Day 20

The scrap of paper

Chris Baker’s home again after another day’s work, changed and sitting at the computer in his home office.  He’s online, chatting away with a woman he’s never met before.  But they’re familiar enough, even intimate.  Between typing his replies, Chris strokes himself through the fabric of the garment he’s wearing.  He’s not sure what it’s made of, it feels synthetic.  Probably just right for the occasion if it is.

Chris has been chatting on and off with this woman for about six months now.  They’ve exchanged pictures and a fair bit of personal information.  They’ve had what Chris guesses could be called cybersex, although he’s never really thought about it like that.  Someone else might, but it’s hard to see yourself, what you do, how others might.

And now, finally, they’re making arrangements to meet.  Chris hesitates about giving out any of his details, phone number, address, anything like that.  But the woman seems comfortable enough and is happy to take the lead.  They’ve been circling this moment for a few months now and it’s always been Chris who’s backed off, found an excuse not to go through with it just yet, or just plain stayed out of touch for a while, hoping this would all go away, but always coming back to it.  Usually sooner rather than later.

And, every time he’s come back, the woman’s been there.  She’s tolerated his elusiveness, his absences, and picked up their conversation like it’s never been broken.  She’s never typed a single word of reproach, never put on the caps lock to show anger.  She’s just treated all of this as though it’s perfectly normal.

In the end, this is what helps Chris cross the line and do it.  She’s constant, calm, matter of fact.  It all just seems OK.  So, this time, he’s going through with it.  They’re going to meet.

Although he’s resolved, he still lets her take the lead, still doesn’t want to give up any personal details to this woman he knows but has never met.  She doesn’t ask, anyway.  She says they’ll meet at her place, types and sends the address for him.  Chris writes it down on sheet of virgin white paper.  He’s not going to save it on his computer.  They confirm a day and a time.  Finally, she sends him a mobile number, asks him to call if he can’t make it.  He writes that down on the paper, as well.

Details confirmed, they make their farewells.  Chris closes the dialogue box on his screen and gets up.  He walks to the hall stand and puts the piece of paper in his wallet, he’s torn off just the portion with the address and phone number on it so it will fit unobtrusively.  After he’s satisfied that the scrap of paper doesn’t reveal itself on the outside of his wallet, Chris goes straight to his bedroom, lies on the bed, closes his eyes and lets his right hand drift down his torso.