LOVE, virtually
‘Who wanted to be rejected by an idiot? Being rejected by George Clooney, I could take’
His friend request came in late one night. I stared at the name for a good minute. James Brewer, the shape of those words still so familiar. Just lines and curves on a computer screen, but you could track with a GPS the route they took through my body. A flush, but not the suffocating ones of menopause. Pricklier, sweeter, gentler. I shut my laptop and pressed the backs of my fingers to my cheeks. For goodness’ sake.
“You’ve never mentioned this guy,” my daughter Emily said the following day, after I arrived to babysit. “Where does he live? What does he do – or is he retired?” she added, as if that meant one no anything.
