Number Theory Read Free Page A

he hadn’t met me he never, ever would have had
the courage to finally ask out Hilary, the girl who the charts and
graphs were for. I thanked him and then, he took my hand and said
that he had tried, he had tried for a whole week to make the math
of us work. He tried every configuration but, in the end, he had to
admit that we just didn’t add up.
    “It was the first time I ever hated math,” he
said and I almost cried. He left. Two days later, he gave his
presentation and... it was a stunning success.
    There’s someone for everyone. It had been
mathematically proven.
     
    ***
     
    There is a danger in saying things like that.
An even greater danger in believing things like that. If you say to
someone, to make them feel better, to give them hope or simply just
to shut their noise and stop their complaining, that there is
someone for everyone , they may actually believe it. And once
they believe it, they spend their lives waiting for it, looking for
it. When it doesn’t come, when all around them they see others
finding their “one” and yet they continue to go home alone, eat
alone, sleep alone, drink alone... They can start to feel that
there is something wrong with them.
    Oh, who am I kidding, all this “they” and
“them” and “their” just scratch that... replace it with me .
I believed, for the longest time, that there was someone for
everyone and that meant there was someone for me. I started to
think I was owed this... this divine gift , this promised
man. Moses, lead me to the promised man! The Lord has sent us these
ten condoms, use them wisely.
    I was angry that he wasn’t showing up.
I was deeply disappointed when date after date turned into nothing.
I was hanging all my expectations, all my future happiness, on each
time a guy opened the door for me, or picked up a check. I
compromised myself to appear better, more worthy, more... what ? I don’t know. I do know that if I had half the orgasms
I faked...
    Well, the point being, I faked a lot
because... Because I thought that would bring me the one . Because if I was responsive and easy to please in bed,
I would find the one. Counterintuitive, sure. Desperate, sure.
Pathetic and sad, sure. I freely admit all of that, but, what else
could I do? I wanted my someone. I had completely given over my
true self because somewhere at some point in my life, probably as a
little girl, probably by a well-meaning family member or TV doctor,
I was told there is someone for everyone and I drank that cup of
Kool-Aid and waited for the results.
    One October morning, broccoli and cheese
omelet, side of bacon, cup of coffee... I stopped. I finally,
fully, completely stopped. My dear friend, Karen, walked into the
corner joint, the Windsor Diner, where I was having breakfast that
lovely, clear, crisp, October morning, and she was with a man. They
had the tussled look of lovers who had spent the morning in bed and
decided to go out, get coffee, without showering or changing into
new day clothes. They held hands and giggled at each other. They
brimmed with the confidence of lovers together daring the world to
see them as they were, to realize they smelled of sex.
    Let me explain this: When I say ‘my dear
friend’ what I mean is, Karen is a woman I worked with who drove me
to the edge of reason and sanity every single day, whom I would
liked nothing more than to staple her face shut, who is dumber than
a bag of clams, but, who means well, tries hard and truly hurts no
one. She was just the fingernails on the chalkboard of my life. She
is a dear woman who is just unaware. Also, and I say this with all
kindness, she wasn’t that interesting. But there she was, cooing
and nuzzling with a good-looking man. I watched them. I ignored my
omelet, which was astounding because, I don’t know if you’ve ever
had a broccoli cheese omelet at Windsor Diner, but, they are not to
be ignored. Really. I once saw a man try to ignore one and the
omelette got up from the plate, poured