The waitress has deep set
eyes and almost a sneer as she refills our coffee. Semis rumble by this 24-hour diner along I-57. The Golden Ticket Diner is the only
place to go after seeing a show at a bar.
“What makes people fall in love?” Monica gingerly stirs her coffee with
a slightly bent spoon.
“Genetics.” I reply with
little-to-no thought or reflection.
“Genetics!?! That’s romantic.” Obviously she was looking for a more
sensual answer than a scientific one (not that I’m a scientist).
“Well, at least that’s what
I saw somewhere. Has ta do with
evolution.” I cram a big piece of
French Toast in my mouth hoping there won’t be enough room for my foot.
So, yer sayin’ we only
fall in love ‘cause of our genes?”
“I’m not. Scientists do.” It’s hard to blame someone not
there. “Genes wanna survive. Ta survive, they need ta
reproduce. So, natural selection
manipulated us inta enjoyin’ companionship, sex, ‘nd stuff. DNA wants us ta make lotsa babies so
they can continue inta da next generation. Part of that is ta trick us inta fallin’ in love.”
“’Trick us inta fallin’ in
love’?” Monica’s confusion turns
into irritation. This can be
dangerous. “What makes ya think I
hafta be tricked inta love?”
“I was just repeatin’ what I
saw onna science show. Talkin’
‘bout shows, yer friend’s band was pretty good tanight.”
“No. I wanna hear whatcha think ‘bout
love. Do ya believe genetics make
ya love?” Me and my big mouth.
“Well… What do ya think makes ya love?”
“Fer me, it’s
emotional. I mean, I’ll see a guy
‘nd think ‘he’s cute’. I’ll make
eye contact ‘nd smile. If we end
up talkin’, I’ll twirl my hair.
I’ll ask lotsa questions ‘bout him ‘nd laugh at his jokes. If I’m really inta him, I’ll find a way
ta touch his shoulder or arm, which leads ta a compliment ‘bout how strong he
is or somethin’. If he seems inta
me, I’ll give him my number ‘nd take off before he gets bored.”
“But that’s not love. Ya just told me how ya flirt.” She has tricks, but doesn’t believe
genes do? “Tell me ‘bout when yer
in love.”
“What do ya mean?” Monica takes a sip of coffee and
crosses her arms.
“Okay… Say ya’ve been seein’ someone fer a
while ‘nd realize ya more than like ‘em.
Ya love ‘em. Can’t imagine
life without ‘em. Think ‘bout
havin’ babies ‘nd all. What makes
ya love ‘em?”
“I dunno.” She puts her elbow on the table and
presses her cheek into her fist.
“Maybe it’s bein’ passionate ‘nd stuff. Ya know, tellin’ someone all da details of yer life ‘nd they
still accept ya ‘nd wanna be with ya.
Wanna be with ya so much that they don’t plan on leavin’ ya.” She rips open another packet of fake
sugar and pours it into her half empty mug of joe. “Does that answer yer questions?”
“It was yer questions.” I reply trying not to sound too
defensive, but still cautious.
“But, not really.”
“What do ya mean ‘not
really’? What’s wrong with my
answer?”
“Well, ya told me what makes ya fall in love, but not why. Why
do ya seek affection?”
“Why do ya hafta turn a simple question inta an
interrogation?” The sarcasm is
getting thick. “We’ll keep playin’
yer game. I guess love is like
hunger. My body needs food fer
energy, so my stomach growls ta let me know. I need love ta fulfill some urge. Don’t know what that urge is. Might be ta feel safe.
May be dif’rent fer everyone.
Who knows? Is that a
better answer?”
“Will I get in trouble if I
say ‘no’ again?” Why am I pushing
this? I should just say “yes” so
we can banter about other meaningless garbage.
“Yer in trouble already, so
ya got nothin’ ta lose.” Her left
eyebrow rises to a concerning level.
“Okay professor, what’s wrong now.”
“Let’s say yer right. Love is like hunger. What makes yer stomach know ta tell ya
yer hungry?”
“If ya say ‘genetics’, I’ll
kill ya.” A fork and butter knife
are dangerously close to her hands.
“What’s wrong with genetic
love? DNA is da most basic element
of who we are. They make our eyes
blue ‘nd tell our bodies ta have two arms. So, if every cell in our body is programmed ta love, is that
so bad?” There’s quiet as we
bashfully look at each other and the twinkling lights of the interstate speed
by our window.
“There’s somethin’ almost
enchantin’ ‘bout our whole bodies bein’ designed ta love.”
“See, I can be romantic.”
“Shut up. Yer just lucky ya were able ta pull that
outta yer ass.”
Thank you for reading and your support. This would not be possible without you!
If you have any submissions, questions, comments, suggestions, or anything else, please feel free to contact me at: LukeArchaism@gmail.com
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