May 26-28, 1995. Friends far away.

By the time Memorial Day weekend arrived in late May, the weather in Jeromeville had become quite summer-like.  The bike ride from Wellington Hall to the South Residential Area only took five minutes, but I was doing that bike ride in 88-degree sunshine, so I was already starting to sweat by the time I got back to my dorm room.  It was the Friday before a three-day weekend, and I was drained from a long week of classes.  I unlocked my door and turned on the air conditioning.  Cool air began blowing into the room.  I took off my shoes and lay face down on the mattress, dozing off for about an hour.

I spent a couple hours writing emails and catching up on Usenet groups, and reading for fun.  Shortly before six o’clock, I walked to the dining commons. I saw Taylor, Pete, Charlie, Ramon, Liz, Caroline, and Sarah at a table.  Next to Charlie was an empty seat with a half-empty glass of water on the table next to it. I could not tell if anyone was sitting there.

“May I join you?” I asked.  “Is that seat taken?”

“Go ahead,” Charlie replied.  “There’s always room for hydrochloric acid.”

“Wait, what?” I asked.  Charlie laughed. “That was random,” I said.

“I know.”

“How’s it goin’?” Taylor asked.

“I’m good,” I replied.  “It’s a three-day weekend, and they turned the AC back on.”

“I know!” Sarah said.  “It feels so nice!”

“So, Greg, what are you doing this summer?” Taylor continued.  “Will you be back home in Plumdale?”

“Yeah,” I answered.

“Working?  Doing anything like that?”

“My mom told me the other day she found a job for me.  One of my brother’s friends, his mom works at this small bookstore.  I guess it’s just her and the owner working there. She wants to cut her hours for the summer to be around more when her son isn’t in school.  So Mom told her that I was going to be home for the summer, and I could use a part-time job.”

“And do you want to do this?”

“I wish Mom would have asked me first, although she did say I didn’t have to if I didn’t want to.  But I’m not going to be doing anything else all summer, I’ll be getting paid for it, and it’s a job I don’t have to go find and interview for.  So I’m ok with it.”

“Yeah,” Taylor replied.

“Good point,” Pete said.

I really would have preferred for Mom to have consulted me first before volunteering me to a commitment of several hours per day.  However, the thought of having to go find a job was terrifying, and this way I had something lined up without having to look for it, as I had told Taylor and Pete.  Besides, working in a bookstore sounded fun. Maybe I could sample the merchandise and read on slow days, and maybe I would get an employee discount.

We all went downstairs to check the mail after dinner.  When I saw an envelope with handwriting on it, I felt my heart race.  I had written that letter almost two weeks ago, not knowing what would happen, not even knowing for sure whom I was writing to.  How long did it take for a letter to travel from one end of the USA to the other anyway? And after she got it, she would need time to reply, and then her letter would have to travel back across the country to Jeromeville.  Would she write back right away? Maybe I sent it too early. She was still in the middle of finals when I wrote; she hadn’t moved home yet. Maybe her parents got it and interrogated her about why she was getting mail from this strange boy in another state.  Maybe her parents threw it away.

I removed the letter from the mailbox and looked at the envelope.  I breathed a sigh of relief when I read the return address. It was from Carol Allen in Plumdale. This was not the letter I was nervous about.  This was from someone I had known for years, who had already written me once this year.

I noticed that my friends were moving toward the Help Window, which meant that someone had to pick up a package too big to fit in the mailbox.  I walked over to where they were. “Someone got a package?” I asked.

“It’s for Caroline,” Sarah said.  “You got a letter from someone?”

“It’s from Mrs. Allen.  She was my English teacher in both 7th and 8th grade.”

“And she writes to you in college?  That’s so sweet!”

“I know.  This is the second time she has written.  My mom ran into her somewhere back home a few months ago, and she told Mom to tell me to write to her.”

“She sounds nice.”

“She is.  I was in her class when I was going through a really rough time.  I was at a new school in the middle of 7th grade, and I had had a lot of problems at my other school before that.  She really made me feel welcome and accepted. A lot of the teachers at my old school acted like they didn’t want to deal with me.  And I know that ‘a lot’ is two words, because Mrs. Allen always made a big deal of it whenever someone would write ‘alot’ as one word.”

Sarah laughed.  “That’s funny!”

“I knew ‘a lot’ was two words before Mrs. Allen’s class, but I still remember her making a big deal of it.”

“It’s funny how some teachers stay in your memory forever.  Like I had this math teacher who would always make the dumbest jokes.  He’d say, ‘What’s 4y minus 3y,’ and you’d answer ‘y,’ and he’d say ‘because I asked you.’”

I chuckled.  “That’s great.  And then there are some teachers who you remember for all the wrong reasons.  Like Mr. Milton, my history teacher from junior year. He made fun of Catholics and Republicans all the time.”

“That’s not nice.”

“I still remember all these random things I learned about history from his class, though, so he did something well, but I didn’t think he was very nice.”

I opened the letter from Mrs. Allen when I got back to my room.  

 


May 24, 1995

Dear Greg,

Sorry it has taken so long to write back, but I’ve been busy.  You know how it is. I’m sure you’re busy too. Jeromeville is on trimesters, if I remember right, so you should still be in your dorm room.  When is the school year over? Our last day is June 8.

I’m going to get a new computer and get online soon.  Mr. Coburn got us America Online at school, and he has been showing me how it works.  Once I figure out how to set it up, I’ll send you an e-mail. It looks like there are all kinds of interesting things you can do.

I went to the Titans game yesterday.  I got a partial season package again, so I have a ticket to 20 games.  I have a much better seat this year because a lot of people didn’t renew.  I knew that would happen after the strike. I’m so happy the strike is over!  I missed the Titans. I thought of you because the University of Jeromeville band played the pre-game show.

I hope everything is well with you.  Take care of yourself and good luck with finals!

Love,
Carol

P.S.  I think it will be OK for you to use my first name now.


 

The postscript at the end made me laugh.  Everyone knows that one does not address a teacher by his or her first name.  Mrs. Allen said it was okay to call her Carol, but I just would never be able to bring myself to do that.  It was okay now, because I was an adult, but it still sounded wrong. Mrs. Allen would always be Mrs. Allen to me.  That was just how things worked when addressing a teacher, even years or decades after being in that teacher’s class.

I did not know that the University of Jeromeville Band had played a pre-game show at a Titans game.  I had grown up watching Bay City Titans baseball, traveling up there with my family about three or four times a year to attend games in person.  But I had not been keeping up with the Titans, or baseball in general, this year. The end of the previous season had been canceled because of a players’ strike.  There was no World Series that year. Furthermore, Matt Williams, the Titans’ third baseman, had hit 43 home runs by the time the strike began in early August, possibly putting him in position to set a new record for home runs in one season.  The record at the time was 61. But the season was canceled, he had no chance to hit any more home runs, and in two more seasons with the Titans and seven with other teams, he never reached this level of power hitting prowess again. The strike had continued on into the 1995 season but was settled early in the season, and baseball had finally resumed at the end of April, a few weeks later than the usual start of the season.  I did get interested in baseball again eventually… but that is another story for another time.

 

The next morning, I got out of bed around nine.  That was sleeping in for me, the best I could do.  I studied and did homework for about two hours, then decided to reward myself with a bike ride.  I rode north to the Coventry Greenbelts, where I had ridden last week, and discovered a bike path skirting the northern edge of the city.  Riding west, the path passed fenced backyards on the left and some kind of drainage or irrigation canal to the right, with open fields on the other side.  The path turned south, with ends of culs-de-sac connecting to the path, before zigzagging west again and then south one more time. At this point, the drainage canal  entered the Jeromeville city limits, with a neighborhood of large luxury homes visible on the other side of the canal. I was not sure where this neighborhood was or what it connected to.  I saw a pedestrian and bicycle bridge cross the canal into that neighborhood, but I did not go that way.

The path turned south along a park with a playground, basketball courts, and an open grass area.  I rode past a sculpture of dominoes. The park then narrowed, so that fences of backyards came close to the path on either side, much like the other paths I had discovered last week.  After making several more turns, and not being sure of exactly which direction I was going now, the path narrowed to a small sidewalk, next to a parking lot. I appeared to be in the back of a large apartment complex.  I wondered which one; I probably had heard of it, from when I was looking through that apartment guide trying to find a place to live next year.

Suddenly, as I got closer to the actual buildings, riding through the parking lot, I realized that I knew exactly where I was.  Not only had I heard of this apartment complex, but I had looked at these apartments. I had even signed a lease here. This was Las Casas Apartments on Alvarez Avenue, and I was looking right at my home for next year, apartment 124.  This was convenient; my apartment for next year was right next to the Greenbelts. I would have a lot of opportunities to explore Jeromeville on my bike from my new apartment.

When I got back to campus, I checked my mail before going back up to my room.  All the anxious excitement I felt yesterday when I checked the mail came back when I saw the letter that I had been expecting the day before.  The return address said “M. Boyle,” with a box number and rural route in a town I had never heard of, called Muncy, Pennsylvania. My name and address had been handwritten on the envelope, in black ballpoint pen.

I started to hide the letter under my shirt, but then I remembered that I was all sweaty from having ridden my bike in warm weather for an hour.  I slid the letter in my front pocket and walked back to the building with half of the envelope sticking out. I made sure that no writing was showing on the part sticking out.  Something still felt weird about having this letter, and I did not want to have to talk to anyone about it.

I made it back to my room without seeing anyone and began reading.


May 23, 1995

Dear Greg,

Hello!  It’s nice to hear from you, and I hope this finds you well.  I’m good, except there’s a storm here. It’s raining pretty hard, with lightning.

Good luck on finals!  I got my grades a few days ago.  I ended up with two Bs, two Cs, and a D.  Not as good as I wanted. I’ll have to work harder next semester.

I’ve been bored and lonely much of the time since coming back home.  When I was at school, I was used to having everything within walking distance, but we live out in the country so everything is a 15 minute drive away.  And since I don’t have a car, I don’t get away from home that much. Most of my friends from college live far away, and my friends from home are either still in high school or have jobs.  I looked for a job, but I haven’t found anything yet. The bookstore you told me about sounds like it’ll be fun for you. Mostly I just want to get a job so I can get out of the house. But I need the money too or else I might not be able to go back next semester.  I know how you feel about not looking forward to summer, being away from your friends. I thought I would have a job by now, not stuck at home all the time.

I’ve pretty much given up on finding a boyfriend.  The only place I go is church and the guys there are either not interested or too old for me.  There are some dance clubs, but I don’t have a car so I can’t go to them.

Well, I hope I’m not some 37 yr. old pervert!  Just the idea makes me sick. Would your mom like to see my drivers license or school ID?  Anyway, write me back when you can I know you have finals coming up so I’ll wait until after that to expect something.  I’ll write maybe another letter before then. ☺

Bye,
Molly


 

When I wrote to Molly, I said that I was a little nervous, because my mother was fond of reminding me that all these girls I was meeting online were probably 37-year-old perverts named Chuck.  Molly was the first person I met on the Internet whom I had any sort of offline contact with. Apparently Molly did not find the image of Chuck as funny as I had.

Molly was my age, a freshman at Lock Haven University in central Pennsylvania.  Molly had already finished the school year, because Lock Haven was on a semester schedule, both starting and ending earlier in the year than Jeromeville with its quarter schedule. (Jeromeville quarters were technically trimesters; Mrs. Allen had correctly called them trimesters in her letter).  Molly moved back home, where she would not have access to email, so in her last email to me, she had given me her address.

And she actually wrote back.  I now had proof that someone I met on the Internet actually existed in real life.  Of course, technically she could have been lying about her age or gender or any number of things, but there was a real person behind those messages who took the time to write back.  Hopefully this summer I would be able to look forward to getting letters in the mail. And hopefully she was not really Chuck.

 

I spent most of Sunday studying, although I did make it to church Sunday morning.  In the late afternoon, when I finished everything I had hoped to get done, I got on my usual IRC chat channel.  Kim, a girl from Florida I had been talking to for a few months, was online, so I messaged her.

gjd76: hi
Happygirlkim: Hi Greg! How are you?
gjd76: doing well, it’s been a good weekend.  it’s been warm here, i like that
Happygirlkim: I bet!  I’m done with the school year, back home in Ft Lauderdale, but I’ll be working at a summer camp for kids for six weeks, I leave on June 16
gjd76: that’ll be fun, that’s the weekend i’ll be moving home
Happygirlkim: Yay! Any big plans for the summer?
gjd76: moving back home and working in a bookstore.  my mom knows someone there who got me the job
Happygirlkim: That’ll be fun!  Will you be hanging out a lot with your friends back home?
gjd76: i’m not sure.  i lost touch with a lot of them when i came here, and i didn’t see them often anyway when i was back home.  i don’t even know for sure who will be around for the summer.
Happygirlkim: I wish I lived closer to you!  I’d hang out with you! 😉
gjd76: that would be fun!
Happygirlkim: I think you’d like my friends!  You could come to the beach with us, we’d build a bonfire and stay up late just talking…
gjd76: 🙂
Happygirlkim: Maybe someday!
gjd76: hey, random thought, can i call you?

I typed that last line quickly and pressed Enter before I could talk myself out of it.  It was a sudden fleeting thought that passed through my mind, and it wouldn’t hurt to ask.  Now that I had gotten a letter from Molly, it seemed less scary to try to communicate with these girls from the Internet in other ways.

Happygirlkim: Sure!  Did you mean right now?
gjd76: sure, it’s sunday afternoon and long distance calls cost less on the weekend
Happygirlkim: 305-555-0115
gjd76: great! let me get off here, i’ll call you in just a minute

I logged out and disconnected.  Back in 1995, people connected to the Internet through telephone lines, so being logged in meant that I could neither send nor receive calls.  As soon as the computer was disconnected, I dialed Kim’s number, and just like when I had asked her if I could call, I pressed the buttons quickly, so I would not be able to talk myself out of completing the call.

“Hello?” a female-sounding voice said on the other end of the call.

“Is Kim there?” I asked.

“This is Kim.”

“Hi.  It’s Greg.”

“Hi!”  Kim paused.  “It’s good to finally hear your voice.”

“I know.”

“So why don’t you see your friends back home very often?”

“Where I live, it’s kind of semi-rural and spread out.  And I didn’t really do much except go to school. I didn’t really have friends at all until the middle of high school.”

“You didn’t have a best friend in childhood or anything?”

“Everyone was mean to me.”

“I’m sorry.  And you said you didn’t have a girlfriend, right?”

“Right.”

“Have you ever had a girlfriend?”

“No,” I said.  “I’ve had a lot of crushes on girls who were either out of my league or didn’t like me back.  One of my crushes from high school was named Kim too.”

“Girls named Kim are the best!”

“I know.” I chuckled.

“You haven’t met anyone in college?  Didn’t you tell me you were going to a movie with some girls recently?”

“One of them, we’ve had two classes together, I feel like we’re just going to be friends.  The other one, she’s really cute, and she’s been nice to me all year, but she’s a sophomore, I don’t know if she’d be interested in a younger guy who doesn’t really know what he’s doing.”

“You never know.  It wouldn’t hurt to ask.  You’re such a sweetie. I bet all the girls like you, and you don’t even know it!”

“I don’t know how to ask a girl out.”

“You just go up to her and say, ‘Hey, do you want to go get something to eat?’ or ‘Hey, do you want to go see a movie?’ or whatever.  You can do this. I believe in you.”

“I don’t know.  What if she already has a boyfriend?  Then I’ll look like an idiot.”

“But what if she doesn’t have a boyfriend, but you never ask her?  You never know unless you try.”

“I don’t know,” I said.  I really didn’t know. Kim made it sound so simple, but it was so confusing and scary.  I had a sudden thought, something I had to know. I took a deep breath and asked, “If you lived nearby, and I asked you out, would you go out with me?”

“Yes, I would!”

“Thank you.  I wish we could.”

Kim and I talked for about another 20 minutes, just about life in general.  She told me more about her friends and about her summer job at the camp. I told her about my classes, exploring the greenbelts, and my upcoming finals.  I hoped we would have more conversations like this.

I have had other female friends from the Internet besides Kim telling me that I should have no trouble meeting a girl.  Things did not work that way in my world. It seemed like every girl I was ever interested in always seemed to have a boyfriend already, and without having ever had the experience of knowing that a girl liked me, I had no idea how to know if a girl liked me, and no reason to believe it would ever happen to me.  It was so easy to talk to girls I met on the Internet. Maybe I would have to go to Fort Lauderdale to get a girlfriend. Or Muncy, Pennsylvania.

Today, when kids go away to college, they have a much easier time staying in touch with their friends back home.  Today’s college students have text messages and social media and video chat and technologies that we only dreamed of twenty-five years ago.  I have found that I tend to remember most of my friends back home not staying in touch once I moved away, but when I really think about it, that is not entirely true.  Melissa and Renee and Rachel had been keeping in touch regularly. Janet Bordeaux, the girl whose mother and my mother often gossiped, had written me twice. Jessica Halloran had sent me a postcard from Guatemala.  And now Mrs. Allen had written me twice. I did eventually lose touch with all of those people until social media came along, but it did not happen as suddenly as I tend to remember. I think I also remember people not writing me because I focus on the fact that I had two new female friends and crushes who did not keep in touch.  Interestingly enough, I did not make much of an attempt to stay in touch with guys; I was just more comfortable communicating with girls, because boys were always so mean to me in elementary school.

Mrs. Allen and I have been in touch semi-regularly ever since then.  She did eventually get her email set up. She is now in her early 70s, retired from teaching.  A few years ago, the band AC/DC was touring, and she took her grandchildren to see them when they played Bay City.  I can only hope to be that badass at that age.

I lost touch with Kim sometime during sophomore year.  She just got busy with life, I guess; we never had any kind of falling out. But Molly and I stayed friends for a long time, well into our 30s.  In my late 20s, I did a lot of traveling around the USA, and I saw Molly in person twice when my travels brought me to her part of the country. We also never had any kind of falling out; we just grew apart as life got in the way.  The last time I heard from her was in 2009, and by then she was married and expecting her first child. Being a parent definitely changes one’s priorities.

Someone asked me once, as an icebreaker question, if I could have anything I wanted, without cost being an obstacle, what would it be?  I said I wanted a private jet with an unlimited supply of fuel, because I had friends all over the world that I wished I could spend time with.  It all started during that school year, my freshman year at UJ, meeting girls on the Internet. I still do have friends from all over the world. I don’t meet many people on the Internet anymore, because I gave up chat rooms in 2007, but I still have friends all over the world who I used to know in person that I wish I could visit, as well as chat room friends who I met before 2007 who stayed in touch.  And in three weeks, I would be back home in Plumdale, away from all my new Jeromeville friends. Hopefully at least some of them would write to me. And I would not be gone forever; I still had at least three more years at UJ.

1995 molly's first letter

 

January 28-29, 1995. Captains and Toros and resident advisors.

Growing up, I watched a lot of sports with my family.  We went to Bay City to watch professional baseball games a few times every year, and I had been to one basketball game and two hockey games as well.  I had no athletic talent myself, and my list of athletics experience included one season of tee-ball the summer after kindergarten and one day of football practice in high school before I decided I couldn’t handle it.  Mark got all the actual athletic talent in our family; he played baseball and basketball all of his life, and I worked the scoreboard and snack bar.

Surprisingly, considering that I had never been to a professional football game, football was the sport I followed the most closely during my first few years at Jeromeville.  Baseball and hockey were simultaneously on strike during my freshman year. The entire baseball playoffs were canceled, as was half of the hockey season, with hockey games having just begun a few weeks earlier instead of in October.  I liked basketball, but both of the nearby pro basketball teams were terrible, and going to basketball games wasn’t really something I was used to. But Bay City Captains football games were on TV every Sunday at home, and they had won four championships in my lifetime.

In 1995, the Captains were in the big championship game that would be watched by almost a hundred million people in the USA, and many more worldwide even though American football was not a major sport in other countries.  The Captains would be playing the Texas Toros. These two teams had both been very successful in recent years, with each team having won two championships in the last six years. This year’s game was expected to be close, with both teams evenly matched.

I walked into the stairwell to go to dinner the night before the game.  The two stairwells in Building C (and presumably the eleven other identical dorms in the South Residential Area) each had chalkboards where the RAs would write announcements, and I saw Gurpreet writing something on the chalkboard.  I read the announcement that he had written so far:

Want to be an RA next year?
Meeting Wednesday 2/1 7:00 
in t

“Hi, Greg,” he said.  “Want to be an RA next year?”

I hadn’t thought about my plans for next year at all.  Being a resident advisor could be interesting. I could continue living in a dorm and not have to make my own food, and other students could look to me, so that I could be helpful to someone else in the way that Gurpreet and Amy had been helpful to me.  “I might,” I said. “Where’s the meeting?”

“DC downstairs study room.  Seven o’clock.”

“Thanks.”  I climbed down the stairs as Gurpreet finished writing on the board and walked outside.  It was a damp Saturday night, and it was already dark, even though it was only six o’clock.  It had been raining earlier in the day, and everything was still wet although the sky seemed dry for now.

In the dining commons, I saw Megan with three girls I didn’t know at a table with empty seats.  As I was walking toward them, Megan said, “Hi, Greg! You want to sit with us?”

“Sure,” I replied.  I set my dinner tray down at the table next to Megan and realized that I recognized one of the other three girls.  She was plain looking and just a little on the heavy side, with straight light brown hair.

“Do any of you know Greg?” Megan asked the other three girls.

“You’re in Math 21C with me, aren’t you?” the one I recognized asked me.

“Yes,” I said, “but I don’t know your name.  I’m Greg.”

“I’m Tiffany,” the girl said.

“Nice to meet you.”

“And this is Maria and Brandy,” Megan said, gesturing toward the other two girls.  “They’re all on my floor.”

“Hi.”

“I was just telling them that I’m going to my friend’s place tonight because we’re going to do something crazy with my hair.”

“Oh yeah?” I asked.  “What’s that?”

“I can’t tell you.  It’s a surprise. But this,” Megan said gesturing toward her hair, “you won’t see for a while.”

“She’s been teasing us all week by not telling us,” Tiffany said.

A few minutes later, Maria said something about the upcoming meeting for prospective RAs for next year, expressing interest in going.  Megan said that she would be good at it. “Hey, Greg?” Megan asked me. “Did you see that announcement about RAs for next year?”

“I did,” I said.

“Are you interested in being one?”

“I might be.  I’m going to come to the meeting.”

“Good!”

“Are you going to be an RA again next year?”

“I’m planning on it.”

“Good.”

That night, I kept thinking about this idea of being an RA.  It seemed perfect. I wouldn’t have to find a place to live next year.  I could stay on campus and have all my meals provided. My building had become my community, and even though other buildings didn’t have the extent of community that Building C and the Interdisciplinary Honors Program had, my new building where I was in charge would become my new community.  I would make new friends. Sure, there would be work involved, but the work would involve a position of leadership among my new friends and community, and this seemed like the kind of work I could get behind. Maybe I could even follow in Amy and Gurpreet’s footsteps and be the RA for next year’s IHP, since I had experience with the IHP program already.  I knew that former IHP students were often chosen to be the RAs for the IHP building; Amy had been a student in the IHP last year. And, of course, being an RA meant I would probably be seeing Megan around a lot, especially if we ended up in the same one of the three campus residential areas.

 

The next morning, after I got up but before I showered, I checked my email.  I had one message:

From: swimgirl17@aolnet.com
To: gjdennison@jeromeville.edu
Date: Sun, 29 Jan 1995 09:31 -0600
Subject: GO TOROS

How was your weekend? Mine was pretty good. I just hung out at my
best friend’s house last night after swim practice. I need to go
help my dad get set up for our football party.  We have about 10
other people coming over to watch the Toros win the championship!
Your Captains are going down because the Toros are the better team,
and you know it! GO TOROS!!!!!!!

-Brittany

Swimgirl17 was Brittany, whom I had met online shortly before I left for Jeromeville.  She was a high school senior who lived in Texas, and that made her the enemy today because she was a Toros fan.  Most people in this part of the state who followed football were Captains fans, since they were the closest team geographically, and some of the Toros fans I knew around here could be real jerks about this sometimes.  I liked Brittany, she was nice, but I didn’t like the fact that she was a Toros fan. Of course, she had a reason to be a Toros fan since she actually lived in Texas. I decided to wait until the game was over before replying to that email.

Around the time the game was supposed to start, I wandered down to the common room, where there was a television with a rabbit-ear antenna.  Nowadays, with cable and Netflix and all the other options out there, many people don’t seem to understand how antennas work, or that they can still be used to get local television channels.  The way they work is that TV stations broadcast signals over radio waves that a TV can pick up and turn into moving pictures, much like how radio stations do the same thing and a radio turns them into sound.  The TV in the common room could get all of the major networks on stations out of Capital City, although some of them came in a little fuzzy. For the game today, the picture was good enough to watch.

Mike Adams, Ian, Gina, Karen and Pat, Taylor, David, Pete, Mike Potts, Keith, and a guy from the third floor whom I didn’t know well named Yu Cheng were all watching the game.  I took a seat on a couch next to Taylor. “I see you’re on the right side,” he said, noticing that I was wearing the one Captains shirt I had. “Yu and Ian are the only Toros fans.”

“It’s not my fault!” Yu said.  “I lived in Texas until I was 8!”

“And my family has always been Toros fans,” Ian explained, much more quietly.

“Chips?” Taylor asked, passing me a bag of tortilla chips.  “There’s guacamole and dip over there.”

I took a few chips, without dipping them in anything, and passed the bag to the next person, which was Pat in a chair to the left.  Television talk show host Kathie Lee Gifford was singing the national anthem, which I tuned out, not out of disrespect for my country but out of dislike for Kathie Lee.

After that, the game began with the Captains kicking off to the Toros.  The Toros scored on the first drive, after which Ian applauded and Yu screamed, “YEAH!”  The Toros scored again midway through the first quarter.

“Damn,” I said

“It’s still early,” Taylor replied.  “The Captains are playing pretty well.  They just need to finish their drives. They could easily get back in this game.  Of course, throwing that interception didn’t help either.”

“I know.  It’s just that this girl I met online lives in Texas, and she was taunting me about the game in an email.”

“Who cares?  It’s just a game.  And if this girl really cares about you, that won’t matter.”

“I guess you’re right.”

The scoring slowed down in the second quarter, with both teams held to one field goal each.  The Captains were down 17-3 at halftime. “I’m not enjoying this game,” I said.

“Remember the game against Philadelphia back in September or October or whenever that was?” Taylor asked.  “The Caps lost that one so badly, but that lit a fire under them, and they haven’t lost a game since. The same thing could happen here.”

“Yeah, but that was a whole game they lost.  We only have halftime to get that momentum back.”

A few people had left the common room during halftime, but everyone else had trickled back in by the middle of the third quarter.  They got there in time to see a Captains defensive back intercept a pass and run all the way back for a touchdown. The Captains intercepted another pass late in the third quarter, leading to a field goal on that drive.  Going into the fourth quarter, the Captains were still down, but the deficit had been cut to 17-13.

“See?” Mike Adams said.  “Taylor was right! The Caps got the momentum back after halftime.  This game could still go either way.”

“I know,” I replied.  “But I’m nervous. This is for the championship.”

“I told you,” Taylor said.  “It’s just a game.”

The Toros scored a field goal early in the fourth quarter, but their quarterback had lost the sharpness that he had played with before halftime.  He threw another interception, and the Captains tied the score 20-20 with a touchdown a few minutes later.

“YES!” I shouted, along with similar reactions from the other Captains fans.  I high-fived Taylor and Mike Adams and Gina. “WOOO!” I shouted. I nervously watched the Captains score again with just under two minutes left, leading to another round of cheering and high-fiving.  Then, even more nervously, I watched the Captains’ defense trying to close out the game in the final minutes, which they did. I jumped up and shouted as the clock ticked down; the Captains had won, 27-20.

When I got back to my room, still grinning excitedly, I checked my email.  At first I wasn’t planning on gloating in response to Brittany’s email. I wouldn’t want her to have acted like that had the proverbial shoe been on the other foot.  I was going to reply and say something about the game, for sure, something to the extent that it was a good game, and that the Toros played well and made the game close and exciting.  But when my new messages came up, I again had only one, and it was from Brittany. The date and time on the message showed that she had written it during halftime.

From: swimgirl17@aolnet.com
To: gjdennison@jeromeville.edu
Date: Sun, 29 Jan 1995 18:57 -0600
Subject: Re: GO TOROS

17-3 so far… the Toros are playing great!  I told you the Toros
were the better team! Have fun watching us win the championship!

She’s totally asking for this, I thought.  I’m not being mean.  I clicked Reply and typed one sentence:

So how’d that work out for you?

I went to dinner, still feeling excited about the Captains’ big win.  Danielle from down the hall was there, sitting by herself, so I sat with her.

“Were you watching the game today?” she said.  “I saw there was a big group down in the common room.”

“I was!” I said.  “The Caps won!”

“I heard.  I didn’t watch it.  We never really followed football when I was growing up.”

“I’ve been a Captains fan as long as I can remember, but I didn’t follow football as closely as baseball growing up.  I had friends encouraging me to play football when I was in high school. I quit after the first full day of practice, I was in way over my head, but that experience of learning more about the game really has helped me enjoy watching football more.  I understand the game better than I did before.”

“That’s neat.”

I caught something out of the corner of my eye as Danielle said this.  Someone with bright green hair, cut short like boys’ hair even though the person had boobs and a feminine figure, walked through the door and swiped her ID card.  I turned to look more closely at this person with bright green hair, and realized with a shock that it was Megan. She made eye contact with me, and I waved, my mouth open in surprise.  She walked over to me.

“So, what do you think?” she asked me, grinning.

“It stands out,” I said.  “It’s unique. I like it.”

“Thanks!  I was going for unique and standing out, so I guess it worked.  I told some other RAs that I was going to sit with them, so I should go find them, but I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Yeah.  See you later.”

“Who was that?” Danielle asked as Megan was walking away.

“Megan.  She’s an RA in Building K.  She said last night that she was going to do something different with her hair.”

“It certainly is different.  How do you know her?”

“I’ve just seen her around here a lot.  I think Amy introduced us earlier in the year.”

“I see.”

“Oh… so the funniest thing happened today.  I know this girl online who lives in Texas, and she sent an email teasing me about the game, saying that Texas was going to win.  After the game, I had another message from her that she sent at halftime. She was teasing me because Texas was winning, acting like they had already won… but that didn’t work out for her so well!”

“That’s great,” Danielle said.  “You don’t ever want to count on something happening until you know it’s going to happen.  Don’t count your chickens before they’re hatched, they say.”

“Or don’t count your Toros before they’re… calved.  Is that a word, calved?”

“I’m not sure.”

After I finished eating, I walked back to Building C and Room 221, thinking about today.  Brittany apparently learned a valuable lesson about celebrating prematurely and counting on something uncertain.  This was a lesson that I should also keep in mind. Sometimes life throws unexpected curveballs. Some of these are minor and insignificant in the long run, like when a team that is winning falls behind, or when a friend unexpectedly dyes her hair green.  But sometimes these surprises can have major ramifications for the future.

A few weeks after this football game, I had an unexpected occurrence in my life that changed my plans for the future: I was not chosen to be an RA.  I completely bombed the interview. The current RAs and housing department staff member who interviewed me asked a lot of questions about how I would handle certain situations, and my answers seemed shaky and uncertain.  I had a very sheltered childhood, and many of the situations they asked about, such as dealing with students with substance abuse problems or gay and lesbian students being excluded by others, were not things that I had ever come across in my life.  That which I had assumed my life would revolve around next year had not happened, just as Brittany’s assumption that the Toros would go on to win did not happen. I was going to need to make new plans, eventually.

January 14-16, 1995. I completely failed at the Internet.

Tonight looked like it was going to be another boring Saturday alone in room 221.  After I got back from dinner, I got on the computer and dialed up to the school Internet service.  Computers weren’t connected to the Internet all the time back then. The technology to do that existed, but most people couldn’t afford the kind of connection required for that.  We normal people had dial-up modems, connected to regular old telephone lines in the wall. As I connected, the modem made the sounds of dialing the seven digit phone number to connect school accounts to the Internet, followed by the usual sound of ringing that one hears from inside the telephone headset while waiting for the other side to answer.  After the call was answered, the modem made a bunch of whirring, dinging, buzzing, and hissing sounds as it established a connection. When the terminal window showed a command prompt, I typed “irc” and entered the chat that the school computer system defaults to. Because this was the default for connecting through a UJ server, I occasionally saw other UJ students in that chat.

Today, while looking at the account info for the other people in the chat, I saw a UJ account with a name that I recognized: Schuyler Jenkins.  She lived upstairs from me on the other side of the building, in room 306. She was short, with brown hair and glasses, and although we were on friendly terms, she had a strong and fiery personality that reminded me a bit of the kind of person who feels a need to compensate for being short.

I decided to play a little prank.  To this day, I’m still not sure why I did this, but I thought it would be fun.  It was fairly easy with IRC to change both your name displayed in the chat and the actual name that people would see when they looked up your account information.  Ever since I discovered that I did not need to have my real name on there, I had used “A soul in tension,” a line from a Pink Floyd song, as my real name.

I needed to think of a fake name.  I typed “Eric Kingston.” For some reason, that was the first name that popped into my head.  The real Eric Kingston was one of my brother’s friends back home; we had numerous inside jokes about him.  I changed my screen name to “KingEric” and reentered the chat.

After a few minutes, I sent Schuyler a private message.  “hey, you go to jeromeville?” i typed. I waited to see if she would respond… and she did.

sky246: yes
KingEric: me too
sky246: i can see that, eric kingston.  so what’s your major?
KingEric: chemistry

I hoped that I knew enough about chemistry that any questions about my made-up major would stand up to scrutiny.  I really liked chemistry in high school, and so far I seemed to be understanding chemistry just fine this quarter.

sky246: you’d fit in well in my dorm.  lots of science and engineering people here.
KingEric: which one?
sky246: building c in the south area.  the honors program.
KingEric: oh no way, i’m in building a
sky246: that’s cool. i wonder if we’ve ever run into each other at the dc?
KingEric: maybe
sky246: what do you look like?
KingEric: blond, about 5’11, blue eyes, freckles. what about you?

My made up description was based on the real Eric Kingston.  I couldn’t think of anything else to say, other than actually describing myself.

sky246: short, thin, long brown hair, i wear glasses
KingEric: nice 🙂 what’s your major?
sky246: english
KingEric: do you know what you want to do with it?
sky246: i’m not sure. maybe go to grad school and become a professor.  or maybe teach high school.
KingEric: so what are you up to tonight?
sky246: just staying at home in my room.  this creepy guy who lives in my building has tried to ask me out twice in the last few days.  i don’t want to run into him again tonight
KingEric: uh oh.  why is this guy creepy? this sounds like a good story
sky246: his name is jared. he’s just weird. he sits in the common room playing scrabble all day.  we have a class together, and he’s only been to class once. and at the dc, he always looks for some random girl and tries to sit with her.  if you ever see a guy with shaggy blond hair at the dc trying to sit with some girl and getting rejected, that’s probably him
KingEric: i haven’t noticed him, but good to know
sky246: what’s your favorite animal?
KingEric: cat.  why?
sky246: just wondering
KingEric: what’s yours?
sky246: you have to promise not to laugh.  it’s kind of silly
KingEric: ok, i promise
sky246: platypus.  i don’t know why, i was obsessed with platypuses ever since I was young.  where are you from?

I was tempted to correct Schuyler and tell her that “platypuses” should actually be “platypi,” but irregular plurals were a Greg thing, and I didn’t want her to know that I was really Eric.  Also, I learned later in life that “platypodes” would be an even better irregular plural, since the -i ending came from Latin, but the -odes ending, like the rest of the word “platypus,” was derived from Greek.  Also, I hadn’t thought about where Eric Kingston was from. If I said Plumdale, it could again lead back to me, especially since Plumdale is pretty small, and most people in my building knew I was from Plumdale. If I chose almost any other place, she might say something that would give away my lack of familiarity with that place.  But maybe I could say something near Plumdale, so that I would be familiar enough with that place to talk about it.

KingEric: santa lucia
sky246: i like it there.  i’ve been there a few times.  i’m from santa teresa, farther down the coast
KingEric: it seems nice there.  but i’ve only seen it a few times from the freeway
sky246: it’s beautiful there, right in between the mountains and the beach
KingEric: that sounds nice
sky246: yeah.  i’m hoping to move back home someday, but if i become a professor i might have to work somewhere far away
KingEric: true.  i don’t know where i’ll be when i’m done
sky246: you’ll figure it out
KingEric: i hope so
sky246: hey, i need to go.  but we’ll talk again sometime, i hope?
KingEric: yeah! have a great day!

I signed off a few minutes after Schuyler left and played Tetris for a while.  After I got bored with that, I checked my email. Back in 1995, no one used words like “memes” and “viral” in the context of the Internet.  Email was just becoming mainstream about that time, and the 1995 equivalent of memes and viral posts was to forward something noteworthy or funny to everyone on your email list.  I had just started to receive these in the last few months. Today I had one from a girl I knew from IRC named Charlene, who lived in Texas; she often forwarded these messages to me.  I opened and read her message:

Hi, friend!  This message is full of sunshine!  Follow the directions and you will have sunshine in your life!  Just answer these 11 questions, and then forward this message to all of your friends, but give them 11 new questions to answer.

I read through Charlene’s answers to the 11 questions she was given.  She wrote about the last time she followed her gut on a big decision, whether she prefers a frugal or generous significant other, how reading fiction is different from nonfiction, and a number of other subjects.  Then I read the questions that Charlene had written for her friends:

Where do you get your news?
If your job gave you a surprise paid three days off, what would you do those three days?What is something that you resent paying for?
What is the most expensive thing you have broken?
What was cool when you were younger, but is not cool now?
What is something that no matter how evolved we become will always be popular?
Who do you go out of your way to be nice to?
Who was your craziest/most interesting teacher? What grade did they teach?
What are some red flags to watch out for in your daily life?
If you could move one character to play in a different movie/show, what character would it be, and to what movie/show?
What protagonist from a book or movie would make the worst roommate or spouse?

This could be interesting, I thought.  I clicked Forward, and copied and pasted the email addresses of everyone in the IHP into the Recipient field.  I didn’t have to type the addresses myself, because earlier in the year, someone had typed everyone’s addresses and sent the list to all of us, in case any of us ever needed to send an email to everyone.

I started typing my answers:

Where do you get your news? From the Daily Colt (the campus newspaper) and the Capital City Record (the nearby big city newspaper).

If your job gave you a surprise paid three days off, what would you do those three days?  I’m a college student. I don’t have a job. But if I had three days off school unexpectedly, I’d probably get caught up on homework and studying.  Then I’d do a lot of sleeping, reading, and playing around on the computer.

What is something that you resent paying for?  Welfare, via tax dollars. The government shouldn’t be taking my money and giving it to people who didn’t earn it.

(Of course, I didn’t have a job, but my parents earned that money and chose to give it to me.  No one forced them to give it to me. So the same principle applies. I would still feel this way if I did have a real job.)

What is the most expensive thing you have broken? One time last year, I was angry and punched a hole in my bedroom wall.  Does that count?

What was cool when you were younger, but is not cool now? Vanilla Ice. When I was 14 years and 2 months old, he was the coolest thing I had ever seen. I had outgrown him and his music by the time I was 14 years and 3 months old.

What is something that no matter how evolved we become will always be popular? Breathing. Breathing has been in style since prehistoric times. Either that or the Rolling Stones, since they’ve already been popular for over half a century.

Who do you go out of your way to be nice to?  I would hope most people. But I’m more likely to go out of your way to be nice if you’re nice to me.

(In retrospect, given what would happen over the next few days, this answer was interestingly ironic.)

Who was your craziest/ most interesting teacher? What grade did they teach? I’ve had a lot of crazy and interesting teachers, as well as a lot of favorite teachers for reasons that “crazy” and “interesting” don’t describe.  The first one who comes to mind is Mr. Pereira, my PE teacher from 9th grade. He would give silly nicknames to some students (for example, there was a kid who always wore a blue hoodie, not sure if it was gang related or not, but this teacher always called him “Little Blue Riding Hood”).  He also made up funny names for some of the activities we would play; the flag football class championship was called the Toilet Bowl, and when we had to run two miles on the day before Thanksgiving, he called it the Turkey Trot. And one time I told him my stomach hurt, and he told me to go take a shit.

What are some red flags to watch out for in your daily life?  People who don’t think the rules apply to them.

If you could move one character to play in a different movie, what character would it been and to what movie/show? Bud Bundy on Beavis and Butthead. The three of them could all fail at picking up chicks together.

What protagonist from book or movie would make the worst roommate or spouse?  Any of the boys from Lord of the Flies. They would probably turn into savages and try to kill me if I took up too much space in the refrigerator.

I then thought of eleven questions to ask others, typing them as I thought of them.

What place would you most like to visit right now, if neither time nor money were a factor?
What is the farthest away from home you’ve ever been?
What is the longest you’ve ever waited in line, and what was it for?
What is the weirdest or most noteworthy story you have about how you met one of your friends?
What is something you liked to eat as a kid, but you don’t like anymore?
If you could bring back one discontinued product, what would it be?
What was your least favorite thing about school?
If you could change one law/rule/etc. that applies to you, what would it be?
Who is your celebrity crush?
If you could change your name, what would you change it to? And if you like your name the way it is, why?
What’s that band/singer/musician that you’re a fan of, but you’re kind of embarrassed to admit it? Come on, everyone has one.

I clicked Send, and my email went to everyone in the IHP, waiting to read other people’s answers to my questions.

 

The next day was Sunday.  I went to church, and then to the dining commons to eat.  When I got back, I noticed that a small group of people sat in the common room talking.  Karen Francis saw me walk in. “Greg!” she said. I looked at her, and she looked kind of upset.

“Yes?” I replied, stopping to look at her.

“Don’t ever send me those chain emails again.”

“Umm… ok.”

“Seriously.  Those things are obnoxious and a waste of time.”

“I’m sorry.  I just thought it would be fun.”

“It’s not fun.”

“What about when other people have sent stuff like that to the whole building?  Why are you mad at me and not them?”

“I’ve also asked other people not to send me stuff.  It’s not just you.”

“Okay.  I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean anything by it.”

I walked back to my room, and the first thing I did was turn on the computer and take Karen off of my email list.  I felt a little put off by her reaction. I had no idea that people got so angry at this kind of thing, and I was just trying to have fun.  This wasn’t the first time I had made people mad through my lack of Internet skills; shortly after I started following the Pink Floyd Usenet group, I was scolded for asking dumb questions that had been answered already.  And this would definitely not be the last time I made people mad with the Internet.

 

Classes did not meet that Monday, because of the holiday for Martin Luther King Jr.’s birthday.  I woke up fairly early, as I usually do, but I stayed in bed until almost 10:00, mostly reading. When I finally dragged my butt out of bed, I looked outside.  It was sunny, but cold. I put on a hoodie and got on my bike, riding south toward the creek.

A dry creek bed ran through the UJ campus.  At some point in the University’s history, the creek had been blocked at both ends, and storm drains from the campus were directed into the creek, effectively making it a very long, narrow lake.  From one end, where the creek bed once intersected Highway 117, to the other end in downtown Jeromeville, the lake was almost two miles long. An arboretum had been planted along both banks of the creek, featuring trees and plants from all over the world.  A path ran along both banks of the creek, so that it was possible to make a long loop around both sides of the arboretum. The arboretum provided a refuge of sorts from the busy atmosphere of the rest of the campus, giving one the impression of being deep in a forest somewhere.  I rode my bike two complete laps around the arboretum, then returned to Building C and showered.

The rest of the day was fairly lazy.  Around five in the afternoon, I was on my usual IRC chat, and I noticed Schuyler signed on a while after I did.  It was time to be Eric Kingston again. I had been talking to a girl from New Zealand; I told her I would be back later, and asked her to email me.  I signed off and came back a few minutes later as Eric, and I messaged Schuyler.

KingEric: hi!
sky246: hi
KingEric: how are you? did you do anything over the long weekend?
sky246: just sleep in and catch up on studying.  what about you?
KingEric: same
sky246: have you eaten yet tonight?
KingEric: no.  you?
sky246: no.  it’s funny, someday we might be sitting right next to each other at the dc and not even realize it.
KingEric: that would be funny.  or maybe i’ll figure out which one you are, and i’ll just sit next to you and say something like hello platypus… just to see your reaction
sky246: haha.  how will you know who i am?
KingEric: well… actually… i already know.
sky246: WHAT
KingEric: earlier this weekend i was at the dc talking to this guy named greg from your building, and i asked him if you were there, and he pointed you out.
sky246: brb

I had a feeling I knew what was coming next.  Time to see the reaction. About a minute later, I heard footsteps and a knock on my door.  I hid the window on my computer screen. “Come in,” I said.

Schuyler opened the door with an unhappy look on her face.  “Please don’t tell strangers personal information about me,” she said.  She turned around to leave.

“Hello, platypus,” I replied, grinning.

Schuyler stopped and turned to look at me.  “What?” she said. “It was you this whole time?  I hate you. You’re evil and a horrible person.” She slammed the door and stormed off.

Well, this wasn’t what I was expecting.  I was just playing a harmless prank, I thought, but her reaction certainly didn’t make my prank seem harmless.  I felt terrible now. And messing with someone’s head like this really wasn’t like me. I closed the IRC window on my computer and just stared at the screen for several minutes.  Maybe I should just stop using the Internet. All I’ve done so far this weekend is make people mad at me. I felt like hiding from the world forever and never trying to make friends with anyone again.

I ate alone at the dining commons that night.  I saw a few people I knew, but I decided I wanted to sit alone.  When I got back to Building C, some of the guys who lived on the first floor were sitting in the common room watching a movie.

“Greg,” Spencer said when he saw me.  “What did you do? Schuyler was down here earlier saying you were a horrible person.”

“I was chatting with her on IRC pretending to be someone else.”

“No way!”

“Wow” Jonathan said.  “That’s pretty impressive that you pulled it off. But still.”

“I feel really bad now.  I was just playing a harmless prank, trying to see her reaction.”

“She sure did react,” Spencer said.

“Are you going to apologize?” Jonathan asked.  “You might want to. She’s really upset. I think she’s in her room now”

“You’re right,” I said.

I walked up to the third floor and knocked on the door of room 306.  Schuyler answered, and when she saw it was me, she tried to close the door in my face.  I stuck my foot in the door so that it would not close all the way. In hindsight, this was a bad idea, because it kind of hurt having the door slammed on my foot.

“Schuyler,” I said.  “I wanted to apologize.”  She opened the door about halfway, but still just glared at me, saying nothing.  “I just wanted to play a prank and see your reaction. I didn’t think about how your feelings would be hurt, and it really isn’t like me to do something like that.”

Schuyler sighed.  “Come in,” she said.  She sat on her bed, and I sat on her chair.  I noticed that Schuyler’s roommate was on the other bed, studying, so I tried to stay out of her way as much as possible.

“I know you’re mad at me.  But I’m not good with people.  I’m still learning how the world works.  And I’m also not good at using the Internet in general.  It seems like all I do is make people mad at me without realizing it.”

“I believe you,” Schuyler said after a pause of a few seconds.  “Apology accepted. But I’m still hurt. It might be a while before I feel like talking to you again.”

“I understand.”

“You’re right when you said it wasn’t like you to do that.  You’re not mean. And that’s part of the reason I was so hurt.”

“Yeah.”

“I need to get to work.  But I appreciate you saying something.”

I got up to leave.  “Bye,” I said. “I’ll see you around.”

I left without saying anything else, but I had something else to say while I was in the mood for apologizing.  I walked to the other end of the third floor and knocked on Karen’s door. “Hi, Greg,” she said, opening the door just a crack, just enough to see her face.

“Hey.  I’m sorry about the email the other day.  It seems like my Internet habits are just making people upset these days, and I really didn’t mean to be annoying.”

“I know,” Karen answered.  “And I’m sorry I snapped like that.  I’ve just been in a bad mood the last few days.  And I’ve had friends and relatives emailing me this crap for years, and I’m just tired of it.”

Well, look at you, with your rich techie background and all of your friends and relatives who aren’t new to the world of email, I thought silently.  But what I said out loud was, “I took you off my mailing list already.”

“Thank you.  And don’t worry about it.  It’s really not a big deal.”

“Thanks.  I’ll see you later.”

“Bye,” she said, closing the door as if in a hurry to get back to what she was doing..

I walked back to my room and lay on the bed for a while, just thinking.  This whole weekend felt like I completely failed at the Internet. And even though I had apologized, I still felt like hiding from everyone.  No matter what I did, I would never be able to have a group of friends like a normal person. All I do is make people mad and say things that they don’t understand.  And in hindsight, I don’t even know why I tried to make Schuyler think I was someone else. Nor did I know why I decided to answer Charlene’s questions. It wasn’t like me to be mean for no reason, nor was it like me to actually take the time to reply to emails like Charlene’s.

I closed my eyes and let my mind wander.  Maybe I wasn’t as hopeless as I felt when it came to making friends.  I did have friends. So what if I kept to myself a lot. There were people in Building C, and a few outside of Building C, who cared about me and wanted to talk to me.  So what if I made some reckless decisions. People do stupid things sometimes. Everything feels like culture shock to me right. Living with seventy other students my age is a new experience for me.  I didn’t have a lot of interaction with peers at all growing up, and I was still learning. Making mistakes, making people mad, getting into arguments, these are all part of the process. Real friends apologize when they make mistakes.  They are honest about their feelings, and they stick together through it all.

Schuyler and I did end up on good terms eventually, although she didn’t talk to me much for the next couple weeks.  And Karen was fine once I took her off the email list. She wasn’t really hurt, just mildly annoyed. I should also point out that I noticed, out of the corner of my eye, the reason why Karen had only opened the door a crack and had seemed in a hurry to get rid of me: Pat was in Karen’s bed with his shirt off, and possibly other clothing missing as well.


AUTHOR’S NOTE from 2019: The email from Charlene (curiosityconfession.wordpress.com) was actually her nomination of this blog for the Sunshine Blogger Award.  The rules are to thank the blogger who nominated you, answer the 11 questions the blogger asked you, nominate new blogs to receive the award and write them 11 new questions, list the rules, display the Sunshine Blogger Award in your post/or on your blog, and notify the nominees about it by commenting on one of their blog posts.  Thank you, Charlene!  I don’t normally nominate people for stuff like this, so as not to annoy the Karen Francises of the world, but if any of you reading this want to do it on your blog, go for it.  And post a link to your blog below so other people can go take a look at it.

2019060315596039499737107020236528153170.jpg