Part 3, Chapter 14
“Justin, I can’t begin to describe how drunk I was…”
“Don’t even worry about it.”
“You think I’m dreadful. I’m so sorry for behaving like that.”
“Quiet. Listen: I have a few thoughts about the other night. I’ll write you a haiku.”
“Okay!”
“Why don’t you give me your phone number so I can call you?”
“Okay. I don’t know why I got my phone out too. I guess to look at what my number is?”
“Hang on. I’m in the wrong menu. Wait. Clear. New contact. Okay, go.”
“You mean, now?”
I may have met my awkward match.
—
She was so cute I almost sat down next to her, just after my friend had introduced us. I’m an absolute sucker for huge, clear eyes and shoulder-length brown hair. I am even more of a sucker for girls who share names of spectacularly desirable female fictional characters. Let’s call this one Elizabeth Bennet.
“Sit down right here,” the friend on the opposite side of the booth had to remind me. I guess, sure. If you want to sit at a booth where a friend and a stranger are sitting opposite one another, I suppose politeness requires you to sit next to the friend, even if the stranger is remarkably hot. This is not only less anonymously invasive of personal space, but also has the advantage of allowing you to look at the strangers pretty eyes. “We’re just talking about Elizabeth’s boy problems.”
“I know!” says EB. “I’m such a disaster. Boys!”
Fortunately: “I like talking about emotions.”
Part 3, Chapter 13
On a frozen February Friday in 2003, HCE and her suitemates tried to drink their weight in boxed wine. Think serious motor skill disruption and mental impairment. HCE’s favorite suitemate and best female friend managed to pass herself out, is how bad we’re talking. People were unable to stand. I know because I stumbled into the suite after midnight. I was escorting her other suitemates home from an entirely chaste and sober movie, because I had spent so much time at the suite being platonic that they all wanted me for their platonic own.
Twenty minutes later, I was back home, lovesick as ever, and online. So was HCE, who, recall, is fabulously wasted.
After great personal struggle with my own verbosity and emotional exhibitionism, I have chosen to present my reconstruction of our subsequent Instant Messenger conversation to you un-cut, free of stylistic interruption. Just know that I felt at least a few emotions during the following.