How many tragic love tales open with a hey, a hedious smiley that you enjoy for its hedious perculiarity, and end with the object of said story disappearing on you? Welcome to my life. Exactly a year ago, I turned on my computer to a hey in my inbox.
“Heyyyyyy, boy. Had fun today?” followed by a hedious smiley.
“I did, thanks. Who's this?”
I took a look at his profile and it was blank, except for his profile picture; a picture of birds linking their gloved wings in some compact gesture, somewhat like men holding hands to pray, and his name, Jack. I figured the account was fairly new. I actually considered that it could have been a catfish account.
His bio read: Things I love, [shift] Palm wine [shift] Prints in briefs [shift] Sexy pics of the above [shift] Boys!!!
College: The School of Hard Knocks
Hobbies: Sulking when high (accompanied by yellow button-hole emojis to express the sulking bit)
JACK: I'm someone who got your number from a friend. My Twitter is synced with my contact list so here we are.
ME: Their name?
JACK: If I told you their name, then you'd know who I am.
ME: What do you think was the point of that question?
JACK: LOL. You're as sarcastic as you are in real life.
ME: I really don't talk to strangers. So, unless you're about to introduce yourself, this conversation is going nowhere.
JACK: Please don't block me. I'm totally not creepy.
ME: Getting a whole different vibe rn.
JACK: We aren't strangers, though. Met you a couple of times at school. But I guess you can't call it met if it's one-sided? We have a few friends in common, and that's how I got your number in the first place.
ME: And the more reason why you should tell me your name. You've just got to be someone else . . . I don't know any real-life Jacks.
JACK: Wait. I'm texting you exactly because I can't talk to you in person without stuttering like an idiot. I tried, trust me when I say it. Triedddddddd, really.
ME: Then be brave, Mr or Ms. Stutterer.
JACK: Wish I could with this, man.
ME: If you're looking to be my friend, then you can. Cos none of my friends are pussyfooters or will let stuttering make them that.
JACK: That's Mr. Stutterer to you.
ME: [Wave emoji]
Eka was first on the list of people I suspected could be that Jack's friend. Unrelenting Eka and her many matchmaker ambushings— excusing herself in the middle of a visitation so she may retrieve something too useful to be out of reach and leaving me in the company of a lollipop-loving girl, forwarding blind date contacts to me, and once she'd sent Joy virtual flowers in my name (Joy's comment on it wasn't romantic)— because she worries I might be a virgin or perhaps that I see someone unsuitable behind her back. But the suspicion fell apart at the idea that she would match me up with a boy.
I ignored all messages from him after our initial conversation, and a couple of days later, he sent an email asking me to talk to him, because in his words, “it's important for your brother.”
In my email...
ME: Mr. S, boy enough to tell me who you are yet?
JACK: I spent a minute on that thinking you were calling me a Mrs. LOL.
YOU ARE READING
My Jack Side
Mystery / ThrillerA grieving boy falls in love with his therapist. Of course, he makes nothing about how he feels known. Except his longing to meet Jack, this twisted yet addictive therapist he's contacted only through writing. But that will be the pit of it all. Whe...
