1.3.15

Being single for the first time in twenty years was scary. Having to rely on the courting skill set of a pubescent boy of the 90’s was nothing short of a nightmare.

Frankly, O’Brien didn’t know where to start. He and Amelia had been together since they were fifteen years old, and then they weren’t. She said that he wasn’t pursuing his dreams, wasn’t developing his future, and wasn’t going to get their dog in the breakup. He thought it was one of those if-you-love-them-set-them-free-and-they-will-come-crawling-back-once-they-realize-how-terrible-everyone-is-and-how-princely-you-are scenarios, but just eighteen months, three weeks, and two days after their split, Amelia was planning her wedding to some Channing Tatum-looking mother fucker and O’Brien was trying to navigate the wonderful world of dating via app.

Not that he’s bitter or anything.

He thought maybe he’s too old for online dating. OkCupid seemed to be chock full of weirdos looking for a bang. The few times he tried it, he ended up going out with women younger than he (by approximately ten years or so) who thought he was SO OLD and tried to compare his mannerisms and tastes to those of their fathers. If their nights did end in a hook up, which was very rare, he was so intimidated by their energy and comparisons to their fathers that they always ended completely unsatisfied for all parties involved and the inevitable woe-is-me text to Amelia, begging for another chance.

Tinder was another whole thing. Swipe left for no and right for yes. Swipe based on a picture, A PICTURE! O’Brien was 35 years old and prematurely grey. Swipe right? The whole concept seemed so vapid. How was he supposed to truly make a connection with someone this way? What happened to not judging a book by its cover? Is that so over in 2014?

OkCupid was out. Tinder was out. JDate was not a possibility unless he wanted to spend his life posing as a Jew. Christian Mingle? Nope.

O’Brien always thought the glasses guy on those eHarmony commercials looked pretty nice. After all, over one million people have gotten married on eHarmony. Time to pay.

O’Brien signed up for the dating site and before he could start searching for eligible singles in his area, it was recommended that he set aside at least 45 minutes to complete the relationship questionnaire so the computers/little cherubs at eHarmony can put together their 29 Dimensions of Compatibility.

The questions ranged from normal—How active is your lifestyle? Do you want to get married? How many children do you want?—to not-so-normal—Have you ever spent a holiday alone at a Chinese restaurant? Do sheep scare you? How many times have you realistically played a ukulele?—to oddly specific—Would you rather bowl at a high-end bowling alley serving choice cocktails, or at a bowling alley attached to the Port Authority Bus Terminal in New York City? If your mother called during a ~*~steamy~*~ date, would you answer or ignore and why? Would you prefer experiencing an allergic reaction to the cat belonging to your lover, or prolonged and profound loneliness until the end of your days?—and one of them was actually just jarring—Fuck, Marry , Kill: Angelina Jolie, Marie Curie, your 11^th grade English teacher, go.

Once he completed his questionnaire, wrote an in-depth and succinct bio, and chose the perfect profile picture (the one that Amelia took when they went to her best friend’s wedding where his hair is pushed back like Patrick Dempsey’s and he has just enough scruff without looking unkempt), he could finally relax and browse. The hard part was (sort of) done (there’s still the whole dating, falling in love, getting married, raising a family, and living out your days together thing, but who’s counting?).

And he had a match. Aidy, 33, Park Slope, Veterinarian. He looked at her picture, gorgeous. She liked to read, cook, do yoga, hike, swim, and…fly? Fly what? Fly where?

He messaged her:

Hey, Aidy! I’m O’Brien and it looks like we might be a match! I’d love to chat with you at some point.

Two days later, she messaged him:

Hiya, O’Brien! Sounds good. Do you want to meet for a drink tonight?

15-minutes-but-tried-to-make-it-feel-like-five-hours-later:

O’Brien: That would be great. Do you want to meet me at Brookvin at 8pm?

Aidy: Perfect. See you then.

She met him at the swanky wine bar of his choice and they hit it off right away. She was smart, funny, independent, and secure in herself. He was…O’Brien. As their date was winding down, he had to ask her one thing: about the flying. She said that ever since she was a little kid, she loved the idea of flying. She loved to be up in the air, within the clouds, seeing the world as birds do. She said it always made her feel weightless, free, and that nothing could ever hurt you in the clouds. She said she always dreamed of living that scene in The Wizard of Oz where Dorothy goes back to Kansas in the air balloon. It really struck him as something special.

Their relationship progressed as the weeks and months wore on and he could feel that he was really falling in love this time. That this love required some grand gesture that he never bothered with while he was with Amelia. And that could be because romantic grand gestures are often costly and only go off without a hitch in the movies.

Nevertheless, six months into their relationship marked the coming of summer and they drove up to the Adirondacks for a long weekend. She envisioned a lovely, scantily clad weekend full of sex, fireflies, burgers, and wine.

He had another idea. On their second night, O’Brien blindfolded Aidy and drove out to a big field of purple wildflowers. At its center was an air balloon, complete with a big wicker basket full of champagne and finger sandwiches, and a large violet and lavender patchwork balloon. He guided her to a spot just in front of it while the pristine engagement ring felt like it was burning a hole through his pocket. He told her to stand still and not to peak.

O’Brien got into the balloon. He wanted to give it just enough air that it would illuminate the area they were in and inflate the balloon itself, but he pulled the chain so hard that it snapped off in his hand and he started rapidly rising higher and higher. He started jumping, thinking that would lower the balloon, but that obviously didn’t work.

Aidy removed the blindfold when she heard the commotion and all she could think to do was grab one of the ropes that was meant to secure it to the ground.

She felt her feet come off the ground. She was flying. She cried out for him to lower the balloon. He shouted that he couldn’t and also didn’t know how to steer it. He realized he spent the entire balloon flying lesson daydreaming about his picture-perfect relationship and proposal.

The summer wind gently pushed the rising balloon, and Aidy, through the field toward the tree line.

She tried to climb up the rope, pretending she was in gym class, but who was even good at that? What always seemed so useless a skill was now very, very important.

He tried to pull her up, but the rope burned and the basket swayed in the wind.

They were closing on the trees fast. He pulled her and she pulled herself.

The balloon ran smack into a tall oak tree just as Aidy made it into the basket and the fire propelling them went out. They were just hanging there, in a fully-stocked air balloon, 150 feet off the ground.

Wanting to cut the awkward silence, O’Brien said, “So, how was THAT for flying?”

“Um, it sure was something, honey, I’m just glad we’re okay. I don’t know how we’ll get down,” said Aidy.

“Aidy, will you marry me?”

“What? You’re proposing in a tree?”

“I mean, I was going to propose in the air, but ya gotta roll with the punches. So, will you marry me?”

“Give me that champagne.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes, now give me that champagne, you Groot.”

“Groot?”

“Let’s live in the trees forever as husband and wife and have all of our little Groots right here. Over there can be their play area, there can be your office. Upstairs we will have our bedrooms.”

And, just as O’Brien went to give his new fiancé a kiss, he noticed the growing lump on her head, trickling the faintest line of blood, and a dazed look in her eyes.