Cupid

As I watched the stranger through the foggy window, I knew I was making a mistake. As he loosened his tie, switched from loafers to slippers, and tuned the television to an NHL game, I knew I was making a mistake. As he sat down on the unkempt bed, pet the dog lying on the pillow, and sipped from a bottle of Pabst Blue Ribbon, I knew I was making a mistake.
He was a stranger, but I knew everything about him: Where he was born, how many siblings he had, how he had refused to cry at his father’s funeral, but had broken down in the bathroom afterwards. I knew his hopes, I knew his fears, and I knew that he wasn’t ready. He couldn’t possibly be prepared for what I was about to do to him; but then again, nobody is ever ready for what I bring to the table.
I’d done this job for a long time, and I was good at it. Flattery told me I was the only one qualified for the heavy-handed tasks that I labored through, but I knew better than to believe this. I knew that if I didn’t go through with it, events would still play out as planned. Maybe not in the exact order or in the exact time frame, but they would happen. People don’t exist idly; they move, they evolve, and they inevitably meet if they are meant to meet. Yet time was the demon that I was able to conquer, circumstance was my specialty that I laid out so precisely. If I didn’t do my job, life would correct itself in its course, but I convinced myself that this wasn’t true in order to follow through with my orders.
This man was ordinary, and completely unaware of the web he’d been woven into, of the fabric he was an integral piece of. He didn’t know that his life was about to change forever, and that I’d be the one to change it. He never saw me coming. In fact, he’d never see me, period. I was so good at what I did that I was able to become virtually invisible when necessary. A squirrel scampered up the tree beside me, pausing as it passed my shoulders, aware of my presence but unable to focus on my exact whereabouts; I was that good.
I sighed as I readied my weapon. I didn’t particularly enjoy the crudeness of my methods, but I hadn’t been able to hone my expertise through another vessel; this was the only way it was going to work. I took one last look at his face, at the lines that formed across his forehead as he frowned at the television screen; at the five o’clock shadow that had shown up on his cheek since his morning shave; at the almost innocent quality that his eyes portrayed. He wasn’t ready. I silently cracked opened the locked window and poised my weapon to shoot through the small gap. I didn’t need a lot of room, because my aim was impeccable.
One last wave or remorse passed over me before I mentally blocked out my emotions. I wasn’t allowed to have emotions. My job depended on my ability to remove myself from my targets, my victims. I drew my weapon and shot it straight at his heart; a clean hit.
The arrow passed right through without so much of the bat of an eye from the man. It usually takes a moment or two for them to realize that something has happened. He continued to sit; he took another sip from his beer. And then the unmistakable change occurred; his once vague expression caught fire. His demeanor went from relaxed to completely alert. He glanced around to make sure that his surroundings hadn’t changed, because he knew something had changed, but couldn’t place what it was. And then he reached for the telephone on the nightstand, picked it up, and called Her.
I had gotten to her earlier that evening; she was already changed and awaiting his call. The change in her life had already begun, and he was the counterpart to the painstakingly detailed plan. My job was done.
When I left, I let the remorse take over my mind once again. I knew what was in store for them: the heartache, the pain, the tears, the grief. Yet I did what I did because that’s what the world wanted me to do. The world wants people to fall in love. The day it realizes that love isn’t worth the trouble is the day that I will willingly put down my bow for good. But I know that day will never come, as the world is blinded by the allure of this ill-fated emotion.
And so I left and traveled to my next destination; to claim my next unsuspecting victim.