Click to Subscribe - By L. M. Augustine Page 0,18
filler for my screwed-up life; she’s mine. She stole a piece of my heart, a piece of me, and that sure isn’t filler. That’s real.
If only I knew when I first started this vlog that two and a half years later, I’d be here, waiting to meet my internet girlfriend for the first time. Another minute passes before my phone finally beeps. I pounce on it and open up Harper’s response.
from: Harper Knight
to: Sam Green
subject: RE: YOU BETTER COME
Hmm. I’ll consider coming. I was planning to go on a date with my other internet boyfriend, but maybe I’ll stop by your meet-up too… ;-)
from: Sam Green
to: Harper Knight
subject: RE: RE: YOU BETTER COME
Ha ha. And you say *I* do the winky face smiley poorly.
from: Harper Knight
to: Sam Green
subject: RE: RE: RE: YOU BETTER COME
OMG BUT YOU DO!!!! It practically burns my eyes out.
from: Sam Green
to: Harper Knight
subject: Grrr
*gasp* *ninja stare*
from: Harper Knight
to: Sam Green
subject: RE: Grr
Ninja stare?! This is what I mean, Sam! You are an emoticon failure. ADMIT IT.
from: Sam Green
to: Harper Knight
subject: RE: RE: Grrr
I WILL DO NO SUCH THING!
from: Harper Knight
to: Sam Green
subject: RE: RE: RE: Grr
*sings* Emooooooticon failuuuuuuuure.
from: Sam Green
to: Harper Knight
subject: *tosses hair*
Hater. You just don’t appreciate my mad talent when it comes to emoticon usage.
from: Harper Knight
to: Sam Green
subject: RE: *tosses hair*
It pains me to even consider the possibility of you being talented at emoticon usage. It’s more like you’re emoticonally-challenged. (Yes, I just said that. You’re welcome.)
from: Sam Green
to: Harper Knight
subject: RE: RE: *tosses hair*
Wow.
You really just called me emoticonally-challenged.
Who ARE you, Harper Knight?!
from: Harper Knight
to: Sam Green
subject: RE: RE: RE: *tosses hair*
The incredibly attractive, charming, and perfect-in-every-way-ever girl you met through the internet. That’s who.
I don’t respond after that, just smile to myself, turn off my phone, and back out of my driveway. The drive back to the same coffee shop as yesterday feels impossibly long.
I arrive there a few minutes later, clamber out of my car, and head to the door. I glance around the store the second I step inside—no Harper in sight. Then I sigh and take a seat at the same chair as last time. But as I wait there, I realize I honestly have no idea what I’m expecting. For Harper not to show? For her to end up to be a serial killer? For her to decide she doesn’t like me and what the hell was she thinking wanting to meet with me and for me never to see or hear from her again? For this all to be a mistake? To go to hell?
It’s weird, though, that I don’t even care what she looks like. I mean, looks aren’t something I’m all that oblivious to, but somehow, today, I don’t in fact care. I want to meet Harper. Not her face, not her body, not her lips (although I would not complain about meeting those. “Knock, knock,” I’d say. “Who’s there?” she’d say. “Harper’s lips.” “Harper’s lips who?” “Harper’s lips feel so right pressed against mine.” Then, we’d kiss, and it would be fantastic. I have it all planned out in my head, okay?), but her. If she makes me smile in person half as much as she does online, I don’t give a crap about what she looks like. I just care that she’s here.
With me.
Sometimes I still try to picture her in my head, though. Blue eyes, brown eyes, green? Long hair, short hair, red, blond, burnette? Dark skin? Slender, pudgy? Freckled, rosy-cheeked? All of the combinations I come up with are beautiful in my eyes, because they are all Harper and I already know Harper is just that: beautiful.
I check my phone—1:23. She should be here by now. My stomach clenches. Oh god, what if she does leave me? What would I do if she misses today too?
Another wave of fear grips me as I sit at a small, fake-wood table in the corner of the one-room coffee shop. The place is empty except for a few old ladies across from me, who keep giving me weird looks and gossiping amongst themselves, and the same crappy cashier from yesterday, who is asleep at the cash register again. As is, it’s not a very romantic spot for a meet-up, made worse by the fact that this place does not even sell coffee. It’s like they’re trying to drive away customers. With