ERIK FATEMI

This Is Totally, 100 Percent a Work of Fiction

All names, characters, and events in this book are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and definitely not on purpose. So just in case any resemblances turn up, remember that there are eight billion actual persons alive today and many more billions of actual dead ones. Odds are, the characters in this work will resemble at least a few of them, no matter how hard the author tried to prevent it.

For example, take Eric, the protagonist. Eric and the author both happen to have two-syllable names beginning with the letter E. A resemblance? Absolutely. A textbook case, in fact. But intentional? Never. The author has a vivid imagination that is constantly producing characters whether he wants it to or not. (Ask any self-published writer you know; it’s a hazard of the profession.) Practically every week, the author will be walking along, minding his own business, when suddenly a character pops into his head. The character could be tall or short, or happy or sad, or skinny or—you get the idea. The main takeaway here is that the author’s imagination has produced literally dozens of characters. Just because one of these characters and the author share a similar name, attended the same college, and are both excellent at fantasy tabletop role-playing games—well, it was bound to happen eventually. (See above about eight billion actual persons, etc.)

Now let’s randomly select another character in the work: the protagonist’s love interest. As luck would have it, the author also has a love interest. Which immediately begs the question: What if Eric’s love interest resembles the author’s love interest? It’s one thing for Eric to resemble the author. But if the love interests also resembled each other? The coincidences might not look so pure any more.

What a relief, then, to discover that the protagonist’s love interest and the author’s love interest have nothing in common! Night and day, one might say. Because if the author had based Eric’s love interest on his own love interest, she would definitely own a gray, short-haired cat named Booboo Baby. But she does not. So that’s one difference. Nor does she have brown eyes, or falsely accuse actual persons of stalking, or enjoy hiking, to name three more.

And consider the pivotal scene where Eric and his love interest meet for coffee at Swarbucks. She orders her usual: a grande frappuccino, no ice, three pumps vanilla, four pumps caramel, extra chocolate drizzle, whipped cream, with a shot of affogato, and light on the cinnamon powder. Whereas the author’s love interest stormed out of the shop, saying vicious things about him that she instantly regretted, and in the process dumped a seemingly venti level of frappuccino onto the author’s favorite Dungeons & Dragons T-shirt, the protagonist’s love interest could not have been sweeter. She tells Eric that she adores everything about him—his smile, his knuckle cracking, his mastery of fantasy tabletop role-playing games, which she wishes he spent even more time with, and on and on. And Eric is so touched that he thinks of the perfect response while she is still sitting there in front of him, instead of later that night and dozens of times a day ever since, possibly until he dies. So again: no resemblances, not even coincidental ones.

And yet, the author can’t help but wonder how his love interest will react when she reads this scene, as he certainly hopes she does, since he sent her an autographed copy of the work, for free, to her last known address. Not because the two characters are anything like the author and herself, being products of the author’s imagination. But the moment is so tender and moving, that anyone who has ever loved another human being can’t help reading it without reflecting on her own past relationships, especially with regard to restraining orders, and wishing she had treated the other human being differently.

After all, the author’s love interest could not have known when they were together that he would go on to self-publish a work of fiction. In fact, the author distinctly recalls her describing his work in derogatory terms, with air quotes, and claiming without evidence that her black-and-white, short-haired cat could write a better one. But once she holds the author’s work in her hands, weeping uncontrollably, she’ll see that she was completely wrong about him and begin concocting desperate, elaborate schemes to win him back.

Ah, but she needn’t worry. The author will welcome her with open arms. What joy when they meet again for coffee: the author with his latte, his love interest with her grande frappuccino, no ice, three pumps vanilla, four pumps caramel, extra chocolate drizzle, whipped cream, with a shot of affogato, and heavy on the cinnamon powder!

In fact, their relationship will be even stronger than before. They were so young when they first met; what could they have really known about love? But after spending time apart, and seeing a bit more of the world, wherever that might have been, they will understand at last that they truly belong together. Turns out, it was all for the best.

Plus, the author got to write this work of fiction.