I mentioned online that I had a better chance of meeting a good date in hell than I would online (or possibly in the world). Boy, what a mistake that was.

I got a ton of messages.

Mostly, from religious smart-asses who said to me (or rather to my inbox) that I should repent and save my soul with them. Fucking my way to heaven, perhaps?

A few Satanists responded with some great quotes from the Church of Satan, Devil's Advocate and even Interview with the Vampire. But they all had way too many tattoos and piercings - not my type at all.

Then I got messages from Atheists, how there was no hell or heaven and that God (yes, the name was capitalized) was a figment of the imagination. Oddly, they were so busy trying to convert me to Atheism, that none bothered to ask me out on a date.

Then came the super depressing messages from people who gave up on love altogether - those who had been abused, abandoned and betrayed.

These hurt the most.

I became an inbox for the bereaved, the lonely and the suicidal. I answered as best as I could - having to forgo the truly suicidal messages after I realized nothing I said made a difference and they really needed professional help.

So it was that my comment had struck a chord, making me the most popular hit for a week, with over 700 likes on OKCupid and over 50 messages a day from strangers. Yet, none of these were from people I would consider dating. Some were from out of the country.

A few people I met up with but they never responded back to me for a second date. None of them had been the one I was looking for...

Several months of searching OkC for a decent date in San Francisco, the other 1% who were not techies seemed impossible to reach. All artists had fled the city for Oakland, Portland, OR, Seattle, WA or of all places, Austin, Texas - the newly weird capital of the gun-toting, highest death row, red state. I had zero chance of finding a kindred spirit in the city of tech bro's and conceited start-ups.

At age 32 going on 33, I was much too old for the 20-somethings in the city.

I was also very poor, living in an SRO to support myself and my sky-high bills. With no car and no economic support from rich parents, I was the most undesirable woman in the city (and probably the world). Though, compared to most women on the planet, I had the most freedom.

I was so used to my newly found freedom, that it was hard to give it up. I could go out at night, not have a husband to boss me around or tell me what to do with my money. I had no roommates to worry about in the SRO room (just bat-shit crazy neighbors). Besides my job I could do whatever I wanted. Perhaps this was the main reason I was alone. I could never meet anyone who respected my freedom.

Men take freedom for granted. When they take it away from a woman they are never concerned. They think it's natural to control a woman, that a woman must become his slave. Women, never knowing anything about freedom (or having their own money), don't think twice about giving up their lives to a man who will abuse them.

They should.

In my job in retail, I have seen so many women become victims. The man always pays, demands what she wears, what she does. The older women and their botox, their drugged-out minds on quaaludes and drunk states. The Papas always paying for their daughters. The macho man, pulling out his wallet with a sneer as his woman taps her iPhone absentmindedly. The bill is $173.66. A pile of shopping bags rest at her feet which are manicured at the beauty parlor (as advertised in Chinatown, ONLY $20!, at the cost of exploiting poor, women immigrants). The woman's vacant eyes stare out of her botoxed face, her bleached blond hair and breast implants, liposuctioned body, etc. Ad nauseam.

I've seen the life these women live. It disgusts me. No, I don't have access to the money they get from their husband's wallets but I have freedom they will never have. I don't have a pile of shopping bags at my Doc Martin knock-off clad feet, but I can walk for miles in San Francisco in these boots and never tire. I never ask for a ride. I never depend on a man.

I've tried going out with women but it never works out. I'm not butch enough. I'm not a femme. End of story. They never call back.

Is it any wonder I'm still single?

I could get lovers but they are more like one night stands.

They never last.

Maybe I'm not pretty enough. I know I am ugly. It's ok. I am honest. A handsome face hides conceit. A beautiful face will always lie. I don't play games. There is no point.

The truth is, the one I am looking for does not exist.

The person I am looking for would be like me: sensitive, intelligent and honest. A person like that does not exist within the human race. I myself am not supposed to exist. I was an accident - the result of a broken condom from a drunken bar encounter. My own mother told me so. I used to say my father was the devil. When I was a child I knew I was a witch. No other child was like me.

Is it any wonder I search for a date in hell?

I got a response today, this morning, in fact.

Some smart-ass named: MrNiceGuy4U###.

"What do you expect to find with someone in hell that you can't find on earth?"

So I answered, "A date."

Later, came his response, "I find it hard to believe you haven't managed to find a date on earth. However, as the situation is at the present moment, I shall indulge your request and provide to you what you seek."

I think this guy may have Asperger's and is desperately trying to hide it with what he thinks is a clever response.

"Name, place and time?" I responded. Seriously, people have tried to hook up with me in fewer words. This brief reply was enough for him.

"Adam. Spec's off Adler, North Beach. 11:00 p.m."

Wow. This guy is desperate for a fuck.

I had looked on his profile. Tall, dark and handsome-ish. You know, the 'ol looks-like-a-do-gooder-lawyer-type or something. Brown hair, brown eyes, even features. Yeah, that was about it. Straight white teeth when he smiled. Always posed near some clean, tall building at night. Probably a lawyer.

. . .

By the way, how did he know where I went after work?

And, how did he know what time I usually get off work?

. . .

Had he seen me before?

I was nervous for my first date.

At 11 p.m. on the dot, he was there. But I was late...

I forgot my Clipper card and had to walk from work, so I got there at 11:15 p.m..

He was sitting at the table in back and waved to me as I came in.

He recognized me (miraculously from the vague photos I posted of myself online) but I had never seen him before.

"Please, sit." He gestured. "I'll get the tea. Jasmine, right?"

He was tall, and just as handsome as his pictures had been. Okay, yes, I do notice those things. He was wearing a dark, casual suit, like he had just gotten off work. He could be considered sexually attractive but I was in too much shock to notice. How did he know I liked Jasmine tea?

Spec's is the only bar I know where it's okay to order tea.

"Sure," I replied.

I watched him get up and pay for the order.

I was dressed for work too. So, a: blouse, slacks, makeup and jewelry (not what I usually wear, of course). I hadn't introduced myself yet.

He set my tea down and held his glass of white wine across from him.

"How was your day?" he asked, as if we always met like this to chat.

"All right." I sipped the hot tea and placed the cube of raw sugar in my mouth while I sipped. I was being pretentious but it's okay at Spec's. Just about anything is okay at Spec's, except paying with credit card or debit. Spec's is a cash-only kind of place. With tons of old, kitschy, memorabilia and a history of famous and well-known writers frequenting since the old Bohemian days of yore, it was my kind of place. But how did Adam know this?

"How was your day?" I asked back.

Awkward.

"Busy." He responded simply.

I nodded.

Crap, this was really awkward.

His low voice carried through the noisy bar well enough. I felt like I had to raise my voice though, which made me feel aggressive.

Most men hate aggressive women; they remind them of their mothers, or their fathers. Men who hit on me in bars or nude bathing spas make me act aggressive, like a butch.

Adam was different however. He looked like the sort in charge of a non-profit. I was slightly suspicious as a result. Oh god, what if he turned out to be a Jehovah's Witness? The ones I see near the BART stations. He saw a heathen online and had to convert them.

"You always go to Spec's?" I tried to figure him out.

"No, this is my first time." Adam said.

What?

"What? Really?" I was surprised.

"Yes," he replied.

"How did you know what to order?"

"I always know what to do."

Oh, the Alpha Male syndrome. Spare me. I raised my brows cynically and looked aside.

"Why did you want to go on a date with someone from hell?" he asked suddenly.

"I didn't say that." For some reason I felt defensive.

He had leaned forward to me, not to hear me but to look into my eyes, as if searching for an answer. "You said you wanted to look for a good date in hell."

Ok, I didn't mean it that way but I couldn't remember my exact words that I had typed on the stupid dating website profile I made. "I just thought I'd have a better chance of meeting someone - you know, like, 'You don't stand a chance on earth of getting a good date' - so I may as well look in hell!"

Adam just stared at me, as if digesting my words. He looked at his wine as if remembering it was there before he took a sip. "So, who do you expect to find, in hell?" he asked.

"Anyone." I relied hastily.

He just stared at me. Suddenly, the tale of Dante's Inferno came to me. All those famous people trapped in hell for their sins, including Judas. Who would I meet - besides the devil?

"You must have had a lot of bad dates here on earth," Adam said and smiled though he sounded serious.

"Not really," I answered honestly. "I'm just tired of... other people." What the hell was I saying? "I don't get out much, so I don't meet anyone. The people I meet online are flakes and it seems no one is really interested in me or wants to have any kind of relationship with me." Crap. That all just came out of nowhere. Did he put something in my drink, like that sodium-something truth serum? I hardly ever drink and have never been drunk. I prefer to maintain sobriety and total control of my body and environment at all times.

"So, you're lonely?" Adam clarified.

"Yeah. Well, no... not all the time. I do like being alone, I mean, I like my freedom - I'm not a clingy person or anything... I just want to have a nice companion." What am I, an old lady?

He nodded and kept watching me. I looked at his glass. He had only taken a few sips. Adam looked at his glass then and took a couple more sips. It was weird, the way he kept forgetting it was there. Perhaps he wasn't used to drinking? Then I remembered his strange message online and the fact that he may have Aspergers. It would explain his strange behavior.

"So, what kind of date are you looking for?" I changed the subject, trying to get the conversation on him instead of me. I didn't know much about this guy.

"I look for those who search me out." Adam answered cryptically.

"Yeah, that's usually how it works on dating sites." I concluded, sipping more of my tea, which prompted him to sip his wine.

A moment of silence.

Oh god, am I the one who has to keep the conversation going? If he has Aspergers, this is going to be really hard. I don't have anything against those people but they really don't get normal social cues, like: ok, now it's your turn to talk. They also mimic other people in social situations because they don't know how to act or what to do: you're supposed to drink your wine and hopefully enjoy it.

He also kept staring at me, which would flatter most women but I know I'm not pretty, so there's nothing to stare at. It was like he was trying to read my mind.

I didn't message him first. He messaged me. I wasn't looking for him. On the numerous results on the browse page for OkCupid, all I got for keywords: Dancing, Goth, Indie, etc., were a bunch of hipster bro's in SF and Oakland looking for sex. I tried looking up Caregiver but there were no results in a 100 mile radius. Funny how no one wants to mention that as their job - possibly because it's the lowest rated job (and lowest paying) other than janitor? After that, I didn't mention what I used to do for a living.

I didn't bother asking this guy what he did for a living. I'm not ashamed of what my job is or how I live my life but for some reason society and its snobbish ilk always find ways to remind you what a piece of shit you are for not being as rich as they are. Yeah, I live in an SRO. No, I don't have a car, apartment or house. No, I don't get paid tons and tons of money like everybody else does - I'm just lucky I'm not living on the street. It all makes me angry as hell.

I must've looked really mad, because Adam asked then, "Are you feeling well?"

"What?" I looked at him and could feel all the angry wrinkles bunching up in my forehead. "Yeah," my hand tried to hide and smooth the furrows in my face, "just thinking. Don't mind me. I do that a lot." I had finished my tea.

Adam still had some wine left. "Would you like more tea?" he asked politely.

"No, thanks. I'm good." I chirped back, trying to sound cheerful. This wasn't working. I was feeling more miserable each minute. It was getting louder and louder in the bar.

A group of young yuppies/techies came in and immediately sat themselves down next to Adam and I at a nearby table, making a big scene with their stupid 'bro' attitude. One woman was with them but the guys ignored her - clearly her only role in their group was female ornamental decoration.

Adam said nothing as the scene unfolded.

Then he looked at me and announced, "I will finish my drink now."

He did just that.

I wanted to get out of there.

"Let's go somewhere else now," I said and got up. He followed me with no complaint. I just started walking, with no particular destination in mind. Up the street on Broadway, all the strip clubs were lit up: Big Al's, Roaring 20's, The Condor and Garden of Eden. Larry Flynt's Hustler Club was on the other side. Note: a funny thing about the bathroom of Spec's, you can see the sidewalk in front of the Garden of Eden strip club if you look up the air grate.

Adam hadn't mentioned the strip clubs, maybe he knew better than to comment on them in front of me. I have no objection to such things. I'm a feminist but don't mind sex. It's not the sexual nature of the clubs that is bad, it's the exploitation of women. Strippers don't have unions, benefits or healthcare. Many strippers work their way through college for nursing and law school. Others do it for money - while their looks still last.

I had been to a strip club once, a bad experience in a small rural town full of drunk farmers, truckers and college guys. I went to other clubs now - those with private entrances, where no alcohol is served due to nudity and prostitution laws. These clubs required a signed waiver and a poster listed with rules.

Without thinking I walked to Washington Square and Adam followed me. We came to the big church that overlooked the park - was it St. Francis or St. Paul? I never paid attention to the name. It was Catholic and in North Beach there are several Catholic churches, one with an actual Friar at the Saint Francis of Assisi Church across from Caffe Trieste.

I knew the streets by the location of the various cafés and eateries. I still didn't know the streets, just that the police station is past the gelato shop, around near Bank of America, near the #30, #8 and #45 bus stop where the bus goes through Chinatown. The North East (Chinese) clinic is past those Italian restaurants. Heaven help me in an emergency... I know of one hospital in Chinatown.

I can just picture myself saying, "Mr. Cab Driver (or Ms.), please take me to the Chinatown hospital, near Powell somewhere - no, I don't know the address. It's in Chinatown. I think they're still open..."

Adam never asked where we were. I assumed he knew the area already.

"You know where the nearest hospital is?" I asked him.

"Are you sick?" he asked.

"No, I was just wondering." I replied stupidly.

Boy, that was out of nowhere. I have a tendency to get lost in my thoughts, to go on strange tangents before I blurt something non-sequitor to others, like: "Did you know a monk lives nearby in another church around here?" I turned to Adam.

"A Franciscan monk or friar?" he clarified.

"Yeah, one of those." Monk or friar? Either way the guy was dressed in some robe with a cross hanging down, in sandals and a shaved head on top.

"I'm sure you are correct." Adam had his own weird way of talking it seemed.

I sat on a bench, moving my hand on it to make sure it was dry. The night was clear of fog and not too damp. The clock chimed no longer, probably because it was bedtime for the residential neighbors.

Adam and I sat in quiet in the park. Only a few stragglers were about, walking their dogs, rummaging through trashcans, talking on their phones or to themselves.

"I don't go to church," I blurted out, as if in response to a question Adam hadn't asked.

He looked toward the church (or was it a cathedral?) and nodded in agreement.

"You believe in God." He said. It wasn't a question.

I nodded.

"Do you believe in hell?" he asked seriously.

"I don't know." I answered honestly. "Haven't been there... yet." I finished sardonically.

"You believe your soul is in danger?" he looked at me closely.

"I don't know if I have a soul..." It took me a moment to answer more. "I never felt human, ever." Great conversation on your first date! Adam must be religious after all.

Trauma defines a person. It can also make them feel less than human (or not human at all). I had enough trauma in my life to make me doubt my own being. It can make you feel grandiose. It can make you feel worthless. Trauma can make you desperate for a cause, or forget your life altogether in suicide.

I wasn't sure I had a soul anymore. I never felt human. I could never connect with others. I was alone now. What other proof did I need that I didn't belong? That I wasn't even part of the human race...

"What if I could prove to you that you have a soul?" he suddenly asked me.

Oh great, now we're both going to go down on our knees and shout Hallelujah!

I gave him a blank stare. I guess you could also call it my resting bitch face.

"How are you going to do that? First, you have to prove what a soul is." I challenged him.

Big mistake.

"Do you believe a soul has value?" Adam challenged me back. Suddenly, his eyes were lit with a strange manic spark and he was no longer the bland Asperger-type I saw him first as.

"Yes, a soul must have value - why else would the devil want it?" I countered, as if I knew what the hell I was talking about.

"Do you believe in the devil?" he asked next.

"I don't know." I replied.

I'm not sure I want to know.

Too late.

Adam stood up in front of me and for a moment I readied my body for an attack. "Don't freeze up!" The voice of my martial arts teacher reminded me, her voice confident and strong.

But Adam only turned away and pointed to something I couldn't see. I didn't see what he was pointing to, at first...

I saw shadows, in the lamplight, and I thought they were shadows from the trees blowing in the wind but I felt no breeze and none of the branches moved.

The shadows were figures on the ground, as if their solid counterparts were walking the earth, yet I saw no figures in front of me.

I felt chills all over my body. I couldn't move. I could speak. My lips were numb and I couldn't get breath to move from my lungs to my throat. My chest hurt, as if I had been running miles and it felt like I might have a heart attack. I was vaguely aware that I was holding my breath and when I exhaled, my vision went black and I could feel the suffocating feeling of almost passing out.

I slumped on the bench and for a moment I was alone.

Adam had disappeared.

Slowly, my vision and my breath came back and Adam was standing calmly in front of me.

The figures were gone.

He no longer looked normal to me. Adam, whoever he was, looked strangely menacing. As if he would suddenly pull a gun from his pocket and shoot me.

I was shaking and my hands were numb and cold from shock.

"Those are souls trapped between earth and beyond. Your kind would call it purgatory, some may call it hell, but their souls have no destination - they are lost." He spoke.

I couldn't argue with him. I didn't dare. I had no idea what I had seen. Maybe he had drugged me with something - already my mind was rationalizing (doubting) what I had seen with my own eyes. I'll see it when I believe it.

But I knew Adam was not to be trusted. Strange vision or not, he was dangerous and I should've known better. It wasn't my fault. But I had asked for a date from hell, didn't I?

"Get away from me," I said quietly. It was possibly the bravest thing I could say. "Don't come near me." I sat up slowly and stared him down.

Adam didn't get upset but he kept watching me with his manic unblinking stare.

"This date is over and I am going home now. I will walk back alone and you will stay away from me."

Adam said nothing but stood his ground as I slowly got up from the bench and walked sideways from him, to Stockton street, keeping Coit Tower behind me on my left, and the strange creature, Adam, on my far right.

I managed to look straight ahead of me as I walked back, never even glancing behind me. There was the possibility he would attack me but I kept walking ahead.

As far as I know, he never followed.

I got home past 1:00 a.m..

I was exhausted and ready for bed and I hurriedly put down my air mattress, brushed my teeth in the room sink and turned my heater on to drown out the noise of the crazy neighbors above me, banging furniture around until 4:00 a.m..

I had a dreamless sleep and was thankful to see daylight.

In the morning, I changed my profile on the dating site, OkCupid.

I realized now what a thoughtless thing it was to make such a statement about getting a date from hell. Mostly likely others who saw my profile thought I was a wacko. Even though I like to speak my mind, it's hard to be honest online. Most people just want to see what they want to see: a smiling picture of a happy-go-lucky person, lots of friends and travel photos, maybe a few pet pictures too. I don't have any of those.

So, I changed my photo, and made my new profile.

The photo showed was a selfie of me, writing in a café. That's about all I do in my spare time. Write or maybe lounge in the park, reading a book.

I had gone back to Washington Square Park in the daytime and it felt strange.

Not only had the event of that night faded into a distant memory, it was like it never happened at all. In daylight, the park was sunny and bright, the trees making lovely shade over the lazy occupants and all was well. The church bell even chimed the time: 12:00 p.m., though the clock-face was all wrong. For some reason it was stuck at 1:00 p.m. (or was it a.m.?).

Had I imagined those shadows he had showed me or did he just slip something in my drink?

I went back to the spot where I had sat on the bench and looked at the ground. There was no sign of anything wrong and I couldn't even feel the strange terror I had felt then.

I looked back at the church with its stuck clock face. In the courtyard children were playing, screaming and laughing in their uniforms. In the park, everyone was there, living their lives.

I picked a warm spot in the grass and opened my book to Lucia Berlin and her short stories from "A Manual for Cleaning Women".

In the perfect moment I was finally at peace with the world.

...

AFTERWORD:

He watched her leave the park.

He stood in silence before the church bell chimed 1:00 a.m.. The recorded carillon broadcast reverberated and he counted the nanoseconds, slow as molasses dripping down.

Time had no meaning for him.

He used the name Adam, but it could've been anything: Azreal, Cain, Mahel...

He spoke to the shadow behind him, with no words or thoughts.

"She left."

The shadow raised a hand that was not a hand and scorched the man-made pavement where a stray dark floating figure crawled. It disappeared and the black flame was erased because it never was.

Adam turned to see the nothingness amid the earth's physical world before the time collapsed out and the world before him rushed in.

Adam walked on, hands in the pockets of his suit, his current garb of the so-called human millennium.

He wandered off, as he had done since the beginning of time, sentenced to wander the earth for eternity.