“And Chrissie tells me you’re interested in someone you talk to online,” said Kevin.
“Did you guys have a dig-into-Marc’s-business conference?” Marc demanded.
“No,” said Rory. “Word gets around. You know how it is. I really think you’ve been awful to my sister. She waited for you your whole mission. Two years, she didn’t date or even flirt with anyone else.”
“Which you begged her to do when you left,” added Kevin. “Now you won’t even go out to dinner with her? Try to catch up?”
“Our families have been friends for how long?” said Millie.
“Chrissie’s like a sister to us already. Everyone was so happy when you two started dating.”
“Things have changed since then, all right?” said Marc.
“Specifically,” said Kevin, “you aren’t the runt of the litter anymore. You’re just back from your mission, which is when you are the most attractive you’ll ever be to girls, by the way. Remember that Chrissie liked you even when you were the guy everyone picked on. And she’ll still like you when the shine of your plastic name tag wears off.”
Millie and Rory nodded in agreement.
“Guys . . .” said Marc.
“Name one reason why you shouldn’t give her another chance,” said Kevin.
“Because of where my life is going these days,” said Marc. “Chrissie just wants to go back to Bend, and don’t pretend that you guys aren’t here because you know how hard it’d be for her to find someone else who’d ever want to live there. You think that because I know how to find it on a map, I’m better than some other random Utah guy. I’m not going back there. After I get my degree, I’m going to Silicon Valley, or maybe I’ll start up a company here.”
“Have you talked to her about any of this stuff?” asked Rory.
“And meeting someone online,” said Millie, “sounds sketchy.”
“I didn’t meet her online,” said Marc. “I met her on my mission.”
“While my sister was writing to you?” said Kevin.
Marc rubbed his hands over his face in exasperation. “I didn’t start dating this person back then. We got in touch after I got home, and after things ended with Chrissie.”
“Marc, some advice, bro to bro?” said Kevin. “That plastic name tag with Elder Branson written on it that you wore for two years? Better than plastic surgery. A month from now, you’ll be the same guy you were before, the computer science major with no friends.”
Marc scowled at him.
“And this other girl is in Chile,” said Rory. “It’s not like you’re going to see her ever again in your life.”
“And have you considered that she may only be after a green card?” asked Millie.
“Give me a break,” said Marc.
“There is that,” agreed Rory.
Marc wished he hadn’t gone to the door this morning. “You guys are living in the Stone Age. Just because you’re not comfortable with the whole online thing doesn’t mean that everyone who uses the Internet is a scammer of some kind.”
“You do need to be careful,” said Kevin. “You don’t know what other people might do.”
“What if she hacks into your bank account?” said Millie.
“She can’t do that. Gimme a break. You guys don’t understand anything about technology. You all plan to move back to Bend and take over the family farms—”
“And you look down on us for that,” said Millie. “You think you’re too good for Chrissie and for Bend.”
“I just don’t think I fit in there.”
Aware they’d reached a stalemate, his guests exchanged looks of resignation.
Marc wanted to dance for joy when they finally let him usher them out.
* * *
Once back in his room, Marc took a deep breath, sat down on his bed, opened his laptop, and activated the dial-up connection.
Please, he thought as the modem hissed and boinged in its conversation across the ether. Please, please, please!
On the nightstand was the often folded and unfolded letter written in halting English, the words inscribed in purple ball point pen. In the other room, the doorbell rang again, but this time he ignored it.
As his e-mail inbox loaded, he crossed his fingers. Four new messages popped up, three from his mother and one from his ISP. He shut his eyes for a moment in frustration, then opened the last e-mail he’d sent.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: March 1, 1998
Dear Angela,
Thanks so much for your letter. Now you have my e-mail address. Hope to hear from you soon!
Marc (it’s not Elder Branson anymore!)
He’d read and reread those lines, obsessing over every keystroke. Did he come on too strong? Did he e-mail too soon after he received her letter? Was she just not interested? Did it make her uncomfortable to use his first name? He smoothed open her letter and read it again.
February 5, 1998
Dear Elder Branson,
Thank you so much for your letter. I do remember who you are. You have green eyes and dark hair and a very nice smile. I hope you had a good trip back to Utah after your mission. Do you think you’ll ever come back to Chile to visit?
To answer your question, yes, I have an e-mail. It is [email protected].
Sincerely,
Angela
He knew those words by heart now, and with each repetition became more aware of what they didn’t say. She was being polite, not flirtatious. His interest in her wasn’t reciprocated. All his talk about dating someone else was just that, talk. Angela was five and a half feet of slim elegant curves and a mocha complexion who seemed to like him in person, but Kevin’s words about girls digging missionaries stung. Perhaps he really had set his sights too high.
With resignation he folded her letter and put it in his pocket, then opened the first of his mother’s e-mails. He skimmed it for news, to see if his other sister, Marie, had delivered her baby yet, or if his brother Max had his mission call. Finding no news of either in any of the three messages, he put them all in the trash.
In the other room, he heard the door open and shut, and then laughter of the exact pitch and tenor to make him cringe.
“Marc?” the feminine voice called out. “You ready for class?”
“I might be late,” he yelled back.
Without even knocking, she opened his door.
“Whoa, hey!” he shouted, snatching his robe tight around himself. “Chrissie, seriously! First you send our families over for an intervention, and now you just barge in?”
The girl who stood in the doorway was plain with fine, blond hair. She tilted her head. “Intervention?”
“Yeah, play dumb.”
Her bafflement seemed genuine, though. “You need to get ready. I don’t want to be late.”
“Then you go on ahead.”
“No, it’s okay. I’ll wait for you. Just hurry okay?”
There was no point trying any harder to get her to leave. She had perfected her selective hearing of late.
Once she left the room, Marc picked up a dirty shirt and jeans from his floor and got dressed. His face had a three-day-old scruff on it that scratched the back of his hand as he pulled his shirt on. It was the latest of his attempts to put Chrissie off.
With one eye on the clock, Marc dragged his feet until five minutes past the start of class, only to emerge into the living room and find Chrissie on the couch, her backpack slung over one shoulder, one flip-flop clad foot tapping impatiently.
Good, he thought. Get mad. Get furious. Storm out.
She looked up at him, took in his rumpled clothing and blinked in dismay, but then a smile blossomed on her face.
“Okay, let’s go.”
“You don’t have to walk with me
to class.”
“No, it’s fine.” She crossed to the front door and they were off.
Marc knew better than to drag his feet on the way. She’d only clamp on to his arm. The way to keep her from touching him was to walk fast.
“I seriously cannot learn HTML,” she chattered as they dashed along. “I’m so bad at it. Maybe you can help me?”
“Or maybe you should switch to poetry or art,” said Marc. “You don’t have to take all the same classes as me.”
“No, it’s all right.”
Marc pivoted on his heel and turned to face her. “You aren’t interested in computers. It makes no sense for you to be a computer science major, okay? That’s my thing, not yours.”
For a moment she stared at him, aghast. Marc hoped against hope that this was it, that she’d snap, yell at him, and storm off.
But no, that glorious smile spread across her face again. “That’s so you, caring like that. I’d rather spend time with you than paint pictures or write poems.”
She looped her arm through his and tugged him on down the path. “Come on. I don’t want to be too late. Oh, do you want to go to the movies on Friday?”
“Chrissie, we’re not dating.”
“Well, you aren’t going to the movies with anyone else. It’s been two years. Would it kill you to go on one date with me and see what I’m like these days?”
She was far too good at this. Rather than make puppy dog eyes or pretend she didn’t hear him, she resorted to logic. Chrissie knew him better than anyone, as loathe as he was to admit it.
“You know I’m seeing someone,” he said.
“That girl you’re e-mailing? I’ll believe it when it happens. I know you think the Internet is the way of the future, but I don’t see the point of it at all. You can’t really connect via e-mail.”
Marc knew better than to mount an argument. He knew the Internet was the way of the future because he just felt it, in his bones. Five years from now, geography would be irrellevant. They’d be able to talk every day. They’d use video chat rather than phone calls.
If only that day were today.
* * *
It was past five when he finally made it home again and retreated to his room and his Internet connection. He found two e-mail messages in his inbox. One from his mother and one from [email protected].
He blinked and looked again. No, it was there all right, an e-mail from Angela. With shaking hands he clicked it open.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: March 5, 1998
Hi Marc,
It is very strange to call you by your first name (but nice). I’m so glad you e-mailed me. I am still figuring out how e-mail works. Perhaps with you I can practice.
Did you have a good trip home to Utah? Do you see any of your other mission companions there? It is strange to not have you in our ward anymore. Maybe someday I can visit you in the USA.
Angela
His heart soared as he read the words again and again until they were seared into his retinas. He clicked to reply and wrote:
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: March 5, 1998
Hi Angela,
It’s great to hear from you! I did have a good trip home to Utah, and yes, some of the missionaries I served with go to school here with me.
It’s strange to be up in the northern hemisphere again, speaking English. Some days I feel like I almost forget how.
Have you ever tried using a chat room? It’s a way to type to each other in real time. There’s a chat room called LDSChat with the password: Moroni, if you click this link.
Marc
He pasted the link, hit SEND, and the agony kicked in before the screen even refreshed. He should have reread that e-mail. He’d probably sounded overeager, and she’d definitely be scared off by that.
After an hour of lurking in the chat room with no sign of Angela, Marc emerged to forage in his freezer for a Hot Pocket. His roommate, Jake, sat on the couch reading for his homework and waved without looking up.
“No Chrissie tonight?”
“I hope not.”
“Aw, just buy her a ring.” He looked up, eyes twinkling with amusement.
“Right, because that’ll fix things.”
“She’s the most stubborn girl I’ve ever seen.”
“She and my mother believe that God’s in favor of us getting married, so who cares about trivialities like my opinion?”
Jake chuckled. He was Mormon by upbringing, but hadn’t been to church in as long as Marc had known him, and hadn’t gone on a mission. He thought the whole prayer to God and getting detailed answers was a sign of lunacy, and in the current situation, Marc couldn’t argue.
Right then, there was a knock at the front door. “Hey!” chirped Chrissie’s voice. “I brought dinner.”
Jake got to his feet, shook his head, and retreated into his bedroom.
“Come on, bro,” Marc called after him.
“She is your problem.”
“You don’t even want to help me eat her food? She’s a good cook.”
“For a crazy person, sure.” He shut his door behind him.
Marc answered the door, but kept his foot braced against it so that Chrissie couldn’t open it all the way.
“I’m not feeling well,” he lied.
“I made tuna casserole, and blondies for dessert.”
“Thanks, but I’m good.”
“No, you just take them. You can put them in the fridge or whatever.”
“Chrissie, you don’t need to cook for me.”
“I know. I chose to. And I don’t mind. You know how much I like to cook.”
“Well I do mind, okay? I do.”
“Just take the food. It’s better than that microwave crap you always eat.”
“I’ll see you later.” He shut the door in her face.
“I’m leaving it on the doorstep,” she hollered through the door. “Let it spoil if you want, I guess.”
Back in his room, he glanced at the chat room, then turned away, only to spin around and look again.
BellaFeliz: Is Marc in here?
Marc dove across the room and hit the keyboard, hard.
Marc: Yep! Hello!
BellaFeliz: Hello. Nice to see you.
Marc: Nice to see you, too.
The next line from Angela was in Spanish.
BellaFeliz: So how are you?
Marc switched languages too.
Marc: All right. Just working hard at school.
BellaFeliz: Are you in university?
Marc: Yes.
BellaFeliz: What’s your degree in?
Marc: I’m not sure how to say “computer science” in Spanish.
BellaFeliz: No, I understand. That’s very exciting. So that’s why you know how to use e-mail and chat rooms.
Marc: This is the kind of stuff I’m interested in.
BellaFeliz: And now you know it works as far away as Chile.
Marc: Yep, but that’s not why I wrote to you.
He winced. That was way too obvious. She’d shy away for sure.
BellaFeliz: So do you have a girlfriend?
Marc had to reread that one, to make sure that he’d seen it right.
Marc: No, I don’t. Do you have a boyfriend?
BellaFeliz: No.
Marc: Oh good, no one to come kick my teeth in for talking to you.
BellaFeliz: You are funny.
Marc: I’m really glad you logged in.
BellaFeliz: Yes?
Marc: Yes.
BellaFeliz: Me too. This is fun.
Marc: You asked if I’d ever be back in Chile for a visit.
BellaFeliz: Yes?
He took a deep breath, as he knew his answer could put her off.
Marc: Not for a long time. I can’t afford it.
BellaFeliz: Well, my cousin lives in Utah and I am going to visit her in a couple of weeks. Is Provo close to where you are?
He had to wipe his eyes and read that again. She was coming here? To the United States? He’d be able to see her?
Marc: Not too far!
BellaFeliz: Maybe I can visit you?
Marc: Or I can come see you.
He ignored the pointed remarks of other people in the chat room who didn’t like the unending stream of Spanish. She filled him in on the details of her trip. She’d be in Utah for a month to help her cousin with newborn twins.
That was plenty of time to really get to know each other.
BellaFeliz: Okay, it’s late. I will talk to you in here some other time?
Marc: Yes, see you later.
BellaFeliz: Good night.
A knock on his door five minutes later startled him. He’d been reading and rereading the chat room conversation until he’d put himself in a trance.
“Dude,” said Jake’s voice, “phone. It’s your mother.”
Marc groaned as he got up from his desk and accepted the phone from his roommate’s hand. “Hi—”
“Marc, what’s going on? Why don’t you even talk to Chrissie when she does something nice like make you dinner?”
“Did she call you, Mom?”
“No, her mother did. She called home. That is a sweet girl, Marc, and she waited for you through your whole mission. Do you know how rare that is?”
“Listen, I’m sorry, but I’m dating someone else now.”
“Not the girl on the Internet, from your mission?”
“I gotta go.” He hung up fast.
Before he turned in for the night, he did remember to retrieve the food Chrissie had left him off the doorstep. She was an excellent cook, but she spent so much time at it and was the only person Marc knew who actually used the wheat-grinder attachment on her KitchenAid.
* * *
Angela was online when Marc got back to his apartment after class the next day and he talked to her for an hour, during which she sent him three pictures of herself, looking gorgeous, toned, and tanned. She really was out of his league, but while he might not have the looks of her usual suitors, he bet he had many times the income potential.
Tales of Downfall and Rebirth Page 58
