Online Love Stories
The Special One Part 1
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Part 1 | 2 |
You met her a few months ago, and somehow she managed to
seep into your subconscious like that “Suga how you
get so fly” song. Just like you have no clue who the
hell sings it, you don’t know why she’s there.
But she is, whether you like it or not. You know her cell
phone, her room phone. You can dial her Aunt Doreen’s
house in West Springfield (where she goes to do her laundry
every two weeks) faster than you can peck-out 911. But she
doesn’t know.
Her screenname, that generic one with her first name followed
by three to five random numbers or UMass, has its own category
at the top of your buddy list. Not only do you know what
a “Buddy Alert” is, you’ve rigged your
computer to play “Fat Guy in a Little Coat”
from “Tommy Boy” every time her screen name
changes from gray to black. Then her away message comes
down, and you have a decision to make. To IM or not to IM?
These are the ridiculous games that you play on a daily
basis. But she doesn’t know.
She’s it. All right, so maybe not “it”
it. Not necessarily Ms. Right, but closer to Ms. Right -
up - there - with - Anna - Kournikova - and - Lizzie - McGuire
- on - your - list - of - people - you’d - give -
anything - to - be - stranded - with - on - a - broken -
down - elevator. But it’s about more than that. When
is it ever about more than that? Never. Not like frilly
white dress, overpriced catering, embarrassing drunk in-laws
more, but closer to UMass sweatpants, two D.P. Dough Roni
Zonies, a futon and a movie you have no interest in seeing
more. But she doesn’t know.
She’s gorgeous, but gorgeous is an understatement.
More like you’re startled every time you see her because
you notice something new in a “Where’s Waldo”
sort of way. More like you can’t stop writing third
grade run-on sentences because you can’t remotely
begin to describe something … someone … so inherently
amazing. But you’re a writer. You can describe anything.
That’s what you do: pictures to words, events to words,
words to even better words. But nothing seems right. More
like you’re afraid that if you stare at her for too
long, you’ll prove your parents right: that yes, your
face will stick that way. But you wouldn’t mind.
You wouldn’t mind that the questioning, “Hello?”
on the other end makes you want to smile and throw up at
the same time. You wouldn’t mind worrying about what
to get her for her birthday and spending $300 when you only
have $17.50 and a Triple-A card to your name. You wouldn’t
mind that she left your TV on and the blaring infomercials
wake you up at 4 a.m. … because it gives you a chance
to watch her sleep. You don’t mind that you’ve
slipped up twice when you were hammered and hinted at how
you feel, but she was too drunk to remember. So she doesn’t
know.
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