In this episode of A Thousand or Less we’re bringing you a short short fiction piece by Laura Remington called “The Chaperone.” We thought it hit just the right note of grounded hope and openness to the unexpected that many of us need right now. Keep reading or hit play, above, to listen to Laura read her story.
“I binge on crime podcasts,” Viv said in their second phone conversation. “When a man’s too good to be true, you’re supposed to run away screaming.”
“I’m just the right amount of good.” Colin wasn’t lying.
“The more psycho, the smoother. You’re only podcast material if you’re convincing.”
“What do your two best friends say?”
“Split,” she said. “The never-been-married thing is worrisome. How do you make it past 50 unless something’s off?”
“Waiting for the right one.” Again, he thought.
Colin had always scoffed at online dating. “Look around,” he’d say. “Just takes a good eye and a little guts.” Didn’t hurt that he smiled and conversed easily or that he owned a popular bar. But after the virus closed everything down, he’d concluded online was the only option.
Dating drought wasn’t high on his Covid problems list, but aloneness was. A people person without people.
Of the half-dozen profiles he’d picked, Vivian seemed most genuine, but the virtual world unnerved him. For Facetime cocktails, he changed three times, landing on a plain blue t-shirt. For his drink, he went with a showy favorite—a bottle of Pliny the Elder.
Viv was more attractive in virtual-person than in her photos. Animated. Natural. He imagined she smelled like lemon blossoms. Conversation flowed. Thirty minutes in, he said, “Let’s meet. Covid is the best chaperone any father could dream up. Six feet apart, outdoors. Doesn’t get safer.”
After a second cappuccino with no word, he accepted she wasn’t coming.
Disappointment poked its way into every cell. Was Viv afraid he was a podcast-level psycho? A commitment-phobe? Or did neediness emanate from his virtual-self in cartoon fumes?
He drove to Mom’s for his daily “visit”—these days, a wave and phone chat at her window. (Luckily, first floor). A caregiver answered. “She’s confused now, but she was lucid this morning. Wanted to tell you to go see the comet.” Colin smiled at the memory of his mom dragging him to view Hale-Bopp, not long after his fiancé died of lung cancer. He chatted briefly with the version of Mom that wasn’t really Mom, and left her with a virtual hug.
That night, he drove up the highest hill and parked in a makeshift lot. Couples and small groups stood apart, silhouetted against a darkening sky. Clouds obscured the stars and moved on. Questions and answers crossed groups. Where? Under the Big Dipper. Do you see it? Not yet.
“There it is,” someone said. A wave of excitement swept the pop-up community.
Headlights interrupted.
“Turn off your lights,” Colin shouted.
They snapped off. “Sorry.” A woman’s voice. Ten feet away. “Wrong knob. It’s not my car.”
“No problem,” he said.
“Neowise.” She spoke to the sky. “Where are you?”
“To the right of the tallest pine.” He pointed. “Give your eyes a minute to adjust.”
“I know. Just impatient. I never miss a comet,” she said. “This is the most exciting thing I’ve done in months.”
“Me too,” he said. “Me too.”
The Chaperone