Chapter 3
Ben, February 28
It took me three days after that phone call to work up the nerve to contact Liz again. It wasn’t even a planned thing, really. I’d gone out to a pub with some classmates and met a girl. She was pretty enough, and we spent a good chunk of time chatting at the bar. Honestly, I can’t even remember what we talked about. Toward the end of the night, she’d playfully smacked me on the arm and said, “It’s a good thing you’re sexy, because you’re really quite an ass.”
I’m sure I wasn’t a gentleman after that. I probably made my exit in record time. I like to think I give off the impression of not caring, but that stung. It didn’t sit right with me.
I left the pub and aimlessly wandered around campus, the cool night air sharp against my skin. It was just after midnight. A quick Google search told me it was still only 5 PM back in the States. I didn’t have a long-distance calling card on me, so I decided to shoot Liz a text instead.
Why Liz? Why not? She was the most straightforward of the people I’d contacted. She’d surprised me once already by refusing to give shallow answers, so maybe I trusted her to prove me wrong again. But that was a load of bollocks, really. I was pissed off at women in general, and part of me was hoping to find a way to prove Liz was just as shallow as the others—only caring about looks.
Ben: Liz, it’s Ben Smith. Hope you don’t mind me texting. How are you?
Liz:
Hi Ben. I don’t mind at all. I’m great! You?
Ben: Been better, but I’ve also been worse. Thanks for asking.
Liz: Anything I can help with?
Ben: Not really, but cheers.
Liz: How’s the survey going?
Ben: All finished, actually.
Liz: And?
Ben: You lot prefer hot bodies, haha.
Liz:
Not all.
Ben: True. But most.
Liz: Really? People actually said body is more important?
Ben: Very few admitted it when I asked. Most only revealed it when I asked them to name three important traits. Nearly everyone had at least one physical trait. More than half had two. I shouldn’t be too shocked, though—it matches what I hear in the pubs and such.
Liz: Interesting. I’d bet most people don’t really know what they want.
Ben: What makes you say that?
Liz: Just a thought I had after we hung up. If you’ve never had something that feels right, how would you know you want it? How would I know I want someone funny unless I’ve actually laughed with them?
Ben: That’s a solid point.
Liz: Let’s turn the tables for a second. Body or mind?
Ben: Hahaha, mind.
Liz: Name the three most important qualities.
I’d asked a hundred people the same question. Some hesitated, some knew exactly what they wanted. But me? I had no clue. Sure, I knew what worked and what didn’t. I wanted someone sweet like Angelica, a girl I dated back in primary school. Daring, like Emily. Funny, like Bethany.
But I also had a long list of what didn’t work. I didn’t want someone who’d tolerate me being a knobhead just because I was fit, like the girl at the pub. But I did want someone who’d call me out when I was being a dick. That was the thing about Liz—without even knowing me well, she was already calling me out, and I didn’t hate it.
Ben: Sweet, daring, honest.
Liz:
Good choices. Now, explain them.
Ben: Sweet to me, and also to my mates. Someone I can trust to spare my feelings when possible, but isn’t afraid to tell me when I’m being a prick. Someone who’s generally not a bitch. Daring enough to try new things—food, activities, films, whatever. Honest with me about the little things that bug her, so I can sort them out.
Liz: Good answers. But what if she had all those qualities... but wasn’t someone you’d normally find attractive?
I pictured her right then, all those qualities rolled into one. Someone who was sweet and funny, who wouldn’t hesitate to call me out when I was being a tosser. I imagined spending time with her, laughing, talking... and the answer seemed so simple.
Ben: If she had all that, she’d be the most beautiful woman in the world.
Liz: That’s sweet. So what’s the problem?
Ben: Finding her.
Liz: Maybe you’re looking in the wrong places.
I thought about the places I’d just been looking, and the results. She had a point.
Ben: Where are the right places?
Liz: Anywhere, I suppose. It’s about the approach. You’ve got to keep your eyes open. Talk to everyone you meet, but always be on the lookout for the answers your perfect woman would give. Could be a girl at a coffee shop or something, but if you never start a conversation with her, how would you know?
Ben: That’s a solid point.
Liz: Feeling better?
Ben: Actually, yeah. How did you know what to say?
Liz: I figured you wanted to talk about girls, because I’m a girl. What else would you need me for?
Ben: Well, thanks.
Liz: No problem.
That’s how it started. Two hours on the phone that night until my battery died. I hadn’t meant for a quick text to turn into anything, but somehow Liz had me talking like she’d known me my whole life. From there, it became a daily thing. Six years, uninterrupted.
Can you imagine that? Most people I know can’t even stick to a routine for six months, let alone six years.
I learned her work schedule once she became a high school English teacher, and I made sure to plan my breaks around it. Sometimes that meant ducking out of a noisy flat just to hear her properly, or sitting with my laptop open but not typing a single word because I was too wrapped up in her stories. I knew exactly what time it was in Arizona, just as well as I knew the time in London. It became second nature, considering Liz in everything I did.