I smile sadly.
A strange loneliness washes over me as I start heading back to my car parked on the sidewalk.
That’s when I hear a voice behind me.
“Mr. Arnoldson? sorry excuse me. Mr. Lincoln Arnoldson?”
“Yes?” I turn around.
Who the hell is this?
A young woman, she can’t be more than 18, comes bounding up to me in a fluffy, furry light-brown coat that looks like it's made out of coyote fur. Her hair is sleek, reddish-brown, styled in two perfect buns. Prominent dark eyebrows. Big doll-like eyes.
She’s… kind of cute, honestly.
But does she know me?
My stomach sinks for a beat.
What if she’s a reporter?
The girl walks up to me and stretches out her hand to shake it.
I look at it warily, but I take it anyway and shake.
“It's so good to meet you,” she says, beaming. “I washed your interview and I’ve actually been following along the project from its Inception, or at least as much as was revealed to the public.” She laughs nervously, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “And um… would it be okay if I asked you for an autograph?”
I feel caught off guard.
No one has ever asked me for my autograph before. It’s hella weird.
“Umm,” I begin, not knowing where to begin.
Should I even give her my autograph?
What if she uses my signature for something?
Forges something? Sells it on eBay?
Does that even matter?
“I'm not really… I’m not a celebrity,” I chuckle nervously.
“You're a celebrity to me. And you're totally a celebrity, oh my God, yeah. You got a huge fan base. And you're like my idol. Even though I don't know much about tech,” she says.
I shrug my shoulders, blinking, sighing, relenting to my fate. “What do you want me to sign?”
“Could you sign my phone case? And my forearm if it's not too much to ask?” she giggles, blushing, unable to keep her eyes on me.
My heart flutters.
It’s the way she’s looking at me.
Yeah… the girl knows exactly what she’s doing.
If I asked her out right now, she’d probably say yes.
“How old are you if you don't mind me asking?” I say, just to be safe.
