Ezureekae on the Phone

by:  Eleanor Levine

Dear Agnes:

After speaking with you, I realized that we were not raised on the same plot of land.
If you had been born in Jamaica, Queens, and/or excommunicated from my Episcopal Church, there might have been a spark.
It is excruciating, this dating, though I hoped to commune like Beatrice and Dante—at least from Dante’s perspective.  In truth, I have no desire to follow you through the streets of Paradiso—you’re not Beatrice, I can’t be your Dante, nor do I wish you to stalk me.

Best of luck to you!

– Helene

Dear Helene:

You stipulated, before we began our conversation, that you were cooking onions--you couldn’t stay on the phone more than ten minutes—so my question is: when was the defining moment that my maudlin personality got to know yours?
I was speaking from a Greyhound bus when a large black man threatened eviction if I didn’t turn off my cell phone. I explained this, but you were digressive and evasive and clearly unaware that I, too, was on the planet.
“I’ve never taken Greyhound,” you continued, “only the Chinatown bus where I caught a virus—but never took it again. Don’t like viruses.”
“Yes, well, I have seen both phlegm and drug deals on those vehicles.” I confessed.
“By the way,” you paused, “how did you come up with your OkCupid screen name—EZUREEKAE?”
“It’s ancestral.”
“Ancestral?”
“I’m from a long line of Crimeans named EZUREEKAE who were bottle washers before the Communist revolution.”
We then heard vibrations over the Greyhound PA system, which could have been a North Korean country-wide speaker announcement.
“Will the loud individual on her cell phone please desist?” 
You kept talking. I wanted to crawl under my seat.
During this static dialogue, there was no way two humans could have decided if their destinies were linked. Certainly not the kind of bathrooms they’d use.
Now that you have rejected me, I wish you much luck in your quest to superficially diagnose future love partners.

Yours in inconsequential desire,

-Agnes