He Never Noticed (Redux)

This is a resubmission of a story I published a few years ago with a long prologue. Almost immediately the prologue inspired some caustic reactions so--being reluctant to offend--I deleted the prologue and resubmitted it. This resulted in a few orphaned comments that referred to the now-absent prologue. Herewith the story with the prologue restored. Also deleted is a neologism, a portmanteau that I (mistakenly) thought would help describe the protagonist's character but garnered its own detractors, plus I tidied up a few awkward passages. Otherwise it's the same story, so please don't waste your time (or other readers' time) by lamenting the repetition.

Prologue

If you dislike reading windy authors' intros, you'd best skip straight to the story. If you dislike stories with no sex, no confrontations, and virtually no dialogue, you'd best skip to the next story.

This was an experiment. I didn't want to write yet another story about a saintly, long suffering, six-foot-four ex-Seal whose parents were killed in an automobile crash and whose stupefyingly dumb wife with enormous bazooms was zapped by the Martian Slut Ray. Before I finished writing, though, I was visualizing the acerbic comments it would inspire, and had second thoughts.

But wait! Weren't we all taught that there's no such thing as a failed experiment? Disapproval, however unpleasant, can still be a learning experience. (Does that last sentence remind anyone else of an article of the UCMJ that begins "Penetration, however slight..."?) For example, when I wrote my first story, I wanted to control where the pages broke, so I submitted it in ~3800-word chunks on successive days.

I reaped a firestorm of outrage. When I wrote a brief essay trying to explain why the mindless algorithm that Lit uses to break pages sets my hair on fire, I thought I'd hit a walk-off homer when I cited the instance of a final page that consisted entirely of the two words "The End". Well little did I know. A well-known writer set me straight, commenting that my reasoning was "an irrational rationale, if that is possible. It is poppycock." In case I didn't understand just how wrong I was, the writer concluded by calling my concern about page breaks "your bizarre fetish."

That bruised my ego a bit, but didn't hurt nearly as bad as another writer whom I greatly admire, and whose talent I envy, ordered me in a comment on the story itself about my short pages "Don't do it again. I'm sure you have a rationale, you should forget having it." Wow. Gut shot and bleeding out. So now I let Lit break my pages and try not to wince at some of the robot's choices. Apparently the algorithm blindly starts a new page about every 3750 words (14,500 characters? 120K bytes? Who knows?).

I don't want unwarranted praise--although I'd gladly accept any kind words the donor considered warranted; but instead of comments about the length of my submissions, I'd rather hear about the weaknesses in my plotting, characterization, or dialogue. But I can do lap dog as well as the next guy, I just don't have to like it.

Many thanks to Bebop3 for beta reading. He helped a lot.

HE COULD HAVE been the poster boy for the world's Nice Guys. Neither his parents nor anyone else had to teach him to be polite or respectful. He was saying please and thank you before he knew how to speak in sentences. In elementary and middle school he was giving up his seat for a woman or old man, holding doors open for those following him, even opening them for those with arms full or otherwise unable to open it.

High-school years found him offering to help others with heavy or time-consuming jobs, doing household chores without being asked, running errands when he was old enough to drive. He always let someone with just a few items go ahead of him in the checkout line, returned shopping carts to the proper spot (sometimes even gathering up one or more left helter-skelter in parking places or traffic lanes), stopped for pedestrians whether in a crosswalk or not, motioned go ahead to drivers waiting to turn left or enter traffic.

In general, he considered others' needs as important as his own--he was a natural empath. His empathy didn't do much for his social life, unfortunately, especially since to boot he was also very shy, making him the ultimate introvert.

High school isn't the ideal place for introverts--let alone empaths--to attract admirers, or even friends. There were a few others in the school, but their very shyness and reluctance to make others uncomfortable kept them from reaching out. As a result, he had no real friends and no dates.

College was different. Oh, there were the usual good-looking, smooth-talking guys and receptive coeds, but more than a few empaths, too. Almost all of them were in their late teens or older, and some had actually managed to overcome their shyness a bit and make an overture when they recognized someone similarly limited. He saw this, realized it was a good thing, and began to experience occasional companionship with young woman.

About half-way through spring semester his sophomore year, a girl in his Calc II class asked if he could give her some help. This puzzled him, because she didn't seem to be having any trouble, but since she opened the conversation they set a time later that day to meet in the library.

Patti was easily the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Her dark, almost black hair in a long page boy was all the more striking against her pale complexion. He almost lost himself in her brown eyes the first time she curved her lips and scrunched her eyebrows into what seemed like a melancholy smile, but proved to be simply her expression of affection or understanding. Initially he was almost painfully uncomfortable around her, but her gentle smiles and occasional touches of his hand or arm eventually put him somewhat at ease.

Her grasp of the material was easily the equal of his, and their supposed tutoring sessions quickly morphed into mutual study sessions. As he grew more confident with her, their relationship also changed; a month after their first library meeting, she wondered if he wanted to ask her out on a date. His heart beating so loud he just knew she could hear it, he said did.

He soon discovered the joys of mutual attraction, marked by hugs, then tentative kisses, then more passionate expressions of affection. He thought he had died and gone to heaven the first time she invited him to first base; soon they were seeing each other every night. Before he had advanced around the infield, she invited him to a party at a friend's apartment. He didn't know any of the dozen or so people at the party.

Not long after that night he again thought he had died, but never mind heaven.

Her friend was Roger, the son of one of her father's workmates. One of Roger's roommates was Bill, who was older (24) and going to school on the GI Bill (he'd spent four years in the Air Force). Neither Roger nor Bill would ever be mistaken for an empath: they were opinionated, cynical, and dominated conversations. They always seemed to be laughing about something or at someone, and soon many of the others were laughing, too.

He never noticed that Patti was laughing as least as much as anyone else. When he suggested at 11:00 that they go, Patti's face fell and she asked if they could stay longer, because she was having so much fun. Even when he reminded her of their upcoming finals, she insisted they stay until midnight, and spent much of the next hour talking and laughing with Bill. They did leave at midnight, but the ride back to her dorm was uncomfortably quiet.

He asked Patti in class Monday what she wanted to do that evening; she looked down at her desktop for a moment, then said she wasn't feeling well and thought she should stay in her room. Every night for the next week she offered some reason not to see him, most of which sounded flimsy. Sunday night he learned just how flimsy.

As he stood to pay after eating a late supper sitting at the bar at Burgers & Brews, he saw Patti and Bill snogging in a booth. Just as he was going out the door, he looked back and saw Patti staring at him with a stricken look. He quickly left and jogged back to his dorm.

The next week in class, Patti came up to him and asked if they could go somewhere to talk. When he asked what about, she said she wanted to explain about Sunday night. He said there was nothing to explain, that Bill's a man, he's just a boy, and she made her choice. She protested, but feebly, and didn't call him back when he walked away. She tried to talk to him a couple of times after that, but he would simply nod pleasantly and move on.

THAT SUMMER HE worked as a lab assistant for an oil company in North Dakota. The work was interesting, but he made no friends. He saved his money, spent most of his spare time volunteering at the local food pantry, and was happy to return to school for his junior year. He renewed old friendships with his fellow empaths and met a few new ones but avoided romantic entanglement, even though a couple of shy girls had dropped not-so-subtle hints.

Shortly after Christmas, he ran into Patti's friend Roger at Burgers & Brews (the place was his only guilty pleasure). They sat next to each other at the bar and washed down their cheeseburger and fries with an IPA. After the detritus was cleared and they got their second IPAs, Roger turned to him with a sheepish look and said he thought it sucked when Bill moved in on Patti. Bill wasn't his roommate any longer, and he thought Bill and Patti were living together.

The disillusioned empath just shrugged and mumbled that he should have known better. A few weeks later, Roger texted him an invitation to a party at his apartment the coming Saturday night. No couples, just singles, bring your own bottle.

Despite some misgivings, he showed up Saturday night at Roger's with a six-pack of Red Stripe. Immediately he set the bottles down on the dining table, he heard a sweet girl's voice behind him start to sing.

Down the way where the nights are gay,

and the sun shines daily on the mountain top...

Without turning, he picked up the next lines.

I took a trip on a sailing ship,

and when I reached Jamaica, I made a stop.

He turned around and locked eyes with a lovely young lady whose big brown bedroom eyes were a great match for her fulsome bosom, room-lighting smile, and soft brown curls. They sang the chorus together.

But I'm sad to say I'm on my way,

won't be back for many a day.

My heart is down, my head is turning around,

I had to leave a little girl in Kingston town.

They both blushed as the other partygoers burst into applause. Emboldened by his most unlikely behavior, he walked over, took her hand, and told her she had a beautiful voice, he was sorry he barged in on it.

She told him not to be silly, that he had a very nice voice. She introduced herself as Barbara and asked if he had a name. He blushed again, this time at her praise he thought unwarranted, answered her, and asked if she'd like a Red Stripe.

She said no, she was more of a Chardonnay girl, but if he got a beer she'd get her wine. He shook his head, held up his hand and told her to stay, then returned shortly with her wine and his beer. They spent the rest of the evening together, learning about each other's lives, and exchanged phone numbers before leaving separately.

They weren't separate for long. She called Wednesday and suggested they go see one of her favorite movies, so Friday night they went to a revival showing of The Princess Bride. She insisted on paying for the tickets, but allowed him to get the popcorn and Coke, which they shared.

They held hands as they walked for ice cream after the movie. It turned out that Princess Bride was one of his favorite movies, too, and they spent half an hour trading quotes. When they got back to her apartment, she gave him a gentle kiss, then a longer one that seemed to promise more. Ignoring faint alarm bells, he felt himself falling for Barbara.

Alarm bells be damned, it didn't take long for him to fall all the way. For the rest of the semester, he and Barbara often double-dated with Roger and his squeeze of the week. He never noticed that sometimes Roger seemed to pay as much attention to Barbara as his own date

That summer he had a paid internship with another oil company in Calgary. He hated to be so far from Barbara, who stayed in town for summer school, but they kept in touch with Skype almost every day. He never noticed that her surroundings changed as the summer wore on, and sometimes he assumed that the voices he heard in the background were the TV.

As soon as he was back in town, he called Barbara. She sounded a little nervous, and asked him to pick her up at Roger's apartment. He drove there straightaway, a feeling of foreboding lending weight to his foot on the gas. She was waiting for him out on the sidewalk, got in, and suggested they go to Burgers & Brews. They took their beers to a booth and sat across from each other in silence for a moment.

Looking away from his face at some spot on the booth behind him, she explained that she was at Roger's because she didn't have a job for the summer and the dorms were pretty expensive. Another of Roger's roommates had moved out, so he suggested that she take his place, pointing out that the shared cost of rent and groceries would be a lot less than dorm fees. She stopped, took a drink of her beer, and turned back to face him.

He didn't respond so she continued, more quietly. She lamented that it was hard for her to tell him these things, that they hadn't intended or planned to but they fell in love. The coming weekend they were moving to a one-bedroom apartment closer to campus. Before he had a chance to ask, she admitted they were sleeping together, that they had been most of the summer. She stopped again, and reached across the table to take his hand.

Her eyes filled with tears as she said that she knew he was terribly hurt and squeezed his hand to comfort him. Then she wiped the tears from her eyes, and in a more forceful voice told him that he was just too damn sensitive, that he needed to toughen up, to stop trying to be such a nice guy all the time. She acknowledged that Roger could be pretty crude and cynical, but said he was just protecting himself, that he was actually a very caring and thoughtful guy. She finished by cautioning him that if he didn't learn how to be more like Roger, he was always going to be hurt.

Barbara moved out of his life and he threw himself into his senior year classes. She and Roger announced their engagement right after Christmas. They occasionally crossed paths with him, but friendship had faded to acquaintance; they nodded to each other or mumbled a Hi but never talked again. He didn't know how to toughen up.

In mid-June he received his BS in Mechanical Engineering, and accepted a job offer from BP in Houston. Texas was a bit of a culture shock. The Gulf Coast climate was beastly, but everything was air conditioned; Houston was a surprisingly cosmopolitan city, and his work was new and interesting.

He didn't travel the first year, spending all his work time in the lab or his cubicle at the corporate office. His social life was limited to internet browsing, channel surfing, with an occasional solitary dinner out at Paul's Seafood and Oyster Boat or Tex-Mex at Elbita's.

The second year he was sent out to several oil platforms in the Gulf on two- or three-day trips to check their safety procedures and survey their equipment for maintenance requirements, work he found both fascinating and exciting. He got to ride in helicopters and supply boats, found a healthy respect for the people who worked out on the gulf, and decided that he had no desire to work out there on a regular basis.

The stimulation of these sojourns outside the office and suburban environs changed his attitude when he was back in the office or lab. He no longer went out of his way to avoid people--although stopping short of actually seeking any friendships--and usually went for a walk around the BP campus after lunch.

ONE DAY AS he set out on his post-lunch constitutional, he noticed a young woman he had seen at work from time to time. It was hard not to notice her; she was at least eight inches shorter than his six feet, always dressed in heavy, nondescript, ankle-length skirts and bulky sweaters in some shade of purple. She had small hands, a small voice, and an olive complexion (at least her face and hands, which is all he could see).

He had also noticed that she hardly ever spoke to anyone, and guessed he had found another empath. As she started walking, he caught up with her and softly asked if he could join her. She looked up, startled, and he almost lost himself in her eyes so dark and deep they seemed almost black. When she nodded, he introduced himself. She followed suit, said her name was Miryam, but failed to pick up on several conversational gambits he ventured.

She relaxed a bit after he had invited himself along a few more times, and told him something about herself and her family. She was from Cincinnati, got her BS and MS in mathematics from, as she was careful to put it, The Ohio State University. Her parents were both high school teachers--she English, he Biology--her older brother was finishing his residency in neuropsychiatry at Brigham and Women's Hospital in Boston.

After he had told her a bit about his family, her deep brown eyes twinkled in unspoken laughter. He found her ill-disguised amusement a bit disconcerting; when she noticed this she openly smiled. He finally gave in to the urge to ask her what was so funny. She was instantly contrite, and exclaimed sorrowfully "Oh dear, I did not mean to upset you. Please let me explain.

"My friend Rose pointed you out to me a few days ago and said that for the past year or so you had always looked sad, but lately you seem... perhaps not happy, but definitely not so sad." Miryam noticed that now his face registered mild disapproval at this uninvited scrutiny.

"Yes, Rose is far too interested in others' lives, but she has always been that way. She seems to think she should be a Yenta." She blushed, but her eyes twinkled all the more. "I must confess, though, that I had also noticed the change, and was happy for you.." With the last, she snaked her hand between his arm and body and moved closer as they walked.

And thus they slowly moved into friendship, which brought him happiness but also a little unease. As his affection for Miryam grew and she reciprocated, so did his fear of being hurt. Always perceptive, Miryam finally asked him on one of their lunchtime walks to tell her what was wrong, and refused to accept "nothing."

He didn't want to tell her how Patti and Barbara had let him down, because he felt it would be unfair, even disrespectful, to tell only his side of what had to be more complicated situations. On the other hand, he didn't want Miryam to think he was holding back because he didn't care for her and respect her, and he definitely didn't want to tell her that he was afraid to trust her.

He stumbled through a compromise that seemed to work, telling her that he hadn't had the greatest luck with women, that he was afraid he didn't really understand them well enough to say or do the right thing, or at least avoid saying or doing the wrong thing. He confessed that what was wrong was that he growing fond of her, and was afraid he would mess it up again. That was close enough to the truth, if not the whole truth, that he was comfortable saying it.

Her reaction astonished him. She stopped walking, threw her arms around him, laid her head on his chest, and burst into tears. Before he could apologize or ask what was wrong, she leaned back, put her hands on his cheeks, and beamed a star-bright smile through her tears. "You great meshuganah! I'm growing fond of you, too--more than fond, even--and the only way you could mess it up would be to say that you didn't mean it." With that, she kissed him sort of tenderly and sort of hungrily right in the middle of the sidewalk.