“Ms. Porter, is this letter for you? Do you know this M person?”
“Yes,” I said, my voice shaking. Tears began to fill my eyes. I reached out and hugged him. “Thank you.”
“That’s pretty cool. I didn’t think those posts ever worked. Good thing you have that tattoo. Are you gonna call the dude?”
“I think so. Listen, Eli, I really appreciate what you’ve done, but I need to head out. Can I take this?” I held up the paper.
“Of course. It’s yours.”
I gave him a grateful, teary smile, grabbed my things, and hurried to the steps at the front of the school to call Tati.
She answered right away. “Hello?”
“Hey, are you busy?”
“I’m at the salon,” she said. Soon after we graduated from college, Tati got dumped by Brandon. She immediately ran out, cut her hair very short, and dyed it jet black. She’d been wearing it that way for fifteen years, I think as a reminder of some kind. She hadn’t been in a committed relationship since Brandon, except for the one she had with her hairdresser.
“Can I meet you there?”
“Sure. What’s up? Why do you sound so weird?”
“I don’t.” I was breathing hard.
“Okay, come on over.”
Remember speed-walking? It was a short-lived exercise fad in the eighties. It’s a really goofy way of walking so fast that your hips jut from side to side. It’s actually an Olympic event still.
I speed-walked six blocks to the salon so fast, I could’ve won a gold medal.
I exploded through the door and found Tati in the first chair, wearing one of those black salon capes. Her hair was coated in purplish-black dye and covered in a cellophane cap while her hairdresser gave her a shoulder massage.
“I’m processing,” Tati said, pointing to her head.
“Hi,” I said to her hairdresser, “I can do that.”
The girl smiled and walked away. I stood behind Tati and started rubbing her shoulders.
“Ooh, easy, your cello hands are too rough,” she whined.
“Oh, shut it. I have to talk to you.”
“Talk then.”
“He wants to meet with me.”
“What are you talking about?” I had told Tati about seeing Matt on the subway, but that had been two months ago.
“Read this.” I handed her the piece of paper.
A moment later she was sniffling.
“Are you crying?” I asked from behind her.
“I must be hormonal. This is just so sad. Why does he sound so oblivious in this post?”
“I don’t know.”
“You have to call him. Grace. You need to go home right now and call him.”
