“Tell me about your cafe,” the next text says. “What’s it like?”
I look around the outdoor patio, taking in a deep breath, relaxing my shoulders. I didn’t realize I had tensed up. “I’m surrounded by people on together-together dates. You know, like the traditional kind.”
“Boring.”
I laugh loudly enough that I’m catching glances.
“Too bad for them. There is one couple who seems to be together separately, though. They haven’t put their phones down since they arrived.” My smile is reflecting back at me in my screen. I just imagine my secret person is smiling, too.
“Also boring. And sad.”
“Maybe. I’m beginning to think that there’s no one right way to be with someone. Like, every person might have their own right way.”
“Maybe the trick is finding someone with a matching ‘right way’.” The reply comes faster than I can process.
“That’s heavy.” I stop typing as a surge of need washes through my body. The need to be able to say a name. I feel like I’m stuck in sand, glued to the floor. “Here’s something I need:” I hit send and then begin typing some more. “I need to be able to call you something. Like a name, but not your name… until you’re ready. Maybe a codeword or an acronym or something.”
“This is really important to you?”
“I feel like you and I might be connecting on a real level, but the namelessness feels like a sentiment killer. How about just an initial?”
“Something to write on a card when you send me flowers?”
This makes me chuckle. “Flowers, huh?”
“Yes, flowers.” There’s a pause and then another message: “M.”
The letter seems to blur in and out of focus on my screen. Am I seeing it right?
“That’s what you can write on the card. Nothing formal, just wildflowers please.”
I find myself touching my lips together over and over saying the letter. “So, M… Besides the flowers, what is your ‘right way?’” The chair beneath me is suddenly electrified and I’m struggling to sit still.
“Elaborate schemes, of course.” The next text reads, “Anonymous notes and the occasional personal challenge. Things of that nature.”
The answer makes me sit upright. “I know you can dish it, but can you take it?” I can’t type the words fast enough.
The seconds roll by with no response and then: “I knew you were trouble! Sure I can take it. What’d you have in mind?”
Now the delay is mine. I keep crossing and uncrossing my feet under the table, I’m suddenly wishing for a glass of water, something to wet my lips.
“I’m thinking…” I say. I look around the space searching for ideas and then: “Laugh out loud.”
“What?”
“Look at your screen like you’re seeing something hilarious and laugh so loud and long that people turn to see what’s going on, and maybe think you’re a little crazy.”
“Laugh out loud? That’s the challenge? Maybe you should say something actually hilarious,” the words challenge me on the screen.
“That’d be too easy. You know you’re already smiling! Just turn it into a laugh.”
Seconds tick away with no response. I’m not sure I actually breathe during this time.
“I actually can’t stop smiling, William. But, how would you know I’d actually do it, and not just claim that I did?”
“I trust you, M.” The letters fly across the screen, and then I’m frozen, waiting.
Another delay, this one longer than the last. “Trust is a dangerous thing.”
