t. But I know that I was a good guy and she started