This is a week of summer romance. We start with this lovely marquee at the theater.
The first question in the comments is, “Uh…Who’s asking?”
This also begs the question, which Erica is being asked? One person named Ericka replies, ‘But he didn’t even spell my name right….. (kidding, this wasn’t for me, but I’m also very curious which of the like 7 Vashon Eric(k)as this was for!’
A kind islander says, “I’ll marry you if she doesn’t!”
Someone with the inside scoop tells us that Erica said yes.
Someone else asks, “So it’s not a movie?”
It does sound like a slapstick romantic comedy.
Romance isn’t only for the young. Anonymous asks: “Dating on Vashon over 50. Thoughts? 
People fall into four camps.
Camp one: Date people from off-island and pull them in here.
Camp two: Get a cat
Camp three: This island is so incestuous, everyone is just going to date each other. Might as well form a polycule. (This is a word I learned recently. It sounds like some cool higher-dimensional geometric shape, but it just means a romantic grouping, like a couple, but with multiple people.)
Camp four: Willfully misunderstanding the question.
Here are some happy stories from camp one: “I moved here 18 years ago when I was 53 and totally clueless about dating on Vashon. [redacted] & I found each other and we’ve been married for 15 years this September. It can happen.”
Another happy story: ““I met my wife on Maury a year ago. She lived three miles away and we met online. Now she lives here, and we’re very happy… Serendipity happens! Or, synchrodestiny as she describes it… which is a truly beautiful thing 
Okay, that’s it for happy stories. Now let’s dish the dirt.
One islander points out: “I would think it depends on if they grew up here. If so, get ready to know and see every single ex they ever had.” This sounds like an even better romantic comedy plot than “Erica…Will You Marry Me”
Due to the aforementioned issue, someone says, “As long as you do it anonymously, you’re fine!”
The anonymous poster responds “I’d like to ask you out on an anonymous date then! 
The commenter replies, “I’ll meet you incognito at an unspecified place and time.”
Aw, how beautiful! Love is blossoming here. Somewhere on the island, probably near those recycling dumpsters behind Sportys, two souls will come together. One will be like, “Are you the anonymous person I asked out over facebook, or are you just here for a smoke break?” And the other will be like, “I can do both.” Then they’ll snuff out their cigarettes and go take a long walk together on the beach. Well, first they’ll catch the 118 bus going south on which they’ll have awkward get-to-know-you conversations about what pets they have and where they grew up. Once they get off in Burton, they’ll walk on the beach.
From camp two, we have these responses: “VIPP, Haven Rescue, and Emerald City Pet Rescue have wonderful long term companions to share your life and home with. 
Another member of camp two says, “Don’t. You don’t meet someone new. It’s just your turn. I got that line from my son, who grew up here. This was his take on island dating in his 30s. He moved off and now has a committed relationship with his cat.”
This garners the response, “hey same! I just got a second one [cat] and now we group cuddle lmao”
And let’s look at the horror stories from camp three. “Dating here feels like airing out all my business for everyone to gossip about. It’s weird and I don’t love it””
We get the details from another commenter: “I remember breakfast at Sound Food restaurant on Sunday morning. We could see who our friends ended up with the night before.” Ah dang, that sounds so fun. I would go there and take notes because I love drama and have no shame.
At least we’re not trying to date in Alaska. An islander informs us, “in the Aleutians in Alaska when us women would say that, the men would say “there is a beautiful woman underneath every tree!” (there were no trees) 
And finally we have camp four, the willful misunderstanders. One says, “You should only date one at a time. 50 is too many.”
Someone actually gives advice. They say, “Sportys!”
The next story doesn’t sound romantic. It actually sounds like an off-putting psychological horror. But I promise, it’s sweet.
One person posts, “What’s up with all the eerily shiny clean humongous black buses that have been patrolling the island? I feel like I’ve seen a hundred of them lately or perhaps the same one, one hundred times! Where are they taking people?!? And…is it voluntary?”
Some people have guesses: “New prison and indoctrination camps on isle. The gray busses cause too much hysteria among the locals.”:
Another idea: “Relax. It’s just aliens mining our brain waves for mind control, and the Deep State is covering it up. Nothing to worry about. 
Or possibly: “Mail theft has been a lucrative enterprise and local postal pirates have upgraded their vehicle?”
The real answer? “Transport for wedding guests! They’re more popular this year because walking on the ferry is more reliable than driving on.”
Nothing bodes well for a new marriage quite like having to take on the responsibility for transport because society has failed to provide you with reliable public services. Perhaps soon we’ll see on the theater marquee someone write, “ERICA, I want to navigate complicated bureaucracies with you for the rest of our lives.”
Author: Anna Shomsky
I'm a former teacher and a data engineer living on Vashon Island. My writing has appeared in Five on the Fifth, Women on Writing and on the Post-Culture Podcast. I wrote and produced the radio show Whispers of Vashon for 101.9 KVSH. I’ve had short stories published in the anthologies Island Stories and Chicken Scratchings, as well as through the Open Space Literary Project.
Comedic Gold, as always.