Kari was an absolute Luddite when it came to electronics. Oh, she owned a computer…she wasn’t so far gone as to still be using a typewriter…but incredibly, she wasn’t connected to the Internet.
There was a reason. One of Kari’s dearest friends in the world, second only to Lylah, had been a woman named Audra. Audra had jumped on the Internet bandwagon early. She was the first of Kari’s friends to get a modem, get connected, get web access, get email. And she had met a man in a chat room. They had started an email correspondence, and eventually, agreed to meet in person. He’d told Audra he lived only 200 miles away and would be willing to travel to meet her.
He’d traveled. He’d met her. He’d killed her.
He had been a psychopath. The police caught him, resolving in the process, a string of unsolved murders. But that was no consolation to Kari. The loss of Audra, and the shock of her murder, hit Kari hard, and Kari blamed it on the Internet. She vowed she would never get electronically connected, lest she risk meeting the same fate as Audra. And she had kept to that promise all this time. At work, she used email only for business and only when absolutely necessary. At home, she had no Internet connection at all.
Now, standing in front of the electronics store, she felt her resolve beginning to waver.
How long can I
hold out? How long can I remain a Luddite in a wired world?
Dissatisfied with her life, she resolved this was one change she
could
make. She took a deep breath, as if steeling herself to enter a dentist’s office, and went in.
Thirty minutes later, she emerged from the store, her MasterCard still steaming. She had gone whole-hog and gotten far more than she needed just to get connected to the Internet…for which she still needed to arrange for broadband service from the cable company.
She pulled out her cell and dialed Lylah’s number. As she’d expected, Steve answered. “Hi, hon. It’s me, Kari. What are you doing Friday night—assuming I can get my broadband service hooked up by then? I need your help, my electronics genius friend. Want to do me a favor?”
“Does this one involve helping you test out one of your new recipes?”
“Optimist! No, but it involves messing with my computer. Isn’t that almost as good as eating my cooking?”
“Nothing beats your cooking, but you know I can’t resist the siren song of a computer. What d’you need?” Kari told him, and Steve agreed to meet her at her place on Friday evening, subject to her being able to get the broadband installed then.
The
lechón asado
was yummy, and the
plátanos
were perfection, but Kari rushed through it all, not even ordering
flan
after the main course. Hurrying back to her car, she zipped home and put on a pot of cinnamon coffee, unpacking her purchases and eagerly laying them out in advance of Friday.
Friday took its sweet time in getting there, but at least the broadband service was installed on time. No glitches there. Steve arrived early, got everything installed and up and running, and first showed Kari how the email program, different from the one at work, functioned. Then he gave her a tour of the Internet, with special attention to cooking sites, which he knew had a particular interest for her.
Though impatient for him to leave so she could get back to the computer, she checked her eagerness and talked with Steve. “I’m jealous of you and Lylah,” she admitted. “A baby. Here I’m so up about my new software, but your wife
really
has something to look forward to. Not to mention that when
she
looks in the mirror and sees she’s growing outward, she’s got a good excuse for it.”
She laughed, then turned serious again. “In a few more months she’ll be thin again...and have a new life entrusted to her, too. Lullabies. First steps. Pride. A little mini-person that was given to you to take care of. God, it’s so exciting!” She couldn’t keep the wistfulness out of her voice.
“Yeah,” Steve said with unmistakable sarcasm. “It’s exciting to have no sex now so in a few months our lives can be totally disrupted by a demanding little creature with a loud set of lungs who always needs attention and is a regular poop-and-pee machine. Diapers—ugh!”
“God, Steve. You make it sound like a baby is all negative.”
From the look he gave her, it was obvious she had vocalized his thoughts.
“I’d trade places with Lylah in a heartbeat.”
“Great. Who do I get to trade places with?”
“Steve!” she chided him. “Maybe you need to do something new—like me with the Internet—to get your mind off your blues.”
“I’m ten steps ahead of you, hon,” he answered. “You’re looking at the latest volunteer member—very low on the totem pole, I admit—of the campaign staff of Ron Larrimore, our next mayor.”
“You’re working for Larrimore?”
“I am...and if you know what’s good for our town, you’ll vote for him.”
“Oh, I intend to! Save your speeches. What are you doing on the campaign?”
“Mostly working the phones in the evening. But as long as I’m among the ranks of the unemployed, they have me coming in days a lot, too. Hey, why don’t you join? You’ve got untapped talents. Put ’em to use for Larrimore. A lot of it’s grunt work, mailing flyers, nailing up posters, stuff like that. But chip in. Lend a hand. You’ve got time.”
That last remark stung. But it was true—she did have time, and she was looking for something new in her life. Still, she’d always been pretty apolitical. Though she voted every year, she’d never gotten involved in campaigns or causes. And now that she was connected to the Internet, she expected that to keep her busy. Email. Recipe sites. Maybe even chat rooms. She was wary, remembering Audra’s fate, but now that she had taken the first step, why not chat rooms too?
She gulped at the thought, then realized Steve was waiting for an answer. “I’ll think about it,” she promised, draining the rest of her rapidly cooling coffee in one gulp.
“Well, I’m outta here,” Steve said, rising from his chair. “You okay with that computer, now?”
“You did the hard part. I can take it from there.”
“G’night then.” He gave her a chaste peck on the cheek.
“Love to Lylah.” She waved as he walked down the driveway to his car.
“Call if you’ve got any questions with that thing.”
“Will do.” And she eagerly locked the door behind him and rushed to her computer.
Chapter 2
The computer, long a mere convenience, now became as seductive as a lover. Kari hurried home to it every day, logging on, browsing, talking to people in several different chat rooms, exchanging email at long last with all her friends, including some new friends she’d met online. There was a whole world waiting for her “inside the screen,” as she thought of it.
She posted inquiries about recipes, and soon she had several new friends with whom she was trading hints and tips. One Friday evening, logging on after getting home from work, she found a letter:
Hi—
Tried your pot roast recipe—great
Where do you live? I don’t know if I’m trading recipes with someone across the street or across the country. Here in Elm Ridge, we’re having mild weather for September—I’ll barbeque this weekend. Do you barbeque? Got any recipes for the grill? Want any?
Got to go now. Got a pork roast in the oven, and the smell is calling me. :)
See ya—
Max
Kari had learned by now that
:)
was a computer smile. She smiled for real at the thought of his roast beckoning him with its aroma and quickly shot back a reply.
Hi, Max,
Am sending a file with several recipes in it. Hope you like them, especially the potato pancakes, which go well with pot roast. Let me know what you think.
As for location, you’re in Elm Ridge? The same Elm Ridge that’s four hours drive from here? (I’m in Jeffersonville.) Yes, we’re having the same warm weather. Yes, I barbecue. Ever take a boneless pork roast and bathe it in barbeque sauce, then cook it on a covered grill for about an hour? The only trouble is, it tastes so good it’s hard to stop after “seconds”—I want to go on and finish it all in one night instead of saving some to have cold tomorrow.
She stopped, reread that last sentence, and thought it made her sound like someone who probably weighed over 200 pounds. Which, in fact, she did, but why advertise the fact? Self-consciousness immediately assailed her, followed by annoyance at herself.
Why should I care what some anonymous, faceless correspondent thinks of me? Does it matter if this Max knows I’m fat? For all I know he weighs three hundred pounds, is eighty-five years old, is toothless....
Then she had to laugh. A previous letter had mentioned a fondness for corn on the cob. Toothless was one thing he was not.
She backed up and deleted the offending sentence, feeling guilty over her vanity even as she did it. Then she chatted about the weather for a minute, and closed out the letter.
A reply was waiting in her inbox the next day.
Hi, nearly-neighbor,
Jeffersonville, hmmm? If I ever find myself in your part of the state, I’ll take you to dinner at Woody’s Wagon Wheel. Ever been there? Simple food, but hearty. Not a fancy place, but a great place for folks who seriously love good food...and I take it that’s you as much as it is me.
I had a good day today. Oh, I guess I haven’t told you—I’m a stockbroker. And what do you do? Or are you a housewife? (That’s an honorable profession too.) Have you lived in Jeffersonville all your life?
That’s a sneaky way of trying to find out how old you are, a question I know better than to ever ask a lady outright. But I like to have some feel for the people I correspond with. I trade recipes with a few other folks, and correspond with several. Since “tit for tat” is only fair, I’ll admit to being thirty-six myself.
Well, I have a peach pie in the oven. I’ll “see” you here tomorrow.
Max
Kari got up, checked on dinner, which was simmering, then composed a reply:
Hi, fellow gourmet,
No, I’ve never been to Woody’s Wagon Wheel. If you ever find yourself in this part of the state, I’ll take you up on dinner.
You could have asked me about my age outright. I’m not sensitive about my thirty-three years.
No, I’m not a housewife. I’m not even married. I’m in the publicity department of one of the larger corporations around here. I like my work, which mostly involves writing brochures, press releases, and similar stuff. Not exactly as exciting as writing The Great American Novel, but the money’s more secure. The work’s steady, and it pays the bills...and if you’ve got to do a 9-to-5, well, hell, it’s not a bad way to earn a living.
How did your peach pie turn out? I love to cook, but don’t bake. There’s a wonderful bakery three minutes drive from here. They sell some of their goodies by the portion, too. Tonight I’m having a piece of “To Hell in a Chocolatebasket.” Tomorrow I’ll probably buy a piece of “Mocha Sin.” They’re as clever with the names as they are with the creations themselves.
I’m a lifelong resident of Jeffersonville; never lived anywhere else. And you? Tell me about yourself. Including what you look like. I like to have a face to keep in mind when I write to people. I’m new at this email thing, but I’ve asked my other online friends what they look like too.
Kari went on for a few more sentences, and as she did, she constructed a mental image of Max. The picture, when it arrived three days and as many letters later, was no disappointment. Max had dark hair, lively eyes, handsome features, a trim physique, and a nice smile.
Of course he wanted her picture in return, and Kari selected a head shot. Her shape was not visible. She didn’t want him to know what all that cooking and eating had done to her.
In picturing him, she’d imagined someone roly-poly. By all accounts, Max had a good appetite. Yet his picture showed a lean body. Apparently, he had a great metabolism, or else he worked out extensively. Either that, or the picture was awfully flattering in comparison with reality. Enviously, she mailed off her picture to him.
Meanwhile, their correspondence was warming up. From cooking, they had progressed to miscellania. They chatted about their respective jobs, friends, towns. And then Max told Kari,