It’s okay. It’s nice to hear from you. How have you been? (Other than intoxicated?)
Colin
P.S.—Why is the subject line of your email “yearbook”?
Wow. First of all, it’s barely 10 o’clock in the morning! Howdarehe imply—well, okay, fine, Iwasintoxicated at the point of first contact. But it’s not like I have a drinkingproblem. Why is he writing back, anyway? If he wants to know how I’m doing, why can’t he stalk me on the Internet like normal people do?
Ugh. How would I respond to this anyway? I’m thirty-one years old with no marriage or evendatingprospects on the horizon, and unless I go the route of insemination or cavorting with a male sex worker, my chances of motherhood dwindle with each passing monthly cycle. I’m five-six, 145 pounds but still sporting an A-cup, and my prize-winning feature,my long chestnut-brown hair, was interrupted this morning by a wiry white strand that came out of my scalp and pointed itself directly toward the sky like an old television antenna. My friends all live in hip parts of the city, but I can’t afford rent that high on my limited book-to-book advances and paltry monthly checks that look more like welfare payments than the “royalties” I’m told they are. My cat, Dorian Gray, is my only confidante—aside from my journal—and my parents keep nudging me to move back home to Westchester. If I do that, it will only be so that I can dig myself a shallow grave in their backyard and jump in headfirst.
It’s not like Colin Yarmouth actuallycareshow I’m doing, anyway. I’m sure he’s only asking so he’s got a funny anecdote to share at some upcoming cocktail party he’s been invited to with otheresquiresand their tiny supermodel wives. This is what I get for trying to write about him in my manuscript. The damn universe clearly favors beautiful popular people over average girls like me.
TO:Colin Yarmouth ([email protected])
FROM:Grace Landing ([email protected])
RE:yearbook
If you must know, I was only intoxicated because I was out celebrating with my girlfriends that night.
Also, I wrote “yearbook” in the subject line because during the night in question, I flipped to a random page in our high school yearbook and saw a picture of you, which was what prompted my initial email. Again, not exactly my finest moment.
Stay well,
Grace
Celebrating—ha! Way to spin an evening of shameful downward spiraling into a “glass half full” situation! Anyway, that oughta do it. Now hopefully he’ll leave me alone so I can get back to work.
Evidently not. At lunchtime, I get a response.
TO:Grace Landing ([email protected])
FROM:Colin Yarmouth ([email protected])
RE:yearbook
Celebrating what? Birthday? Engagement? Promotion at work? (I assume not pregnancy, given the alcohol involved.)
I haven’t seen my yearbook since college. I think it’s living in a box in my parents’ basement.
Colin
Why the inquisition?I wonder. I won’t let him derail me from my word count today though. It’s homemade pear and gorgonzola salad with lime vinaigrette for dinner at five o’clock sharp, a glorious meal that won’t send me into a gassy oblivion. (Unless the store-brand gorgonzola crumbles have gone bad—an absolute possibility since the tub was on sale as a “manager’s special.”)
But it’s gnawing at me, the knowledge that he just wants to use this whole story to make fun of me. That’s all Colin Yarmouth has ever done. He sat behind me in tenth grade Spanish and used to make comments about everything from my small handwriting to my wide back to my perfect quiz grades to—oh. Oh, I see it now. Yep. He was definitely trying to cheat off me in Spanish.
This ends now! I haveenoughgoing on in my life. I don’t needthisaggravation.
TO:Colin Yarmouth ([email protected])
FROM:Grace Landing ([email protected])
RE:yearbook
Listen, buddy, I don’t know why you all of a suddencareabout my life. All you ever needed from me was a decent Spanish grade—that’s right! I figured you out! Cheater!
Now, if you’ll please excuse me, I’m sure you have something better to do in your fancy law firm today than chitchat with the likes of me.
Have a nice life,
