…The waking moments that greet our young LoverThinker on this day remain full. Of the recollecting of the dreams he’s just returned from. The Boat and the sea on all sides where his little sister vacationed with a cad. The Gotham skylight window of a top floor hotel room, where he and his father fired round after round at floating perpetrators fleeing the wrath of the righteous. The Forest pathways that hid the desperation of his thievery. Yet in a minutes worth of blinking and bathing in the breath of a new day, all that captivated him were the words that he could not yet discern to have really been a mistake to have typed during that select conversation the day before.
He could not have known, nor did he expect that she would be available to chat when he and his companion made their somewhat religious trip to the internet café up the hill and around the corner. On the walk his thoughts wandered. Would they make it to the beach again soon? For the sun was high and hot that day and he could feel his skin under the sweat browning yet. Going on a tour of the cedars riding ATV’s seemed like the most appropriate thrill to spend some cash on, but how could he convince his pretty patron of that much when her spirits were leaking in limbo? Her beauty accounts only for so much, but it sure helped days go by faster. Casual conversation continued in spite of his ambitions, and soon screens saw them sit.
Typing, he found out not long ago, felt like playing the piano, and so he enjoyed signing on and logging into the various sites where his fingers had championed user names and passwords. He jingled his digital keys not before fiddling them in his hands knowing which door each opened. Gmail. Facebook. Twitter. Blogger. YouTube. Who’d be there? Maybe someone would have replied to a message or wall posting, or commented on one of his videos, or the drawing of the girl and the flag. Most often there was none of these. Realizing and expecting this much, he spent a second being sad about it, and then reminded himself that he enjoyed being the most underrated over dog, and commenced to log in.
Gmail. Username: MyklHanna. Password: *********. Inbox: Jennifer(me) unread!? STOP! HAULT! PAUSE! DISINGAGE! SIGN OUT! His sunken stomach found its way out of his cargo shorts, and once his vision came back into focus and feeling came back into his fingers a chuckle filled the chamber of his mouth, and rolled off his tongue. What could she possibly have to say?! Why would she send him a message after all that was said in the last!? Was he really that surprised that she emailed him still!? Was he already overreacting to what was probably nothing close to being as serious as he was making it!? Then the chuckle returned. Suddenly he felt like a pale faced Keanu Reeves sitting on the olive seats in the desert of the real while the black man’s booming voice spoke humorous revelations too simple not to understand.
Twitter. Username: MyklHanna. Password: ********. “Fate, it seems, is not without a sense of irony.” Tweet. Sign Out. He inhaled deep and quiet, and continued his log in rituals. But after retrieving what information he needed elsewhere, he returned to the inbox where the unread unexpected message awaited his reply.
And reply he did. Swiftly, and punctually, addressing each concern and query she posed to him there. There was a poignant tone in both of their texts. Very practical. And yet he’d read into what wasn’t said. Her words and requests in and of themselves spoke that she still thought fondly of him, or had some need of his help, urgent or otherwise. That this was proof that even if only a tear drop in a vile or a flasks worth of experimental data, there was a longing that existed somewhere in her being for him. And this much made him smile. But of course he could not afford to indulge in such foolish assumptions or over analyzations any longer than the time his face had already stolen. Yet no sooner did he send what he believed to be the perfect reply did moments later she’d appear like the lyric from his song still ripe in the air from being composed not two days past. His cargo shorts weren’t interested in company at that time, so his stomach just fizzed a little. Neither did his eyes nor his fingers wait for his mind to make some cold insensitive judgment call, and without delay double clicked her username next to the green circle indicating she was signed into her account as he was.
He began the dialogue in disbelief, asking if she was indeed available to chat, anticipating her signing off without reply, or in fact stating that she was not interested in a conversation with him. But it seemed she was. These anxieties did not have but a moment to fester before her small talk took him over.
They typed back and forth about the content of the email she’d just received from him, and she told him of her new musical explorations and those that assisted her. The banter slowly became more friendly and a might bit flirtatious as they inquired about and suggested attractive counterparts for each other. Yet as sex entered the dialect, he found himself apologizing for excessive questioning, as she searched, looking for more telling responses. Tipping on tightropes no lies were told, yet how much truth was revealed neither of them could truly feel. But that this was felt was the truth unspoken. The yet lingering mistrust and disgust she felt for him salivated the guilt that arose on the same tongue he skewered her with. The same hungry tongue that hadn’t yet tasted redemption.
Before he was rushed off the computer and out of the café back around the corner and down the hill, what found him is the same that woke with him today. The same that sat with him and poured into a fanciful scene he’d illustrate of he and her. One that he could picture as vividly as the green circle next to her username on yesterday. Perhaps this was his opportunity to reenact what he wished would’ve happened, or what he thought he should’ve said before he left their dialogue. Before he’d realized that the conversation became his testimony that he’d realized she’d said nothing in response to. No interruptive exclamations. No affirmations or even any comments of disdain; just a farewell. An empty and ever interpretive goodbye that cued the playback of his heart vomit.
“Don’t kid yourself for a moment…I’m still very much in love with, and without you.”
How pathetically poetic he typed these words without thinking, showing himself in a way which was of course already supremely visible. How recklessly romantic he lowered his shield to the swing of his own sword. How cheaply chivalrous was the accuracy in his profession. A prince and a pauper all in the same.
Forgetting whatever words that followed before her farewell, likely in a similar fashion as the ones that haunted him home, he found his focus enough to enjoy a meal and the laughter and good company of his beautiful companion. He dismissed her from his thoughts, and felt encouraged to continue on as if to have passed through a revolving door maybe too long before exited through to the other side. Although she’d find him in all the same places, he’d gotten accustomed to telling himself he allowed her to. And so that evening it wasn’t as difficult to sleep as one would think it’d be for our heart stricken LoverThinker. But when he woke up on today…
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