by Pamela Ribon
“We’re done here,” Dr. Sanji said. “All done.”
It was the fastest Pap smear ever. I had felt nothing.
In the hallway Dr. Sanji handed me another pamphlet. “This is a support group that I went to when my father passed away two years ago. They’re good people.”
I wanted Dr. Sanji to take me home with her and make me a bowl of curry and let me talk to her on her couch all night long. I wanted my head in her lap. I wanted to tell her how my heart was aching, that I was tired of dealing with it all the time. I wanted her to diagnose my pain and kiss my forehead until I felt better. I needed Dr. Sanji to make me feel better. She had done such a good job in the five minutes we’d known each other that I wasn’t ready to leave her yet.
She hugged me again out in the hallway. “We’ll make sure you stay healthy.” She looked me in the eyes and said, “You just work on quitting smoking.”
I couldn’t stop crying the rest of the day. I tried to go to the grocery store, but I ended up crying into one of the freezer windows. I wished I could wear a sign that read I’MIN MOURNING, so that nobody would give me those strange looks.
Back at home I held Taylor in my lap and cried into his fur. He knew when I was sad and would suddenly become a very patient cat.
My phone rang. The caller ID said it was Meredith.
“Hi,” I answered, unable to hide the emotion in my voice.
“Are you okay, Anna?”
“Mere, I miss Dad.”
I could hear her tears start up as she said, “I miss him too, Annie.”
We talked and cried for the next three hours. We shared stories and told each other things we didn’t know about Dad. Mere had the unique position of being Dad’s favorite, and he’d tell her things that he never told us.
“You know, he read your webpage.”
“He knew about my webpage? You knew about my webpage?”
“Shannon told me. I told Dad and he asked me to print out your stories. He really liked some of them. The ones where you weren’t being dirty. You know the one where you wrote about your old car and Dad driving backwards? I took him to the drugstore once and he pulled that story out of his back pocket to show his pharmacist. He called you his ‘writer’ daughter.”
“Which one were you?”
“I was the ‘Good Daughter.’”
“And Shannon?”
“The Baby, of course.”
Meredith told me she hadn’t wanted to bring up my webpage first. She figured if she was supposed to be reading it, I’d tell her about it. She was hurt that I wouldn’t tell her about something I’d been doing for almost a year. She had hoped that I’d want to share that with her. Shannon had told her how she’d found it and then filled her in on my fan mail and my trip to Pittsburgh. Meredith seemed to know everything about my life over the past year when I hadn’t told her anything. I didn’t know she was so interested in me.
“Can I ask you something?” she said as I made myself a third cup of coffee. “Why do you put all of those stories up there? Don’t you feel overexposed?”
“I didn’t use to,” I answered, cradling the phone on my shoulder. “But lately it’s felt like someone ripped the Band-Aid off a cut too soon. I’m embarrassed by some of those stories.”
I told her about Ian and his new girlfriend, and how she was a fan. I told Meredith about Tess, and how she tried to bust me with Ian when I saw someone in Pittsburgh.
“And finally you mention the new boy,” she said.
I plopped down on my couch and flung my body over a pillow. “He’s not a new boy. He’s nothing.”
“He doesn’t sound like nothing. Shannon says you really like him.”
“He lives in Pittsburgh. And by now he’s probably with his ex-girlfriend again.”
“That sounds like you don’t know if he is. And Pittsburgh’s only far away if you want it to be.”
We made plans to see each other the next month. I’d come out to Hartford and we’d hang out at her place for a change.
“Let’s play Dad for each other,” I suggested.
“What are you talking about?” she asked.
“Well, you stay minimally interested in my life, only for me to find out that you actually are engaged in my life by talking to Shannon, and I’ll treat you like you’re my favorite.”
“That sounds complicated,” she laughed.
“I’m willing to do it.”
“Me too.”
“I love you,” she said.
“I love you, too. But you’re supposed to tell someone else that you love me and have that person tell me later when you’re not around.”
When we hung up I sat down at my laptop. I pulled up my webpage directories again. I couldn’t believe my father had walked around with pages of this website in his pockets. Nobody had seemed to notice the missing entries yet. I’d left off at January. Random months were still there, the past and the recent past. I wondered what would happen if I deleted it all. I highlighted the directories and hit delete.
Gone.
The webpage was gone. Faster than my impulse, even. It was on my computer, but it wasn’t out there for anyone else to see. It was my own private journal again. I had taken myself back. I decided who got to meet me now.
I called Kurt. He answered this time.
I told him everything. I told him the truth.
It was quiet for a while.
“I don’t know what you want me to say here, Anna,” he finally said.
“I’m trying to apologize,” I said.
“I understand that. How much of you isn’t really you?”
“I used to think that you didn’t know me. But recently I realized I was more myself with you than with anyone else.”
“I see.”
“But you’re probably back with Heather now anyway, and this is stupid.”
“I didn’t say I was back with Heather.”
“Oh.”
“I mean, I might be.”
“I figured.”
“I just haven’t said yet.” It sounded like the phone was away from his face. He was quiet. Calm. I couldn’t tell if he was teasing.
“I don’t want to waste your time,” I said.
“Or have your time wasted,” he countered.
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you want to know if I’m back with Heather.”
“Well, yeah.”
“Don’t you think I should be the one asking questions?” he asked, his voice cracking in midsentence.
“I’m sorry.”
His voice was stronger again, his mouth closer to the phone.
“You tell a girl that you love her and she ignores you. Then she tells you that the girl you know isn’t the girl you fell in love with. Or she is, but she isn’t really when she writes. How am I supposed to feel, Anna?”
I rubbed my forehead. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m trying to tell you.”
“I told a woman who loves me that I didn’t want to get involved with her again. I had to tell her I was waiting for a woman who lives on the other side of the country. Then I had to tell her that I’ve only met this woman once and currently we aren’t on speaking terms.”
“How did she take it?”
“Bad. She took it bad. How the fuck else would she take it? Do you know how stupid that sounds? How stupid I feel?” His voice was raising in both pitch and volume.
But he hadn’t hung up on me.
“I’m so sorry, Kurt,” I said. “This all got away from me and I tried to tell you that last night I was there, but you kept telling me to stop talking and…”
“None of this is my fault,” he said.
But he kept listening to my apologies. He still hadn’t hung up.
“I know. I know. I just meant…I didn’t want to risk losing you. I didn’t know when would be the right time to explain.”
“Maybe I’ve been lying to you,” he said. “I might have been lying about lots of things. You don’t know.”
But he hadn’t gotten back with Heather. He was waiting. He was interested.
“Were you?” I asked.
“Maybe. I mean, yes. I was. Heather and I…”
“Oh,” I interrupted.
“You don’t know what I was going to say.”
“I just figured.”
“You don’t know. I was going to say that Heather and I never lied to each other about anything. I was going to say that it was nice having that kind of honesty in a relationship.”
“Oh.”
“That was me making a little dig at you.”
“I see.”
He might really love me the way I hoped he did. I could finally find out what honest love feels like.
“I’m not perfect, Anna. Once you get to know me, you’ll realize that I’m a very flawed man. You don’t get to be this old and this single without some serious relationship issues.”
“How old are you?” I asked.
“I think it’s time for me to have a few secrets.”
“Fair enough.”
I knew he wasn’t perfect. I knew that I was taking a risk by getting involved with him. But the change I’d been craving felt right with him. I wanted to see where this would take me. Even if he wasn’t the right person for me. Even if he wasn’t going to be my last stop, he would almost certainly be a move in the right direction. I wanted to know what it could be like.
“I want to see you,” he said.
“When?”
“Now.”
I could hear his breath. I realized I’d been holding my own. “I know,” I said. “Me too.”
“When can you be here?”
“I have no job. I can’t afford to go there right now.”
“You quit your job?”
“No.” I couldn’t believe there was something about my life he didn’t know. It was an absurd thought, considering how much he thought he knew about me that was untrue, but he had been so much a part of my daily life that having him not know such a crucial piece of information felt wrong. I realized how much I’d missed him.
“Well, you can tell me all about it when I get there. It’s my turn to visit you anyway.”
“You’ll come here?”
“I’m not moving in or anything, but yeah.”
“So, you’re just trying it out?”
“I’m trying it out. I might move there even if we don’t work out. I hear nice things about your town.”
“If you move here, you have to date me.”
“I thought you wanted to leave Austin.”
“I don’t know anymore.”
“If I come visit, you have to tell me everything that wasn’t true.”
My stomach flipped as I said, “How I feel about you was never a lie.”
“And how do you feel about me?” he asked.
I hadn’t been able to choose a word before, but the right one came to me just then as I said, “Excited.”
He was quiet. I heard him give a quick laugh. “I’m exciting?” he asked, trying the word on for size.
“Very. And I’m hopeful about you. I’m…I can’t seem to get you out of my head at any point.”
It was quiet until I added, “And I have a third nipple.”
I heard him exhale. “I need to be there very soon.”
“You’re not mad?” I asked.
“You’ll find out,” he said.
My body felt warm as my nose scrunched with anticipation.
“I don’t really have a third nipple.”
“I know. I’ve seen both of your nipples.”
“Oh, right.”
“You’ll have to work on that lying thing you do,” he said. I could hear his smile in his voice.
“The webpage is gone,” I said.
“Yes, I was reading it when you pulled everything. I was just about to call you when you called.”
“Are we for real?” I asked him.
“It feels like it,” he said.
“This will be hard.”
“Or it will be very easy.”
-----
Subject: Just a Question
Hello, Anna K
Like so many people, I was sad to see the pages of your website go away. I hope that nothing terrible happened that caused you to end your website, and that you were ready for a change.
That brings me to my point. I’m an editor at Central Texas Daily, and I was wondering if you’d like to bring your website to our paper. I’m offering you a weekly column where you’d basically do the same thing you did on your website. The pieces would be shorter, of course, but we’d be honored to have your voice included on our staff. Promise me you’ll think about it?
Heidi Truman
Editor, Life and Arts
Central Texas Daily
-----
000078.
So now you’re all caught up. We’re back where I started. That’s the story of Anna K, posted online for the very last time.
Being Anna K allowed me to figure out what kind of person I wanted to be. It helped me decide to be a writer. I love entertaining people. Closing down this webpage is hard, because I really appreciate those of you who supported me along the way. Even with all of its drawbacks, the rewards of this site greatly outweighed the negative aspects. But I don’t want to pretend to be anybody else any longer. I’m going to be me for a change, this new me that I’ve become. She’s more independent. She’s stronger. Focused. It took time to step back from behind the Anna K curtain and know the girl standing there was just as good. In fact, I’m better. I’m real.
I’ve become the woman I admired.
One door closes, a new one opens. But this door’s got a lock. And a security system. This one won’t be open to public scrutiny. Thanks for reading all this time. I wanted to give you a formal good-bye, so here it is. I’m erasing the webpage for good tomorrow. If you miss me, you can visit at my column “Why Girls Are Weird” every Saturday in Central Texas Daily. But don’t expect to know everything. Some stories will stay all mine.
Love until later,
Anna
Acknowledgments
It’s very true that this book wouldn’t have been possible without this giant paragraph of people. Kim Witherspoon and Alexis Hurley believed in this material so much I was blushing. They also found it a very good home in Amanda Ayers, who is just scared enough about this whole online journal business to understand it. Jennifer Heddle is the reason I ever convinced myself to do this. Without the keen eye and talented mind of Christopher Huff, I never would have made it through all those drafts. He also let me know when I was getting cheesy, as he’s known in most parts as the Meat of Cheese. And if Allison Lowe-Huff wasn’t around, where would he be? Where would I be? Dan Blau, who always knows the words I’m going to say as I’m saying them, helped shape the early versions of this novel and then pep-talked me through the last of them. I miss you, Dan. Jessica Kaman loved this novel so much I had to do something with it so she didn’t cry, and Anna Beth Chao told me it was, “Good, Baby.” Brently, Liz, Katey, Garnet, and Kyle were my first LA cheerleaders. I owe so much to Tara Ariano, Dave Cole, and Sarah Bunting that I should be recapping for free. But, no. The rest I owe to Omar Gallaga. Erin Searcy, Kim Reed, Jami Anderson, Kevin Smokler, Carrie Weiner, and Martinique Duchene-Phillips were big parts in getting this off the ground. Ray Prewitt put up with my crap. A lot of it. Weldon, Chuy, Cathy, Michelle, Trejo, Becca, Matt, and the Monks let me publicly write about their lives, and sometimes let me steal their punchlines. Thank you and I’m sorry. It’s good to have many moms, and both Charlotte Peterson and Michelle’s Mom (no first name necessary) always make me feel like I won first place. I love Jeff Long. John Scalzi, it’s your turn. Chris Kelman is funnier than I am. Very special thanks to Eric Peterson, who always treated this with patience, understanding, and just enough ego to truly enjoy it. This novel is because of the Squishites, TWoPpers, and pamie.com fans everywhere. This is also because of my mother, father, and sister. But everything
, everything, everything is always because of stee.
Up Close and Personal
with the Author
1) Is it true that you kept an online journal?
I started Squishy (pamie.com) in the summer of 1998 as a writing exercise for my comedy troupe. I was introduced to journaling by a friend who kept a journal and followed her links until I realized there was an entire community of writers online. So I decided to give it a try.
Also, I’ve always loved zines and created a few underground newspaper-type things in high school that I’m not proud of and won’t share with you because they’re too embarrassing at this point in my life.
2) So how much of Anna’s character is autobiographical?
It’s mostly fiction. Even the entries have been reworked a bit so they’re now fiction as well. But I tried to keep everyone’s “favorites” in there. When I was writing the book I asked my readers which entries they loved the most. I didn’t get to keep them all in there, but at least “Tiny Wooden Hand” survived. Otherwise there might have been a riot.
The “Tiny Wooden Hand” was such a big deal that people started sending Tiny Wooden Hands to my house. One reader tried to acquire Tiny Woolen Mittens for the Tiny Wooden Hands so that I could take pictures of the hands having a Tiny Wooden Snowball Fight in my freezer. When the mittens fell through, she sent over an enormous box of candy and homemade cookies. The expensive candy, too! That was when my friends started to realize how big the website was becoming. They also renamed the cookies “Poison Stalker Cookies.”
The most autobiographical part of this book for me is Anna’s struggle to figure out who she is at this point in her life. I had quite the crisis when I turned twenty-five, realizing I wasn’t anything like the person I’d always assumed I’d be when I got there. I wasn’t the only one having a mid-twenties crisis either. I have a friend who’s eight days younger than I, and when he called on his birthday sobbing, “I hate being twenty-five! Why didn’t you tell me it sucks so hard!” I cried back, “I didn’t want to scare you! I hate it, too!”
