the conversation is of little
substance, but it’s a nice outlet. Maybe this is why people used to go into
chat rooms.
My
phone goes off again.
The
message says, “Yeah. I’ve lived here all my life. I don’t know if that’s
because I actually like it here or just that I don’t have any real basis for
comparison. You?”
I
respond, “Not the city itself, but I’ve always lived in the state. What are you
doing right now?”
Then,
realizing that my previous message could easily be misconstrued as some kind of
invitation that I’m certainly not offering, I send another one.
I
write, “I’m taking care of my drunk-ass sister and watching Goonies.”
If
ever there were a text that would convince a guy not to want to invite me
anywhere or himself over here, it’d be that one.
My phone beeps a few seconds later.
“Sounds
like a blast. I’m getting ready to move.”
“Where
are you moving?” I write back.
A
minute or so passes and he responds, “Just a few blocks from where I’m at now.
New apartment.”
Then
it starts to occur to me: This is someone that I’m never going to meet. I can
ask him anything, tell him—okay, I can’t really tell him anything as my sister
is apparently friends with one of his friends, but there’s a lot more I can do
with this than just trudge through the usual small talk.
“If
you could have the one thing you want most in life, would you give up
everything else to get it?” I write.
It’s
not exactly the kind of thing that I want to ask, but it should be a pretty
good barometer of whether I’ll be able to get away with more interesting
topics.
The
phone beeps and I read, “I don’t know that there’s only one thing that I want
most in life. If anything, I want too many things out of life and I seem to
always be sacrificing everythin ”
The
phone beeps again a moment later.
The
rest of his message reads, “ g for things I don’t end
up wanting anyway. So yeah, I guess if I found something that I wanted more
than anything, I’d probably give up anything to have it.”
That’s
a lot of honesty from a stranger. It’s actually kind of arousing in a weird way
that I don’t begin to understand.
I
answer, “I used to think I already did, but then, seemingly through no action
of my own, I found more things to want.”
I
write, “What makes you get out of bed in the morning?”
He
writes back, “Knowing that no matter how bad yesterday was, today can always be
better. At least that’s the bullshit I tell myself even though about an hour
into the day, I r”
His
next message comes through, finishing the thought.
“ ealize just how full of crap that
statement is. Yeah, today can always be better, but it can also be a lot worse.
Still, it gets me out of bed.”
It’s
not a bad response.
Another
message comes in, reading, “What about you?”
I
respond, “The thought that maybe, just maybe, something big is going to happen
today, and that I don’t want to miss it lying in bed.”
“What ya doin ’?” Kristin asks,
effectively startling the hell out of me.
“Nothing,”
I tell her, dropping the phone to my side. “I’m just watching the movie.”
“I
may be drunk, but I’m not—what’s the word?” she asks.
“Stupid?”
“That’s
no way to talk to your sister,” she says and lies her head back on the arm of
the couch.
My
phone beeps and I watch Kristin closely, hoping that there’s some way I can
check my phone without her noticing that I’ve fallen right into her little
trap.
For
a moment, I think I’m going to be okay, but as soon as I pick up my phone, she
says, “You are so fucking busted.”
“What?”
I ask. “Someone just sent me a message. That’s all.”
“Yeah,
but someone’s been sending you a lot of messages. That usually doesn’t happen
unless you’re sending messages right back.”
For
now, my unwillingness to prove her right outweighs my curiosity regarding what
this guy just sent me, but drunk as
substance, but it’s a nice outlet. Maybe this is why people used to go into
chat rooms.
My
phone goes off again.
The
message says, “Yeah. I’ve lived here all my life. I don’t know if that’s
because I actually like it here or just that I don’t have any real basis for
comparison. You?”
I
respond, “Not the city itself, but I’ve always lived in the state. What are you
doing right now?”
Then,
realizing that my previous message could easily be misconstrued as some kind of
invitation that I’m certainly not offering, I send another one.
I
write, “I’m taking care of my drunk-ass sister and watching Goonies.”
If
ever there were a text that would convince a guy not to want to invite me
anywhere or himself over here, it’d be that one.
My phone beeps a few seconds later.
“Sounds
like a blast. I’m getting ready to move.”
“Where
are you moving?” I write back.
A
minute or so passes and he responds, “Just a few blocks from where I’m at now.
New apartment.”
Then
it starts to occur to me: This is someone that I’m never going to meet. I can
ask him anything, tell him—okay, I can’t really tell him anything as my sister
is apparently friends with one of his friends, but there’s a lot more I can do
with this than just trudge through the usual small talk.
“If
you could have the one thing you want most in life, would you give up
everything else to get it?” I write.
It’s
not exactly the kind of thing that I want to ask, but it should be a pretty
good barometer of whether I’ll be able to get away with more interesting
topics.
The
phone beeps and I read, “I don’t know that there’s only one thing that I want
most in life. If anything, I want too many things out of life and I seem to
always be sacrificing everythin ”
The
phone beeps again a moment later.
The
rest of his message reads, “ g for things I don’t end
up wanting anyway. So yeah, I guess if I found something that I wanted more
than anything, I’d probably give up anything to have it.”
That’s
a lot of honesty from a stranger. It’s actually kind of arousing in a weird way
that I don’t begin to understand.
I
answer, “I used to think I already did, but then, seemingly through no action
of my own, I found more things to want.”
I
write, “What makes you get out of bed in the morning?”
He
writes back, “Knowing that no matter how bad yesterday was, today can always be
better. At least that’s the bullshit I tell myself even though about an hour
into the day, I r”
His
next message comes through, finishing the thought.
“ ealize just how full of crap that
statement is. Yeah, today can always be better, but it can also be a lot worse.
Still, it gets me out of bed.”
It’s
not a bad response.
Another
message comes in, reading, “What about you?”
I
respond, “The thought that maybe, just maybe, something big is going to happen
today, and that I don’t want to miss it lying in bed.”
“What ya doin ’?” Kristin asks,
effectively startling the hell out of me.
“Nothing,”
I tell her, dropping the phone to my side. “I’m just watching the movie.”
“I
may be drunk, but I’m not—what’s the word?” she asks.
“Stupid?”
“That’s
no way to talk to your sister,” she says and lies her head back on the arm of
the couch.
My
phone beeps and I watch Kristin closely, hoping that there’s some way I can
check my phone without her noticing that I’ve fallen right into her little
trap.
For
a moment, I think I’m going to be okay, but as soon as I pick up my phone, she
says, “You are so fucking busted.”
“What?”
I ask. “Someone just sent me a message. That’s all.”
“Yeah,
but someone’s been sending you a lot of messages. That usually doesn’t happen
unless you’re sending messages right back.”
For
now, my unwillingness to prove her right outweighs my curiosity regarding what
this guy just sent me, but drunk as
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