The Message

              Desperate, Alex moved his gawky thumbs frantically over the keypad of a cell phone he never understood, hoping to string together an assembly of words that might make her change her mind. He never met Kaley but they had known each other for more than three months, meeting accidentally online through a social network that seems never to exhaust its reach making improbable meetings simply a matter of few clicks of a mouse, keystrokes for words, and a screen for a coffee shop. When they met (figuratively), they fell in love, never having touched, or seen each other’s expressions across a café table, never having dinner, a walk in the park, or any of the favors of physicality. Romance has changed so dramatically but there is no amount of technology that will change the possibilities of two human beings in love, even at opposite ends of the Earth. There is more than the physical, Alex believed, there is the metaphysical, and he even felt the way they met was a benefit and showed that their love was real because of the strain they endured for the hope of the one day when messages on a cell phone would be replaced by long walks or performances in a bedroom that presently belongs to someone else or sits empty. They were ages apart, and 750 miles may as well be 750 years on occasions. But sometimes it didn’t matter, and it was like they were already together and had been for a very long time. But truthfully, his clumsy fingers would have as much luck playing a classical concerto on a grand piano than convincing her to return to him. The only instrument he played was a ukulele.

Things changed over time the way flowers change stuck in a vase. Perfect when they are bought in pretty wrapping with food that promises to keep them around longer. No one buys flowers with thoughts for the time they will inevitably expire. The browning decomposing stems, pedals falling helplessly on the table, even the water clouding when once it was so clear, so vibrant. The food packet never seems to do any good. Time is a strange enemy of men and flowers, of all things living, a heavy irrevocable burden. Alex stared at the red roses in front of him on his table. He bought them for Kaley and took pictures and sent them to her via picture messages on that phone. They were her favorite but always the frailest. Though she never could touch or smell them, it was the thought of it. The same went for his letters which he mailed to her conspicuously because she lived with her parents and their romance had to be concealed to some degree until June, when she too would be free. To Kaley, perhaps the little fights bore of frustration added up to some unconquerable monster and Alex’s antediluvian habits made him too difficult. He wasn’t a boy, but though she was the age, she wasn’t a girl. If Alex loved her—truly loved her the way she had read about or seen in the movies—this wouldn’t be so difficult, she complained to friends. And Alex felt that if Kaley loved him, surely she would have never become so cold over the phone when he apologized for saying something regrettable when he meant something else. Surely, she would wait. Such things would stain the relationship and fill both their minds with doubt, but they never doubted how they felt, never forgot those longs nights chatting on dying cell phones where she would fall asleep and he would smile listening to her breathe.

“We only have until June,” Alex said.

“June,” she would repeat wistfully in a manner that she doubted it would ever come. The difference in thirty some days between two people can be so vast. Sometimes he was impatient and offered to come sooner, but that would mean missing classes and work and it would require using what savings he had planned to relocate close to her. There was no more money to spare, especially after buying the cell phone. But he knew if he didn’t, she might be gone. A few weeks before he was determined to get a rental car and come, reservations were made, but Kaley was understandably scared and pushed him away. But he was not to be pushed, and though they made up, the event was never fully discussed and left a feeling that nothing was fixed. Sitting on a porch swing texting, he knew he should have just gone to her. He should have showed up and met her at the coffee shop she goes to every day, with the red roses. He paused for a moment to consider what could have been done, considering his words again. A hummingbird danced off the crimson hanging feeder. Alex never had a real cell phone before they met. Not one with a plan, unlimited talk and texts, as the ads promised. He bought it at a kiosk in the mall off a girl who looked as though she was made to sell cell phones and accessories a few months before when he felt that he would lose her because she was no longer satisfied with letters sprayed with his cologne or emails.

The last fight was his fault. He was jealous of some boy she added on the social networking site. He never added anyone so freely; he scrutinized everyone and kept to himself. “You’re not in high school!” she contested. “It’s different for me.”

“I know. I am old. But I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Something left her with those words.

“You deserve better,” he said. What ensued was another break-up and this time there was no saving them from their doubt. The hope they held onto vanished and she began to think the relationship was too straining and he felt the abysmal feeling of someone who was losing everything he ever wanted. The last goodbye hurt him the most. They decided to be friends but it was clear that it wouldn’t work. They couldn’t talk without feeling strongly, without wanting to say I love you. And he never could withhold a compliment that would be inappropriate amongst friends. The thought of her with another boy, or him with another girl truncated the possibility of a friendship that couldn’t be. Finally, feeling that there was nothing left to do, they stopped calling and texting for fear they would continue to hurt each other. And she morphed into a person that refused to be hurt, who cannot feel, or who will not let him in anymore. The door shut and would someday open for someone else, someone easier who would never love her as much. Alex, not feeling he was who she needed anymore, erased her messages and deleted her phone number so when he looked at it, he wouldn’t have a reminder of what he had lost, as though he could forget.

The last message he sent her read: I love you. But I cannot be so sad to hang on to hope that you will ever know it. I have to get over this and move on. You will be sorely missed. June. His messages always ended in June to remind her of how little time kept them apart. Upon graduation the plan had been for him to be on a bus and finally with her in Boston.

Days later she still hadn’t called or responded. He decided to type another message on the cell phone while sitting on the porch. Although her number was erased from his phone, after a few minutes, he recalled it. The hummingbird was there and gone. He wondered where it goes when its not around. To another feeder? Another life? It depends on the sugar water because of the amount of energy it exhausts flapping its wings. He watches it but it is so fleeting and difficult to see. He cannot make out its wings and wonders what they look like. He finally finishes the message with his thumbs.

I love you! The thought of losing you has nearly ruined me. The way we met was by chance and it has meaning. Please never let go! I will be there in June. See me! This is real love, pretty. I cannot let you go. June.

            He sends it and sits the phone on his lap hoping for a quick reply. Meanwhile, he sits back on the porch swing and watches the hummingbird feeder swaying in the warm wind without the hummingbird. Night fell and it was apparently gone. The phone wouldn’t bring her back, he feared. The message wouldn’t matter. As he fell asleep that night his phone vibrated on his chest. There was a baseball game on TV and he believed he had imagined the buzz until he looked at the lighted screen and the returned number. It was her.

            I love you, too. I too do not believe in accidents. I am sorry I took so long to respond. You are who I want and I would love to meet you in June.

            For the next thirty days, Alex and Kaley exchanged messages often but less frequently than before, but he was busy with finals and work and she was busy with her mother who was ill and school as well. There was a difference in her, he felt. She was more positive and it felt as though they were born again. It felt as though there was nothing going to prevent June from finally coming. The bus he took stopped in New York City for a two hour layover. He took the subway to Tiffany’s and spent his graduation money on a ring. He felt out of place walking inside in khakis and a tight green t-shirt. He kept his Ray Bans on so the salesperson wouldn’t see that he was uneasy.

            “I don’t have a lot of money to spend but I am going to be asking my girlfriend to marry me in Boston so I need a ring.”

            “Certainly, sir,” the respectful older gentleman replied. “I am sure we can accommodate your budget.” After about a half hour of searching he came across a white gold band with an amber and orange garnet. It was unique, looked antique and was affordable. The man put it in the box and Alex hurried back to the bus terminal.

            “I’m getting married!” he happily yelled from the front to everyone on the bus. He spent the rest of the trip to Boston showing curious people the ring and telling them all about Kaley. He recalled all the times she nearly got away and all the times she came back. But instead of feeling that it was something terrible and doubting her love, he finally understood the beauty of it. The true testament of their love for each other was the fact that it had endured and she always came back just like the hummingbird. He smiled on the bus and old women and young women and even some men slapped him on the back, shook his hand politely, or gave him words of encouragement. Some spoke of their marriages, plural, or of lost loves and the feeling on that bus was of euphoria, making it like a diesel Prozac on wheels. It rained heavily outside but Alex didn’t mind it. He loved it. The bus was merely a capsule being swallowed by fate.

            When the bus pulled in to the terminal, Alex placed the ring box in his pocket and grabbed his luggage. One bag and his laptop. The passengers politely let him off first, smiling at him as he passed. Someone jokingly hummed “Here Comes the Bride.” Someone else threw confetti at his feet which made the driver less cordial. He took a cab downtown  and rented a room in a nice old romantic hotel with a view, actual bellhops, and a grand piano in the lobby. He hadn’t stopped smiling since New York, not once. He was to meet Kaley tonight at 8 at a Dunkin’ Donuts. He texted her: Late for coffee?

            Never!!!!! she replied.

            He sat at a booth in a Dunkin’ by a large window with a view of a busy street, the Tiffany’s box in hand, at first in front of him and then in his pocket. Then he put it down beside of him where he placed the dozen thornless red roses that were in no danger of wilting and then he stood up and looked out the window impatiently. The kid at the counter asked him if he wanted anything and he replied that he was waiting for someone. The door jingled and a girl walked in. She was young and beautiful and smiled at Alex. He smiled back. He looked out the window again to see if he could see her coming. A thin openly-gay young man walked in and smiled ecstatically. He had slick black hair and wore strange sunglasses and short denim jean shorts that were frayed along the bottom and stuck to him as though they were wet. “Heyyyy!” he called to the kid at the counter. Alex looked out the window again. Then he looked at the phone. It said 8:23 and he was nervous. The young man walked over and extended his hand introducing himself as Charlie. His voice confirmed the assumptions. Alex was confused and sat down. Charlie sat down across from him. People are wonderfully open, Alex thought, still worried that Kaley may have been hit by a bus like in An Affair to Remember.  The feeling of being stood up was being compounded by Charlie’s enthusiasm to speak to him.

“This is awkward,” Charlie explained. “Alex, you are an amazing man.”

A brief pause. “How do you know my name?”

Charlie was quiet for the first time since he came in to the restaurant only minutes before. He was sipping on a frothy latte with a paper sleeve around the cup. He sat with great posture and delicately tickled the sides of the cup libidinously. After taking a drink there was a ring above his lip and he licked it off which made the moment more uncomfortable. Alex put the ring box on the table by the red roses. He began to suspect that Charlie was a friend of Kaley’s sent to tell him she wasn’t coming. She couldn’t come because...reasons were endless. Finally, Charlie answered. “I am the one, Alex.” I got your text a month ago and I know it wasn’t to me but I believe it happened for a reason. Here me out...!” Alex put his head in his hands. “You are such a sweet guy. I don’t know how to tell you this but...I love you!”

And it all crashed down on Alex in that very moment. The roof may as well have fallen in and planes and birds and every planet, moon and sun in the Universe, all on top of him. The reason Kaley had become so blissful and cheery was because after deleting her, he had accidentally sent the message to the wrong number. And all of this time when he thought he was talking to Kaley he was talking to gay Charlie. He wasn’t mad, strangely. It was too pitiful to be angry about. He actually felt sorry for Charlie and kindly explained that it had been nice chatting with him, besides the sexts, but he was in love with Kaley, the girl he meant to send the text to in May. After wishing for a moment that he had worn a nice sundress he had just bought, as though it could have made a difference, Charlie took it well and even consoled Alex when Alex told him that the worst part is that he realized he hasn’t heard from Kaley in a month. She didn’t care to reach out to him anymore so it was clearly over. “Get this man a coffee coolatta on me, Jake! Quick!” he turned to Alex and assured him, “Coffee coolattas make everything better! Trust me, honey! If they had them when Romeo and Juliet were alive, they wouldn’t have killed themselves!”

After a few minutes of pain and tears and being consoled by an empathetic Charlie, Alex could finally breathe again. He hadn’t lost enough oxygen to the brain to kill him quite yet. As the odd couple sat in Dunkin’ Donuts and drank their drinks slowly, neither with anyplace to go, both with hearts as big as Texas, one broken and the other very empathetic, Alex’s new-fangled cell phone seizured on the table by the Tiffany’s ring box into the dozen red roses. They looked at each other. Charlie smiled and put his hands over his mouth. Alex picked up the phone and it was a text message from his mother, who was the only person in the world worse at sending texts than him, asking if he had made it to Boston in one piece as though if he hadn’t he could reply and tell her all about it. But then he realized there was a missed message. It was her.

Still coming to Boston?

Reply: I am in Boston.

Will you meet me tonight?

Reply: Yes.

Dunkin’ Donuts? Too late for coffee? :)

Reply: Never!!!

Alex gave Charlie the red roses and a big kiss on the cheek. Charlie smiled. He was right—coffee coolattas make everything better. Alex put the ring in his pocket and headed to another Dunkin’ Donuts where Kaley would be waiting. He stopped at a Korean market and bought another dozen red roses and picked off the thorns as he walked. She was sitting at a booth when he saw her for the first time. She was wearing a silver necklace with a hummingbird pendant, among her clothes.

“You are more beautiful than words.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” she said smiling.

He gave her the red roses that would never wilt and sat the Tiffany’s box on the table between them. And at last, he finally realized what hummingbird wings look like.