by Sara H Ney
FROM: Cecelia Carter
Subject: RUDE
Why am I not surprised you just called me a nerd? Oh! I know! Maybe it’s because you are so RUDE. I cannot believe someone as sweet as Molly is related to such a huge jackhole. - C
Sent from my Android Smartphone
TO: Cecelia Carter
DATE: September 20, 2014 at 12:11:04 AM CST
FROM: Matthew Wakefield
Subject: Don’t get your panties in a twist.
That is, if you’re wearing any (Scratch that. You ARE and I bet they’re great big white granny ones of the Hanes variety). Speaking of which, did you know Molly wore diapers until she was like 4? And she wet the bed practically forever. Just saying.
MSW
Sent from my iPhone
TO: Matthew Wakefield
DATE: September 20, 2014 at 12:18:03 AM CST
FROM: Cecelia Carter
Subject: OMG
I will admit, that made me laugh. Molly would have a heart attack if, OMG... I can’t even... What a terrible brother you are. In fact, I bet I could go next door and find out a few nasty things about you.... Actually, since Weston gave you my cell phone number, I should probably get some dirt on him too. Why were you sniffing around for my phone number, anyways????? - C
Sent from my Android Smartphone
TO: Cecelia Carter
DATE: September 20, 2014 at 12:23:27 AM CST
FROM: Matthew Wakefield
Subject: I was drunk.
That’s the only reasonable explanation.
MSW
Sent from my iPhone
TO: Matthew Wakefield
DATE: September 20, 2014 at 12:26:17 AM CST
FROM: Cecelia Carter
Subject: In that case...
This is where I sign off. - C
Sent from my Android Smartphone
Chapter Eight
Matthew
“What are you talking about, dude? This isn’t sweat. It’s liquid-fucking-awesomeness oozing out of me.” - Weston McGrath
“Hey dipshit, did you know you have a knack for pissing women off?” Weston asks as he skates past me, the puck gliding back and forth in front of him as he smoothly maneuvers it in-between a group of players. He glances over his shoulder and does a crossover so he’s skating backwards, shooting me a dark look from underneath his helmet that I can see even from where I’m standing in the Penalty Box.
Suddenly, Weston is charging the goalie and the whistle is being blown (and for those of you who aren’t familiar with hockey jargon, charging any player - even the goalie - is a penalty... even if the goalie is playing outside the goal crease).
Good. Maybe he’ll use some of that aggression and score a few goals this weekend against Penn State...
Even while I’m thinking this, I raise my hand and flip the middle finger in his general direction as he angrily skates his way toward me, tearing his gloves off and throwing them into the box before stepping into it.
“You should really learn to control your temper. This is only a practice.”
“Fuck you,” he spits out, taking a chug from a water bottle, swishing it around in his mouth before spitting it on the ground.
“What the hell did I do to you?”
He stares at me, an incredulous look of disbelief spreading across his face.
“Thanks to you, Molly is still pissed at me for giving you Cece’s number. Not to mention, that little stunt you pulled by writing that last letter. She showed that shit to Molly and now I’m cut off.”
“I thought the letter was pleasant! My mom told me to write it... Besides, Cecelia likes the banter -”
He cuts me off before I can finish my sentence. “Dude. Are you fucking crazy? Knock that shit off - You’re starting to sound like a pansy. And stop calling her Cecelia.” He straps his helmet back on, slaps the side of it, and waits for the ref to signal his re-entry to the practice game.
A few moments later, he’s skates off and leaves me standing there.
**Cecelia**
Matthew: So I was told to stop calling you Cecelia...
The text comes out of nowhere, several days after our last emails were exchanged, and from what I know from Molly, the guys are out of town and on the road until Monday.
The phone is balanced on the arm of the couch, along with my Kindle and the remote control for the TV - a total indication I’ve not only been here for a while, but that I’m in it for the long haul this evening.
To round out the evening I have planned: a big glass of iced Crystal Lite sits on the coffee table, a hand crocheted blanket lays across my legs, and I’m donning my favorite chenille socks.
Me: Actually, I don’t mind it.
And really, I don’t.
I don’t really know when everyone started calling me Cece, or why, but there’s something lyrical about my given name that I actually quite enjoy.
And no.
I’m not talking about the Simon & Garfunkel version that they play in bars. You know the one that goes ‘Ceceila, you’re breaking my heart (clap clap) you’re shaking my con-fi-dence baby/Oh Cecelia (clap clap) I’m down on my knees/ I’m begging you please to come home/O-O-ome....’
Um, yeah. Thanks Simon & Garfunkel for turning my name into a drunken frat boys serenade... kind of the same way everyone in a bar goes crazy when they play ‘Brown Eyed Girl’ or ‘Piano Man.’ It’s unavoidable - and unfortunate - that whenever ‘Cecelia’ gets played and I’m at a bar (and it always inevitably does get played) drunk guys find me and go through a routine that basically goes something like this:
1. Clutch their chests like they’re having a heart attack or stroke
2. Fall to their knees in front of me like they’re praying to Jesus.
3. Scream (or screech) out the lyrics as if their sloppy lives depend on it.
And where am I during all this? Why, pretending to be somewhere else, of course.
And where are my friends during all of this? Usually falling all over themselves in hysterical laughter - it actually wouldn’t surprise me to discover they were the one’s requesting the song...
Guys must think an inebriated serenade is romantic.
Which it... is... not. Not even remotely close.
I mean - get up off the damn floor for crying out loud! It’s freaking disgusting down there - people spill their beers, food, and lord knows what else. Oh! And let me remind you about the time I saw some guy peeing in a corner that was most certainly not the bathroom.
The point of all this is: except for those times it’s being slurred by a tanked-up guy - I really do love my first name.
But anyways, back to Matthew...
Matthew: That’s good to know. Wes chewed my ass out.
Me: For calling me by my name???
Matthew: Yes. That and because Molly showed him the last email I sent you.
Me: LOL
Matthew: It wasn’t a biggie was it? I mean. You and I both know it was a joke.
Oh really? This is news to me, and it leaves me wondering: which part did he think was funny?
Me: A joke... Obviously.
Matthew: I mean. She’s your roommate & don’t girls always show each other private shit?
Me: No. Not always.
Me: I only showed her because I thought it was a funny message. I honestly didn’t think she’d flip out.
Matthew: Seriously?
Me: Yes. I’m being serious. I never would have shown it to her otherwise. I’m generally a very private person.
Matthew: That makes 2 of us.
Matthew: Why do you think I swear so much?
Me: Um....????
Matthew: So people leave me alone. Are YOU going to bother someone telling you to fuck off?
Me: Hmmm. Good point.
Me: My tactic is to just put my Beats on and pretend I’m listening to music...
Matthew: LOL. Good strategy.
Matthew: Unless it’s me, of course. Then you just whip out your karate.
Me: Please don’t bring that up - I’m still so embarrassed.
Matthew: Sorry, that lives in my memory. Forever.
Me: Great. Just great...
Matthew: I’ll admit - that was not the greatest first impression but at least it was a memorable one.
Me: Feel free to blame Molly for not mentioning you were her brother. I thought you were some pervert raper.
Matthew: Well most people think Molly and I look pretty similar, so there is THAT...
Me: But still. It was a very heated moment and you so could have been a raper.
Me: Plus, then you started eating my food. Not cool.
Matthew: I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m a growing boy. I get hungry.
Matthew: And I wasn’t eating your food until you threw it down on the couch. I considered that an open invitation.
Matthew: And I never turn down free food.
Me: I thought you weren’t supposed to be sending me any more messages
There is a long lapse in between responses from Matthew, and then:
Matthew: Is that what you want?
Chapter Nine
Matthew
“I speak Italian. Just kidding, I speak Italian menus... because I like the food.” - Matthew
I sit and wait for my phone to chime again, and after a tense fifteen minutes of no reply from Cecelia, I’m convinced I fucked the whole thing up. I mean, fifteen minutes is way longer than I would have liked - what could she possibly be doing?
Jumping jacks? Shampooing her hair?
The odd thing is... the entire time I’m waiting for my inbox to chime, my heart is racing. Not like me at all. Anxiously waiting is amateur boy shit - not grown men with lucrative careers.
In the bathroom next to our room, the hotel shower shut off - this is a good indication I’ll only have a few minutes before Weston busts out, probably wrapped in a towel, and gets all up in my business.
Fortunately, my phone finally lights up.
Cecelia: I’m not sure.
Me: What aren’t you sure about?
Cecelia: What all this means...?
Cecelia: Why the sudden interest with you. I don’t understand.
That makes two of us, I want to say - but don’t.
Me: It can’t hurt to have more friends, right?
Cecelia: LOL. Yeah, I guess.
Cecelia: I guess maybe we can be Pen Pals.
Cecelia: I’ll pretend you’re a little boy from Italy.
Me: Mi piace la pasta
Cecelia: WHAT. THE. HELL. WAS. THAT.
Me: LOL. It means ‘I like pasta.’ It’s Italian.
Cecelia: OMG. That did NOT just happen...
Cecelia: Did you Google that??? (still dying here)
Me: LOL. No. Yes. Maybe.
Me: Would you believe I did a semester abroad?
Cecelia: Um.... No. Yes. MAYBE???
Me: I guess you’ll have to wonder then.
Me: Cosa stai indossando?
Cecelia: You know, I can look that up....
A few seconds later, she figures out the translation: ‘What are you wearing?’
Cecelia: You are the biggest moron!
Me: LOL. You’re wearing sweat pants aren’t you?
Cecelia: OMG. NO!!!!! K. Maybe.
Cecelia: Why Italian?
Me: Mostly because German isn’t as sexy
Cecelia: You are so vain.
Me: Hey, wasn’t ^^^ that a song in the 70’s?
Cecelia: Yes! Here, let me sing it to you (singing) “You’re. So. Vainnnnn, you probably think this song is about youuuu!!!!!
Me: Yup, that would be the song.
Cecelia: So, are you seriously holed up in a room with Weston?
Me: Yes. He’s in the shower, and once he comes out of the bathroom all my fun will be over.
I grab my kindle off the bed, and power it on. Once Weston is in the room, I’ll have no privacy and will have to stop messaging Cecelia.
Cecelia: LOL
Me: I won’t be laughing in about five minutes so I’ll just enjoy this while I can.
Cecelia: ...this? As in... this?
Me: LOL. You’re funny.
Cecelia: I am, actually...! Don’t you think so?
** Cecelia**
I stare at my phone, not happy that Matthew has suddenly stopped messaging me back. Granted, I know it’s probably because Weston has come out of the bathroom or something, but still. I’m annoyed.
Who just... stops? Talk about random. And Rude.
And so, I generally feel like a horse’s ass for being the last one to send a message, which sits there unreciprocated.
Ugh, I feel like such a loser.
I palm my phone, and click it again to check the time, then set it back on coffee table upside down so I’m not tempted to check it... even though it chimes when I have a new message.
Have you ever done that - kept checking your phone to see if you have a message? Then checking it again... and again, even though you know you didn’t have it on ‘silent.’
Yes. Logically, I know I don’t have a message - but that doesn’t stop me from checking it a thousand times like a deranged teenager whose mere existence is validated by SnapChats and text messages. People “liking” their Facebook statuses, Instagram and Twitter posts.
Speaking of teenagers, my cousin Sadie is the worst. She’s almost sixteen, and no matter what family function we’re at will have her phone out at all times - even when she’s being bitched at by my Aunt Shelley to put it away.
But, like an addict, she refuses. At our other cousin’s baby shower,
Sadie stood in the corner taking selfies by the fireplace - and then there was me, watching her. It was so bizarre. I mean, not to completely get off topic here, but... have you ever sat and really watched someone taking selfies in public? Do you think they have any clue how idiotic they look?
Hilarious.
Anyways, my point is: Here I am, eleven o’clock on a Thursday night, sitting on the couch... channel surfing and texting my roommate’s brother, who, by all accounts, is only nice to me via social media.
And now won’t even message me back.
Go figure.
Chapter Ten
Cecelia
“Keep talking. I’m diagnosing you.” - Overheard between a girl and her date in the University Café.
TO: Cecelia Carter
DATE: September 23, 2014 at 04:13:27 PM CST
FROM: Matthew Wakefield
Subject: Waz Sup.
How was the rest of your weekend?
MSW
Sent from my iPhone
TO: Matthew Wakefield
DATE: September 23, 2014 at 05:11:44 PM CST
FROM: Cecelia Carter
Subject: This is what I think about you waiting days to message me.
[blank stare]
Sent from my Android SmartPhone
I wonder if he’ll get that I’m pissed. And yes, I really do think guys are that clueless.
TO: Cecelia Carter
DATE: September 23, 2014 at 05:24:32 PM CST
FROM: Matthew Wakefield
Subject: Whoa.
Ok. Maybe I deserved that, but in my defense if I didn’t have to shack up with McGrath so often I would have more time to sit and enjoy myself more. That moron is always interrupting my fun by being a nosy S.O.B. So this weekend after he came out of the bathroom, he ambushed me, took my phone and shoved the battery down his boxers & I had to literally tackle him before he started doing lunges. That dude is a freak.
MSW
Sent from m
y iPhone
TO: Matthew Wakefield
DATE: September 23, 2014 at 05:28:09 PM CST
FROM: Cecelia Carter
Subject: LOL.
I think I just peed my pants laughing. I know that’s not a lady like thing to say, but you’ve already called me a psycho and a banshee, so I hardly think it matters at this point. I mean - we are pen pals after all... Are you guys back from your road trip? Wanna hear something hilarious? Your MOM sent me a note... not that I’m going to tell you what it was about. - C
Sent from my Android SmartPhone
TO: Cecelia Carter
DATE: September 23, 2014 at 05:40:32 PM CST
FROM: Matthew Wakefield
Subject: WHAT???????????????????????
Okay, FIRST OF ALL, you cannot drop a bomb like that and then not tell me what it said. You know that if you don’t I’m only going to call her, right? Knowing her it was to find out if I’m leaving you alone. My damn sister can’t mind her own business. Does she boss you around too? To answer your question, yeah, we are home. For two weeks actually, and I’m not sure I’m going on the next road trip. Wes and I coach this youth hockey group and they have a small invitational they’re playing in so one of us needs to be at that - since I’m only staff, it’ll have to be me. Plus, I’m the better coach. And you can mention that to dipshit the next time you see him.
MSW
Sent from my iPhone
TO: Matthew Wakefield
DATE: September 23, 2014 at 06:15:03 PM CST
FROM: Cecelia Carter
Subject: Where to begin.
Wait. Did I already know you two coached a youth league? That’s so great! One time I majored in Early Childhood Development, but then I changed my mind. Obviously. Yeah, that was random... As for your question - Does Molly boss me around? I think we BOTH boss each other around. Honestly, she’s so easy to live with. The only other time we fought was that day you came over and I almost laid you out ;) She didn’t care for my high handed tactics. Also, there was an argument over some missing Twinkies... How do you like coaching kids? - C
PS - Your mother’s note started like this: “Dear Cecelia. Please excuse my son...”
Sent from my Android SmartPhone
