Build, test, iterate. Text, meet up, date.

Madysyn Amandalynn 4

The fourth part of a longer narrative poem I’m working on about romance in the Bay Area.

Part I
Part II
Part III

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IV

They sat outside the Blue Danube one Sunday,
sipping iced lattes, in midspring one afternoon,
lamenting the prospects on their dating apps.
Caeli, her friend from work who lived nearby,
and Madysyn, went through the matter why
finding someone in the City was so hard,
and why one always had to be on their guard.

“They have these characters they play,” she said,
checking her phone, then putting it facedown again
upon the table. She held her hand over her head
like a visor, for the sun was high and bright even
through her shades, in whose reflection crossed
young Richmondites going about their days.
“It’s the same four or five lines every time.

The same back and forth, until they ask you out.
Then you spend all this time getting to know them
and one day they don’t text you back, and that’s 
how you find out. That’s how you know it’s done.
No text, no call. No tact. Nothing. Gone.
Then you have to start the process all over.
You have to restart again from scratch.

And the characters they play—I’m squinting
trying to figure out: is that how you really act?
Is that what you’re like when you’re alone sitting
on your sofa? Is that how you are with friends?
I swear I’ve met enough of them to fill
a whole season’s worth of a sitcom. Types
of guys, with virtually no personality.”

“As long as they’re not the boring type,” said Caeli.
“That’s the worst.” Her gaze, as she spoke, glanced
off every stranger that passed, surveilling
with fierce concision. “I don’t play anymore.
I can tell within five minutes sitting down
with a guy whether or not it’s gonna work.
I’ve literally gotten up and walked out before.”

“You did not!” laughed Madysyn. “Get out!”
She grabbed her phone again, then put it down.
A sound of plates, and others’ conversation,
a car passed by that made them turn around,
and then the lively street took over, the people
and the guessing at their lives. She paused.
“I have expectations. You have conditions.

Remember how many buttons you said a guy
is allowed to leave open in his profile pic?
Too high and he’s uptight. Not enough, he’s lost
all self-respect.” “Imagine just the bottom one!”
Caeli chimed in. They laughed. And Madysyn: 
“You said you could correlate buttons open
to hotness, and plot it like a function.”

Caeli pointed. “The bell curve of the button.”
She shrugged, and smiled, and spun the ice around
in her drink. “I mean, you don’t know until you try,
but you don’t want to try too hard until you know
enough. You know?” And that gave Madysyn
a thought. “It is a lot like work. Build,
test, iterate. Text, meet up, date.

But nothing ever happens. It never moves
out of development.” And Caeli: “Are you
talking about your job, or the men?” “Both,”
lamented our Madysyn. “It’s been a year
and they haven’t said yes to anything yet.
Just endless sprints with zero direction
because they don’t even let us market test.

“That’s crazy,” said Caeli, leaning back in her chair.
“How do they even know what they want if they won’t
let you see how it plays?” “I don’t even think they care,”
said Madysyn. “It’s always the same. They don’t
think it’s there, or there’s a snag with operations,
or legal has problems with it. My evaluations
keep getting pushed back.” She paused, and groaned.

“They just wanna say they’re working on it,” Caeli
remarked, as her eyes tracked across the street.
“It sucks because, when they offered it to me
I thought it was a way to move up in the company,”
she checks her phone. “Now it feels like defeat.
I think any day now they’re going to fire me.
‘Come in Madysyn. Please, have a seat.’”

“That sucks,” said Caeli. “You’re like so good at what
you do. The devs love you. Mark and them know
how valuable you are. That’s why they put you
in charge. Just don’t quit. You gotta see it through.
Maybe it’s, like, an executive training thing.
It could be tryouts for upper management.
I heard that’s how Audrey K. got there too.”

“I thought she took a class…” said Madysyn.
“Oh, yeah, maybe…” Caeli was looking off
into the street again. A younger couple,
hand in hand, walked their labradoodle.
An old man followed with a phlegmy cough.
The City’s orchestra rose again in their pause
as Madysyn considered the last few months.

In her ascent to the top, she found herself
benighted by a quite unexpected plateau.
There seemed to climb no other cliff, no shelf
in sight, no clear direction where to go.
A feeling of dejection overtook her,
and for the first time Madysyn felt unhappy
in her job, and less enchanted with the City.

The feeling lodged like a steel rod in her chest.
To breathe out or in, with her shoulders rigid,
took great effort, and she felt every breath.
Caeli suggested, not knowing of her distress,
that they meet up with friends down in Mission.
“Nora said there’s something going on
tonight at Chapel. Or Mint. Or Don Juan.”

“I’ve got a lot of meetings Monday,” Madysyn,
apprehensive, said. Caeli looked at her.
“We’ll be back by midnight. It’ll be fun.”
Madysyn saw herself, her double figure,
with latte and phone on the table, split
in the lenses of her friend’s aviators,
globed, conformal, and lustrous in the sun.