Sounds Good Ch. 06

Patience was the voice of Ronnie. And it was Ronnie's voice that I had liked best of all. I'd even told Patience so, in my audio review. I felt my face flush.

But Patience didn't look much like Ronnie. She was short - maybe 5'1", and couldn't have weighed 100 lbs. soaking wet. The only things they had in common were thick eyebrows, and long hair - though Patience's was light brown, not dark.

I was too embarrassed to look her in the eyes.

- "Hey." she said. "Snogg really wants to meet you. He's right over there. Come on. Excuse us, guys, " she added, for Mike and the girls. "I'm going to introduce Cyrano to Snogg."

Patience didn't try to push my wheelchair. She just led the way. I appreciated the gesture (or lack of one - some of my relatives like to take charge and push me places I would rather not go). It would've been rude of me not to follow her.

- "The guy in the purple sweater." she said.

Snogg was a big fellow: tall, and heavy. When Patience told him who I was, his face split into a big grin. He reached out with a beefy paw to shake my hand.

- "Cyrano! The man himself. Glad you could make it. Hey - thanks for all your reviews. Seriously, they were excellent."

- "Your work was awesome." I said. "The quality, of course, but the quantity, too. I can't believe how many renders you did. I expected that to be the most time-consuming part of the whole process."

- "They do take a long time." he said. "But I'll let you in on a little secret. I started this whole thing almost 2 years ago. I'd finished dozens of renders before Patience even came on board. Right, Paysh?" He nonchalantly threw an arm around Patience's shoulders.

They looked like a bear and a pixie. But I have to admit, I felt a momentary pang of jealousy.

Momentary, only - because I realized how ridiculous it would sound to tell Patience that I was in love with her voice. Well ... I had told her that, sort of ... but maybe she would be kind enough not to mention it.

"Patience took over the writing." said Snogg. "To tell the truth, I was doing a shitty job of that, by myself. She created characters based on my illustrations, and then came up with a story to link them all together."

- "Not a very original story." said Patience. "But it was fun to create characters, working from Snogg's renders. Then we brought Mike in, and he's had to work his ass off to catch up."

- "You've done so much work. I can't believe how much you've put into the game." I said. "It must take up all of your time."

- "It does." said Snogg.

- "How can you afford it? I don't mean to be rude, or anything ... but I'm curious."

- "My Dad left me some money when he passed away." said the artist.

- "I'm sorry." I said.

- "Thanks. No big deal. I think he wanted me to go to college, or something. But this is what I like to do. Patience and I just ... we just agreed that we should do things differently."

Patience took over the explanation. "I think I told you before: the plan is to release a complete game, as bug-free as we can make it. We didn't want to release a demo, and ask for money, because then we'd under pressure to finish by a certain date."

"If this game attracts a following -"

- "Which it will." I said.

Patience smiled. "We hope so. If it does, then we can ask for funding for our next project."

- "If we can get enough patrons," said Snogg, "then I can do this full time, and Patience can maybe quite her job, too."

- "What do you do?" I asked.

- "I'm a waitress." she said.

- "Hey - there's Rick!" said Snogg. "S'cuse me guys - gotta talk to him. Hey: great to meet you, Cyrano. See you again, I hope."

- "Sure. Likewise."

The big artist left the two of us alone. I felt awkward and stupid. Patience, clearly, was much more at ease.

- "So ..." I began. "Are you and Snogg ...?"

- "Brother and sister? No - he's my cousin." said Patience. Then she must've seen my face. "Wait - you thought ... Snogg and I?" She laughed aloud - and there it was: Ronnie's laugh. I'd replayed the Halloween Party scene several times, just to hear that sound.

"No." she said. "Just cousins."

- "Ah."

- "What about you, Cyrano? Is there a lady love in your life?"

- "Eh? No. I mean ... not at the moment. No."

We were silent for only a moment, when I decided to take the plunge, and ask a question that had been on my mind from the moment Mike had introduced Patience.

"May I ask you something?" I said.

- "Please do."

- "When we met, just now ... you didn't seem at all surprised that I was in a wheelchair."

- "No." she said. "I knew."

There was only one way she could've found out. "Mike told you."

- "Actually, I pried it out of him. You know that Mike folds under pressure. And that he can't keep a secret - like my gender."

- "What did he tell you?" I finally dared to look Patience in the eyes. She had especially large grey-blue eyes.

- "That you have muscular dystrophy."

There it was.

It wasn't a closely-guarded secret, or anything like that. But I wasn't in the habit of telling online friends that I had MD.

If you're unfamiliar with it, MD breaks down skeletal muscles over time. There are several varieties, which differ in which muscles they affect, when the symptoms first appear, and how quickly they worsen.

But they all have one thing in common: there's no cure.

- "What else did he say?"

- "That you had Becker's MD - not Duchenne's. I looked them up."

I forced myself to look up and meet her eyes. I saw compassion, not pity. That may not seem like a big difference, but it was very important to me.

Duchenne's Muscular Dystrophy affects 1 in 5000 boys - only boys. It becomes apparent when they begin to walk. By age 10, those boys need braces; by age 12, they can't walk at all. Their expected lifespan ranges from 15 to 45.

I'm much luckier. Becker's MD affects only 1 in 35,000. My symptoms didn't appear until my early teens. I had weaknesses in my leg muscles, and my calves became enlarged.

Walking got to be more and more difficult. I fell, frequently, and then I couldn't get up without help. I tire easily, too.

I had tightness in my joints, and difficulty stretching my leg and heel muscles. So far, I'd avoided the contractures that can lead to skeletal deformities and curvature of the spine. I also had to be closely monitored because of the increased risk of heart disease.

There was no cure, but braces could help, along with frequent physiotherapy. Counselling and occupational therapy, corticosteroids ...

Strictly speaking, I didn't need the wheelchair all of the time - but eventually I would. In the meantime, Mom didn't want to worry about me falling in the street, or ... at a party.

- "I'm sorry." said Patience. "I didn't mean to invade your privacy. I just ... wanted to know more about you. I was hoping that ... we could be friends."

I forced a smile. She was right, though. We'd exchanged some very positive and productive emails, and she'd always responded promptly and generously to my audio critiques. I'd liked Patience even before I met her in person.

Plus ... she had the voice of a goddess.

Why couldn't we be friends? She knew I had MD, and she didn't seem freaked out. Mike was my friend; could Patience and I become close, too?

- "We can." I said. "Of course we can."

Patience smiled again. Part of it looked like relief. "I'm glad. Say - why don't we grab a coffee? Or lunch?"

- "That would be nice." I said.

***

I made the mistake of telling Mom about the party. She asked, of course, but I should've just made up something trivial.

- "So you're meeting this girl for lunch? What's she like?"

I tried to briefly describe Patience - soon I was floundering, and telling my mother far more about the game than she needed to know.

- "When do I get meet her?"

- "Mom! It's just lunch."

- "Sounds like a date to me." she said. After that, my Mom started breaking out into song whenever she thought that I was within earshot.

"My boy's going on a date ... my boy's going on a date ..."

- "Mom - it's just lunch. It's not a date." I wasn't sure about that, either, but I didn't want to jinx myself.

- "Really? Did she ask all of the other play-testers to lunch, too?"

She started singing again. I couldn't recognize the tune. I asked her to stop, but that didn't work at all.

***

"So," said Patience, shortly after we'd gotten a table, "I just have to ask: why did you leave Ronnie for last? I understand why you went for Heather first, but after that?"

- "Umm ..." It wasn't the easiest thing to explain to her. But she'd written the game, and all of the characters' dialogue. She had to appreciate honesty and directness.

"It was by accident." I admitted. I told her the whole story. "But I'm really glad that it worked out that way."

- "Oh? Why?"

I blushed a little. "Your voice. I found it so ... appealing. And then the more I looked at her pictures, the more attractive I found her. I just knew that if I'd followed Ronnie's story-line first, I might never have gotten to the other roommates."

- "Even Laura? You can't tell me that you would've chosen Ronnie over Laura."

I was saved from answering because Patience's phone went off. She apologized, glanced at it quickly, and then apologized again.

"Sorry - I have to take this."

She turned sideways in her seat. She listened much more than she spoke. In the meantime, I had the opportunity to look at her without feeling self-conscious.

Patience was tiny, like Nalani. But it would've been a stretch to call her pretty. Her eyes were huge. She had a wide, high forehead that dominated her face and made her chin seem small. On top of that, she had dark circles under her eyes.

I got a good, long look at her before she ended her call.

- "Sorry about that." she said.

- "No problem."

- "No. I wouldn't appreciate it if someone else did that to me. I apologize." She turned off her phone. "Where were we?"

- "The game." I said. "Speaking of which - how did you ever get involved in this project?"

She laughed. "You mean, what's a nice girl like me doing writing a porn game?"

- "Something like that."

- "You know, I used to like horror movies. All kinds. Then, I started to be disappointed. The really scary movies had lousy stories. I was scared, but the endings were brutal. Bad."

"And the ones with decent stories just weren't that scary."

- "I don't care for horror films, but I've seen a few. I understand what you're saying."

- "Good. See, I think porn is the same. Why can't porn have a story? A good story? There are some really hot scenes out there. Why not combine them with a good plot?"

"Mainstream movies, on the other hand, feel like they have to include those obligatory sex scenes. And they're just ..."

- "Awkward?"

- "Yeah. It's embarrassing, how bad they are."

I nodded my agreement.

"It should be something that you could watch alone, or that a couple could watch together." she continued. "You know, it should help to ... put you in the mood. Instead, most of those scenes just make everyone uncomfortable."

We stopped talking as the waitress delivered our order.

- "So ... Edna?" I asked. I'd worked it out by process of elimination. Mike's girlfriend Angie had used her own name in the credits; she'd voiced Nalani.

Felicia was Laura, and MarshaB had been Michelle. Girl3 had voiced Heather; I still didn't know her real name. That left one last credit for Patience: Edna.

- "My great-grandmother. I have six brothers and sisters - all older. My parents were running out of imagination. I got Edna Rose."

Ouch. My heart went out to her.

- "That couldn't have been easy, at school."

- "No. It wasn't."

- "Well ... you'd be the only one. And it's short - that comes in handy if you have to sign your autograph a lot ..."

Patience laughed. "Listen to you: trying to put a positive spin on 'Edna'? Don't bother - I've never forgiven my parents, and I legally changed my name, first chance I got." She showed me her driver's licence, just to prove it.

There it was: Patience. Of course, I took advantage of the opportunity to study her photo. I'd seen worse.

We ate and talked, and talked some more, and had a second coffee.

- "Darn." she said. "We've been talking for two and a half hours."

- "Oh. Sorry."

- "Don't be. I enjoyed every minute. But ... I really do have to get going."

- "Thanks for inviting me."

She smiled. "I'm glad you came."

I don't know what came over me. I panicked. And In a moment of madness, I blurted out the thought that had been on my mind before I'd even arrived.

- "Patience - could we do this again? I mean ... do you want to get together sometime?"

- "You mean ... like a date?"

I couldn't read her expression. She wasn't laughing at me, or mocking me. She wasn't frowning either. I took a deep breath.

- "Yes. Like a date." I said it bravely enough, but I was prepared to beat a hasty retreat at the first sign that she was unhappy, or insulted, or unsure ...

- "What did you think this was?" she asked.

I could have said 'lunch'. I didn't. In for a penny ...

- "A ... date?"

Patience smiled, without showing her teeth. "So next time will be our second. What would you like to do?"

- "Talk more. Find out more about you."

- "Same here. But I meant 'where would you like to go'?"

- "Uh ..." And then I came out with the first thing that popped into my head. "The racetrack? I went once, when I was a kid. It was fun. And there's plenty of time to talk, between the races. We don't have to bet, or anything ..."

- "Of course we do! That sounds like a wonderful idea. I'll drive. Next Saturday? What time should I pick you up?"

I was going on a date. Another one - I'd just been on a date. It was ... exhilarating. I almost felt like I could've run home.

Patience was wonderful. Incredible. Intelligent, and kind. I could've listened to her reading a shopping list, but she said interesting, fascinating things.

By good fortune, she'd had to take that phone call, which had allowed me to look at her face without making either of us feel self-conscious. I'd also had a chance to study her licence photo.

She wasn't bad-looking. Maybe a different hair-style would have covered some of her forehead. Those dark circles under her eyes would probably go away, if she got some sleep. Maybe that would happen, now that the game was done.

I thought she looked pretty good, truth be told.

- "How was your date?" asked my mother, the moment I came through the door.

- "It was a date." I said.

***

Reaction set in the next morning.

Was I kidding myself? What could she possibly see in somebody like me? She knew that I had MD - but then she'd known that before she asked me to lunch.

The date was her idea. She'd even called it a date. I wasn't imagining that. That didn't stop me from going over every moment of the lunch that I could remember, to try to figure out if I'd done something unforgivably stupid.

I did my exercises, and then checked my email.

She'd sent me a message.

Hey Cyrano,

I had a wonderful time yesterday. I completely lost track of time. That must be a good sign. Now I'm looking forward to next Saturday.

Of course, I know nothing about horse racing, so I looked it up. That didn't help much; I think I'll be picking horses based on their names, or their colours. Hopefully, we'll bring each other luck.

Patience

Maybe I should've thought twice before I quickly typed a response (well, as quickly I was able to).

Dear Patience

I had a great time, too. I'm not sure what you see in me, but I'm really glad that we went out. I'm looking forward to Saturday as well.

Cyrano

***

Tuesday was the end of the month. I went into Mom's office to see Mr Barron. He seemed genuinely pleased to see me.

- "I hate to admit it, but I wasn't sure what you could do for us. Now that I've seen it, though ... well, I'm very happy with the work you've done so far."

- "That's great."

- "I have a question for you, Dan. I know you only charged us for a few hours over the last two weeks. How would you feel about working more hours?"

- "That would be fine, Sir. But ... how would I do that?"

- "I spoke to one of my colleagues about you, Dan. She could use your ... expertise - would you be willing to take on a second department?"

- "What would I have to do, Mr Barron?"

- "The same thing you did for us."

- "I can do that."

***

The race track turned out to be a brilliant idea. It was a beautiful day, so that Patience wore a sundress.

- "You didn't have to dress up." I told her.

- "This isn't dressed up. Besides, I only get so many opportunities to wear a dress."

- "I'm not complaining. You look great."

She smiled. "Thank you, Cyrano." She liked to call me Cyrano when I said or did anything remotely gentlemanly. She called it 'being gallant'.

We stowed my chair in her trunk, and got into her well-used Toyota. To my surprise, she didn't immediately start the car. Instead, she took a deep breath.

- "Before we go anywhere, I have to tell you something. It's been bothering me all week."

Patience produced her phone, and tapped the screen. Then she handed it to me.

It was her email, with the message from me open.

Dear Patience

I had a great time, too. I'm not sure what you see in me, but I'm really glad that we went out. I'm looking forward to Saturday as well.

Cyrano

It had ... been bothering her all week? Was my response too short? Too rushed? I must have looked like a deer in the headlights.

Patience reached over and highlighted one section: I'm not sure what you see in me.

- "You shouldn't question my taste, Dan." she said. "I have good reasons for liking you."

"I'm probably not going to say this every day, so listen carefully: your critiques of the game were very impressive. Thoughtful, and insightful. But I also enjoyed how effectively you communicated your ideas and your reactions."

"By the second one, I found myself listening to your voice. I don't know if anyone's ever told you, but you have a wonderful voice."

- "I do?"

- "Yes, you do. I listened to your critiques several times each, just to hear the sound of your voice. It got to the point that I knew most of them off by heart."

- "I had no idea ..."

- "Can you imagine how I felt when you asked me to congratulate the voice actor playing Ronnie? 'No disrespect to the others', you said, 'but she has the most wonderful voice'."

- "It's true."

Patience took another deep breath. "Can you understand how I felt? You praised my work, you complimented my intelligence, my creativity ... and then you told me that I had a wonderful voice."

I had a pretty good idea. It was probably something like the way I felt at that very moment. She liked me. She liked me - and my voice - before we'd ever met. The only difference was that I hadn't known that Patience the writer and Ronnie's voice actor were the same person.

- "I asked Mike all about you. I didn't care that you have muscular dystrophy. It didn't matter at all to me what you looked like. It wouldn't have bothered me if you had been plain, or even ugly."

"Do you understand what I'm saying, Daniel?"

It was the first time she'd used my full name. She made it sound ... good.

- "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to question your judgment. I was just ... feeling incredibly lucky to ... be with you."

Patience reached over and took my hand.