Post 5: The First Tale

The first thing I remember about him are two things two different people said to me. The first said they felt bad for him, because he couldn’t seem to get a girlfriend. The second said he was the tallest of all his friends. In comparison to shoe size, I mean.

The funny thing about the world today is how little human interaction takes place in real places, real times. In those days I found Facebook Chat and bored text messages to be the easiest ways to begin conversations that never seemed to end, because with that kind of technology they didn’t have to.

It was the Friday before I left, again. I was always leaving for San Francisco and always “coming-home-soon-but-not-soon-enough.” We were at the hunt; the manhunt, that is. They were my favorite when my hometown was where I was living, but these days I was too old, they didn’t want or need me around for more than the kickoff. And besides, with my leaving were the original moderators who had grown through school at the same pace as myself. Their leaving signaled mine, for the game just wasn’t the same.

So she drove me to the kickoff in her smelly and mostly-trustworthy car with half a bumper and a sticker that was there just for me. We picked up a kid with a banana who was about a month out from hating my guts for forever (nothing new, around here) and arrived at the parking lot where the hunt began.

It had all begun somewhere else, but I said hello to the boys in white masks and had to admire the only one who had committed to mohawk Friday. I’m glad he’s never committed to it again. But Mr. Mohawk was the fair side of the equation, and the one next to him is who this short is about. He was the dark half, literally. Tall and dark haired and eyed and toned. Funny and chatty, but much harder to read into. Still a mystery.

And it was the tale of being seventeen: that night after the hunt, before I left-for-not-long-but-too-long again, I asked how the game went over a chat. Then he had to leave the computer, so he gave me his number. And the conversation kept on going until nearly a year later.

{It’s a start}


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