Page 5 of Love's a Glitch
The gray bubble and three dots formed, and my pulse pounded faster at the base of my neck. A decade of hiking dangerous cliffside trails, trying all sorts of food from various cultures, and rafting wild waters like the Mo Chhu River in the name of reaching a fertility temple—to photograph, not ask for help in that area, for the record—and the fastest my heart had pounded since arriving back in California came from texting a woman I didn’t even know.
The organ in my chest thumped harder when I saw she’d sent a voice memo.
“Not to be that girl,” Ellie said in a slightly raspy voice that danced along my nerve-endings, “but according to the Smithsonian, pterodactyls aren’t dinosaurs. They’re closer to flying reptiles. All that said, I am impressed you didn’t go the stereotypical route and offer to make pancakes. Althoughmmm, pancakes would be amazing right now. I wonder if I have any pancake mix. Do you know?”
Was she talking to me? The way her voice faded at the end made me assume the question had been addressed to someone nearby. Was she brazenly flirting with me while seated next to some random dude?
Okay, in this scenario, I might be the random dude, but why did I also hate the idea of her being with another guy so much?
“Anyway, I’m getting off topic,” Ellie said. “Despite the fact that no one truly knows what pterodactyls sound like, I’m going to give it a four out of a five on the impressive scale. As far as the hangover scale goes, it’s a two out of five.”
I scratched at the beard my mom had called “unkempt” upon my arrival, contemplating where to direct our conversation next. Not that I’d planned to diverge down the dino path—it’d just sort of happened, which was likely why I enjoyed chatting with Ellie.
Me:So, no regrets this morning?
Ellie:I kinda regret updating my phone, but then ?????????????
Constant travelingand visiting areas almost untouched by technology meant that I often turned into the grumpy old man who ranted about new slang and people always being on their phones. My shiny new model was a company perk I’d considered more of a penalty, yet I’d found myself on it more and more. In addition to being handy, it’d facilitated “meeting” Ellie. If I attempted to use emojis, what would I even type?What is blurry dude plus a heart on fire and Jesus?
Me:Am I supposed to know what that means?
Ellie:NEW EMOJIS!!!!
Several more ofthe tiny symbols followed. Since this line was only highlighting my lack of “being in the know,” I redirected.
Me:So, what are your hobbies? Besides access to extra faces. LOL
I cringedas I typed out the L-O-L and forced myself to hit send. My nineteen-year-old sister informed me that my texts read as “too serious and a bit harsh.” Then she suggested I add texting slang or “at least a smiley face.” Even that felt forced, and the main thing I’d enjoyed about chatting with Ellie was that it felt new and exciting, and yet natural and easy.
Ellie:Legal addictive stimulants, the color hot pink, and, nerdy as it may be, discovering new things and learning all about them. Sometimes it makes me come across as a know-it-all, so I’m working on it.
The discoveringand learning of new things was right up my alley. It was one of the main reasons I enjoyed traveling to new places, fully immersing myself, and trying new things. That middle one, however, left me scrunching my forehead.
Me:How is hot pink a hobby?
A moment later,I received three images. Ellie wearing hot pink glasses that were so fucking cute I could hardly stand it; Ellie kissing a hot pink coffee maker in a way that made me want to be espresso; and Ellie holding up a gray and white cat with a glittery hot pink collar and an unamused expression in its speckled face.
Save,save,save,those were going in my photo files for sure.
Ellie:The last one is of my cat, Dot.com, who goes by Dottie most of the time.
Ellie:Your turn.
Didshe mean to send pictures? Or were we still talking hobbies?
Hers had combined both, but it wasn’t easy to take a picture of mountain climbing or kayaking from inside the house. Mom had been furious enough when I’d started climbing the floor-to-ceiling rock fireplace in the living room, and that had been around age three or four. I doubt she’d changed her mind on the matter now that I’d turned thirty. After rummaging through my stuff, I found a few that fit the bill.
Me:Adventures. Going on them and finding new ones. Basically, anything that includes hiking, climbing, and/or a boat.
I’d almost added“any physical activity” before worrying it might be taken the wrong way. Of course, now I was thinking about the right way. If there was anything I’d missed about staying in one place for a while, sex with someone other than myself landed at the top of that list.
After a moment’s debate, I sent along pictures from a few of my adventures. When it came to photos of the places I’d traveled to and the people there, I could fill books and books. But being behind the camera meant I didn’t have a lot of myself on those trips. I guess I was lucky I’d been guilted into snapping a few by my family—along with telling me he’d needed help at the office with my dad out of commission for a while, my brother, Henry, had made sure to add “your nephew and niece don’t even know what you look like.”
I highly doubted my ten-month-old niece either knew or cared.
But with my next adventure way too far away, these would refresh my memory and motivate me to get in, get out, and get on with my life.
In the meantime, Miss Wrong Number, with her witty banter and love of hot pink, just might be the perfect distraction to help get me through the mundane.
