Although I didn’t comment on all the threads, I read absolutely everything. People talked about plays opening, plays closing, a new building that looked dreadful, the latest restaurant that lived up to its hype, the horrible, ongoing road construction, and the closest subway station to a trendy gallery. They never brought up the weather or television, which were the two main topics of conversation at CVS. I wanted to roll my eyes at all the customers and say, “Who cares if there’s a frost advisory?” except I knew my dad cared and it was important for his crops, so I talked about it like it was the most interesting thing in the world. I even kept a Farmers’ Almanac behind the counter. Still, I think that’s why I liked Pulse so much, because I could act like myself. I could say what I really felt and ask what I wanted to know. Mom said that the internet was dangerous because everyone was anonymous and you never really knew who you were talking to, but I think that’s what gave me the courage to open up. I found myself in the forums. Every day in school I became what my teachers and friends wanted, then I went straight to work or play practice and became what they wanted, then I came home and had to cram in homework and try to figure out what my parents wanted—when, honestly, all they really wanted was for Greg to be home and for me to be about ten years old again (Sorry, Mom and Dad. Not gonna happen.)—and by then it was 10:00 p.m. When I logged on to Pulse, it felt like I was breathing for the first time all day. I let myself relax and look around, and that’s when I saw a post from a newbie that needed to be intercepted.
LitGeek: Hi everyone. I’m new to the forum. I saw the discussion on Thomas Pynchon’s book signing next week and CAN’T BELIEVE IT. I won’t be in New York then, but if anyone is planning to go, can I send you a book for him to sign and $50.00 for your trouble?
HollyG: $50 for your trouble? You must be from the Midwest.
LitGeek: Guilty. How did you know?
HollyG: Because nobody would do it for less than $200 and it’s not going to happen anyway. Thomas Pynchon’s an urban myth.
LitGeek: Hmm. I’ve read his books and bio and he seems pretty corporeal to me.
HollyG: Not the guy. The book signing is an urban myth. You’re a newbie so you don’t know the Thomas Pynchon book signing is like Giuliani running for president, like the construction finishing on the crosstown, like Amelia Earhart’s plane landing at JFK.
LitGeek: Oh. Right. That sucks. I was excited. So why are people posting about this event like it’s going to happen?
I sent the next message in a PM.
HollyG: Some people think it’s funny, but most of them just want your $200. I flagged the thread for the moderators to take down. They can be pretty slow, though.
LitGeek (replying to the PM): I guess I should thank you for saving me the cash and the disappointment.
HollyG: Can’t let a fellow Midwesterner get suckered by the scammers.
LitGeek: You’re from or live there now?
HollyG: Live there now, temporarily. I’ll be in NY by this time next year.
LitGeek: Where are you now?
HollyG: Southern MN.
LitGeek: Me too(!), unfortunately. What town are you in?
HollyG: Too embarrassing to say. Besides, you’re probably a child molester and I’m not going to meet up with you at the local Perkins.
LitGeek: We’re definitely not from the same town then, if you can boast of a Perkins. So, to clarify, if I’m a child molester, are you the six-year-old on your dad’s computer?
HollyG: Of course.
LitGeek: Then let me give you a tip. Don’t go through Daddy’s temporary internet files.
HollyG: lol
LitGeek: Oh—I get it now.
HollyG: ??
LitGeek: HollyG. Except you’re still Lula Mae at the moment, aren’t you?
HollyG: Took you long enough if you’re really a LitGeek.
LitGeek: What can I say? I’m as slow as this internet connection. It’s a good thing I don’t actually have anyone to talk to.
HollyG: Poor, friendless LitGeek. [Violin playing]
LitGeek: I know, I know. It’s just that I moved out to the sticks pretty recently and feel out of touch with all my friends.
HollyG: You came here voluntarily??? As a consenting adult?
LitGeek: That’s a matter of debate. I came because of my wife.
HollyG: So why don’t you talk to your wife?
LitGeek: Uh . . . I do.
HollyG: No, you said you didn’t have anyone to talk to, remember? What about your wife?
LitGeek: Oh, right. You’re obviously not married.
HollyG: I’m six. I can’t even legally work in a sweatshop yet.
LitGeek: lol
HollyG: So, LitGeek, who are your favorite authors besides the elusive Mr. Pynchon? Obviously not Capote . . .
It went on like that for weeks. September turned into October and everything else seemed normal. The entire school went crazy when the football team made regional playoffs. I got fitted for costumes at the theater and rehearsals were off-script now. Midterms started and Portia’s dad freaked out when she got a D on her trigonometry test.
I was practically oblivious to all of it. Instead, I constantly checked the forum on my phone. Every time I looked at the PM he’d left a new message. Sometimes we started new PMs for new topics, and a lot of nights we were online at the same time, talking in real time for hours. He told me about Don DeLillo and David Foster Wallace and we debated the best works of Tom Stoppard and Edward Albee. We agreed on how fabulous the new Guthrie Theater building was and disagreed on how awful the Rochester theater scene was. I didn’t tell him about my role in Jane Eyre. We were both careful to not say too much about our lives. He called his house a death camp once, but he never talked about his job or his wife. He asked me things like if I could inhabit the life of any character in a book, who would I be? I had no idea. I became the main character in every book I read. I felt myself inside their skin, but it didn’t have anything to do with liking them or wanting to be them. He said when he was young he wanted to be Charlie Bucket and when he was twenty he read Love in the Time of Cholera and felt strangely jealous of Florentino Ariza, who I guess loved a woman he couldn’t have for fifty years. I said if he wanted to be frustrated and sad his whole life, why didn’t he just become a guidance counselor? He laughed and then he said, “Florentino knew what he wanted. Even Charlie knew what he wanted. I guess I’d just like to know what my chocolate factory is.”