Quick Marks

I thought of Anna then, long long sessions, twenty minutes, twenty-five minutes and even as long as half an hour daily. I obtain these figures by the addition of other, lesser figures. That must have been my way of loving.
- Samuel Beckett "First Love"

I arrived a little early, and was kindly shuffled into a large conference room with a table and many chairs. It was as stern as it was long. I barely had time to decide which of the many seats I should sit in, when I heard a noice at the door. She walked quickly, and landed a stack of papers on the desk, straightened them, then took out one sheet before she ever looked up at me and introduced herself.

"Good afternoon, Nick."

"Hi," I said, not sure how formal or playful I should be. This wasn't the first time we had met, but it seemed like this one was especially important.

"Well, let's get right to it. Having been present in many of your dreams over the course of many years, I'd say it's about time if we see that whether we should actually pursue this further. Do you agree?"

I agreed.

"Wonderful," she said. "Question One. Do you find me merely attractive, or do you see some character trait that has led me to be in your thoughts?"

I thought deeply about this question, knowing how I had to justify her inclusion in my thoughts. It was a tricky business. At once I had to be painfully honest and not creepy, a surprisingly hard thing to master. "I would love to say that I fell in love with both, but over the course of this relationship, if that's what we can call it, I don't think we've ever talked for more than three minutes at a time. I keep attriubting imaginary traits to you, but really I just think you are very attractive. You have a wonderful face."

"People don't just say that and expect people to believe them."

"Well, you are a dream, and in this particular one, I'm going to say what I mean."

When I finished she looked down at the paper, and with the flick of a wrist, made a mark on the page. "Right. Question Two. Do you find it weird that we haven't talked very much?"

"No," I said. "I find it weird that you continue to show up in my dreams. Anyways, it's like the movies, where everything is changed by two characters who only have to catch sight of each other for the musical soundtrack cue in and show they are in love. Not entirely practical, but romantic nonetheless."

The quick flick happened again, and with the pen still raised in the air, she asked another one. "Question Three. What are your politics?"

"Don't you check facebook?"

"Are you online right now?"

"I don't particuarily want to explore the online accessibility of people in dreams."

"Right," she said. "Question four. What do you want to do?"

"I want to travel right now, then probably go back to school."

"So you won't live in the same area?"

"Probably not."

Flick. She shuffled her papers, aligning the proper corners, and then stood up, raising out her hand for me to shake.

"Thanks so much. Well, here you can keep this paper. I won't be needing it."

"I can see my score? Great."

I shook her hand and she smiled. She smiled like she did every time she stole herself into a scene, like an actress given no lines except directions to garner attention. It was soft and silent, and aimed brightly at me, specifically for me. Like she had done all of those times before, for all those years before. When I fell in love with her slowly, over those many small incidents that suddenly had piled together.

"Does that mean we are compatible?" I asked.

"Oh no, you failed miserably. But don't worry, I'll be around."