Sarah's Journal: May 27, 2013

Sarah:  May 27, 2013 

When did I step into the Twilight Zone? I’m in the back seat heading home from the weirdest weekend that I have ever had in my life. I told Jeff and Jess that I was putting my headphones on so that I could write in my journal without distractions, but really I did it so they could talk. Something is messed up between them and they really need to figure it out. Jeff has been avoiding being alone with Jessica all weekend and she’s obviously miffed at him. Anyone could see it, especially after the bonfire. They better work it out because I’m pretty sure I would pick her if their relationship ended in a divorce and that would make for some really interesting family holidays.

Whatever their problem is, started when Mom caught them in bed together on Saturday morning. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy, but at least it wasn’t my dad. He knows, though. Why couldn’t Mom just keep it to herself? Dad cornered me in the kitchen on Sunday morning and asked me how serious Jeff and Jessica were. Really? 

“They’re serious enough,” I said. The scowl on my face should have told him how uncomfortable I was talking about my brother and my best friend’s sex life, but he didn’t catch on.

“Your mother and I didn’t realize that they were so committed.”

“Well. They are,” I said, not sure what else to say. 

“They’re not getting engaged, are they?” He had the strangest look on his face.

I shook my head. Why do parents assume that their children are virgins until their wedding nights? They are such hypocrites. I mean, with the stories Mom tells—I don’t get it. I’m never going to be like that. My dad seemed satisfied with my answer and didn’t ask any more questions. My parents are usually forward thinkers. Usually. They accept people for who they are, faults and all, and don’t linger on past mistakes. That’s why this threw me. I’ve seen Alli’s parents practically dictate her life to her, not allowing her to make decisions—never giving her enough room to make them. My parents aren’t like them. Weekend in the Twilight Zone—totally.

And if drama-with-Dad wasn't bad enough, Jeff’s ex-roommate Thor showed up and unloaded his sad story on me while we were putting the dock in. I'm not lying. It was the epitome of a Gerry Springer show. Then at the bonfire, he starts flirting with me, even after I told him I was seeing someone. I am. I am seeing someone. Thor just broke up with his fiancé that week and he’s flirting with me? When Alli and Megan showed up, I was just looking for an escape. I should have had Megan sit next to him. She’s much more equipped to deal with guys like that. I felt sorry for him though. I thought that he would be better off with Alli, after all that he had been through. She’s usually sweet and doesn’t get too involved with guys. But I didn’t know she was on a bender weekend. Now what? She and Thor made plans for next Friday. I don’t want her to be his rebound. Do I tell her about Thor or do I give him the benefit of the doubt? Jeff says he’s always been a decent guy. Still, breakups change people. 

Copyright 2014 Susan Schussler 

Sarah's Journal: May 26, 2013

Sarah:  May 26, 2013

Here I am another memorial weekend without a boyfriend to snuggle with in front of the bonfire. I don’t know what Will is. Can I consider him my boyfriend? I feel like we’re dating. Neither of us is seeing anyone else, but how real can it be if we’ve never met?

Will and I connected online Thursday night and I shared my plans for the weekend up at the lake. I told him that it would probably be raining and cold like it always was on Memorial Day weekend. I would have given anything for him to say, “I’ll keep you warm.” No such luck. I told him I wouldn’t be able to meet up with him because there was no Internet at the cabin.

“How does that make you feel?” he asked. I knew he was making fun of me. One of my psych professors hammered that phrase into my head for two semesters and it slips out of my mouth more than I like to admit. It is really just an open-ended question to provoke discussion, but I must have written it more than once to Will.

“I’m screaming inside,” I answered.

Then he said something that really threw me off. “And that’s why I love you.” I stared at my computer screen in disbelief for a moment as I tried to figure out if his words meant anything. Normally I would have just let it go. People say stuff like that all the time. But that one line scrambled my brain and I didn’t know how to respond.

I must have paused too long because he added. “Just the reaction I wanted.” What did that mean? Was he being sarcastic? Was the reaction my hesitation or my screaming? Brain freeze!!! I decided that he must have meant my screaming and he was just clarifying his first statement. I moved on.

“What are you doing this weekend?” I asked.

“Working.”

“How does that make you feel?” I typed, trying to make him laugh.

“I’m screaming like a little girl inside,” he wrote.

“Now you’re mocking me.”

“Yep. How does that make you feel?”

“Shut up. Are you ever going to tell me what you do at your job?” I like that he gets my sense of humor. He seems to know exactly what I’m thinking. I wish I knew what he was thinking.

“Nope,” he answered after another long pause.

“Had to think about that one?” I asked.

“Trust me. You don’t want to know.”

“It doesn’t matter what you do. I would still like you even if you cleaned bathrooms for a living,” I wrote.

“So you like me?” he asked

“Obviously.”

Then some idiot that was not invited to our chat wrote, “I like you too, Sarah. Can I get a BJ too?” What an ass! The guy continued vomiting disgusting comments, one after another, as if he had listened to our entire conversation. We’ve never been interrupted in a private chat room before and even after we changed sites I couldn’t get the guy out of my head. I didn’t feel as free to open up online as I had before. I guess people like him are the reason why Will never wants to share our phone numbers or emails over the Internet. I just thought he was being paranoid, but I wouldn’t want that guy calling me. How are Will and I ever going to meet? It seems impossible.
Copyright 2014 Susan Schussler

Sarah's Journal: May 18, 2013

Sarah:  May 18, 2013

Will took me to the Met in NYC for our date on Friday. I didn’t even know that was possible. It turns out you can tour the museum online. It wasn’t like we could touch the art, but we wouldn't have been able to touch it in the museum anyway, so what’s the difference. I suppose if we had been together, I would have been able to hold his hand or feel his arm as it curled around my waist. That would have been better. Instead, I sat on my bed, in front of my laptop, in my pajamas, while we simultaneously enlarged photos to see the art up close. We probably saw more different kinds of art than we would have if we were actually there. Sculptures, paintings, pottery—we saw it all.

He showed me a sketch of the Greek demigod Perseus holding Medusa’s head, penciled by a Swiss artist. It was just a black and white sketch, but he seemed enamored by it. Honestly, to me, it wasn’t as impressive as some of the colorful French paintings, but the depth and realism of the sketch made it look like the figures were carved in marble instead of drawn.

He asked, “So? What do you think?” He was so funny as if he was revealing a piece of his soul by showing me it.

Even though I didn’t give him the enthusiastic reaction he wanted, he didn’t get discouraged. He continued to explain the significance of Medusa’s head, how Perseus captured it and what he did with it after he got it. As Will shared Perseus’ history with me, most of which I already knew from literature, I was amazed by his take on it. It was fresh and updated, and he definitely knew more than I did about Greek gods. He asked me if I had seen the movie The Demigod.

“Of course.” I typed. “Everyone’s seen it. It’s our generation’s Titanic. Besides the actor who played Perseus is really hot.”

I’m pretty sure that was the wrong thing to say because he changed the subject after that and didn't make his usual hilarious comeback. I hope he doesn’t think that he has to live up to some intangible hottie, because I don’t really care what he looks like. OK, I care a little bit, but looks aren’t everything. A guy’s personality always shows through and outweighs his looks, either negatively or positively. I’ve seen guys who from across the room look god-like, heavenly glow and all, but when they open their mouths they morph into a hideous Neanderthal. And I used to think it was strange how some couples seem so mismatched in their looks. Why would a nine date a five? But in my vast experience (of twenty years) I’ve learned that the five’s personality makes them even or the other way around. Will’s personality makes him better looking than any guy I’ve ever dated and I don’t have a clue what he looks like.

Sarah's Journal: May 13, 2013

Sarah:  May 13, 2013

Will and I watched a movie together on Friday. I should say, we watched the same movie while we chatted online. I didn’t realize how strange our arrangement sounded until I tried to explain to Jessica why I couldn’t go out with her and Megan. I should have just said that I was studying for finals. I should have been studying for finals. But when Will asked me to watch the movie with him, I knew studying would be pointless. I wouldn't have been able to concentrate. 

Will and I have such a weird relationship. Do we have a relationship? Truthfully, I don’t know. It’s like meeting the perfect guy and obsessing over him for weeks until you finally work up enough courage to tell him how you feel and just as you open your mouth to spill your soul, a gorgeous blonde appears at his side. (Of course, she’s blonde. They’re always blonde.) She introduces herself as his girlfriend, of five years, and they look so perfect together that your stomach starts to heave, disintegrating all your dreams. That never actually happened. I just feel as if my visions of this perfect guy evaporated once I found out where he lives. I’m pretty sure there is no such thing as a perfect guy, but even so, I'm just as doomed as the girl in my daydream. 

He lives so far away. It’s not as if he will move here because of me. He has a job and a life and friends. I have a year left of school and then graduate school after that. I “won’t be able to get a job without graduate school”, according to my parents. Will and I will never get to be together. There is no point in wanting more. Why am I even thinking about him that way? It’s safer if I just put him in the friend zone. I know that. I want to put him in the friend zone. (That’s a lie! I’m such a terrible liar—I can’t even convince myself.)

On Friday, he asked me if I was seeing anyone.

“Seriously or casually?” I asked, trying to gauge where the conversation was headed.

“Either?” he replied. We had talked about our dating history before, but never really spelled out clearly whether either of us was seeing anyone else. Did I say else? Oops.

 “No. Are you?” I said as I agonized over his pending answer. 

His response melted my heart. “Only you.” 

It was the perfect answer. I don’t know why I would expect anything less from him. The whole night was flawless, almost ideal. Except in a perfect world, our date would have ended with our first kiss. 

Copyright 2014 Susan Schussler  

Sarah's Journal: May 6, 2013

Sarah:  May 6, 2013

I found Will right away last night, on the gossip site. He asked if my Internet was out and it made me feel guilty. I wasn't sure he would notice that I hadn't logged on for three days, though I would have if he had done the same. I didn't want him to know I was avoiding him, but I think he sensed it. He seemed cautious at first but then asked if we could set up a regular meeting time so we could better keep in touch. I agreed. It felt right, almost like he was asking me out.

Since our conversations have always focused on me, I took the lead and I asked him about his missing last name. He gave me an excuse about his family being overexposed in the press. He didn't want me judging him for stories on the internet that wasn't true. I wondered what kind of family lived in the press. Was his dad a serial killer? Or his mom a politician. “So you’re the son of a mob boss?” I asked.

“I wish. At least then I would have the power to snuff out the lying bastards.” His statement seemed too bitter to be a lie.

We switched to a chat room, after that, for a little more privacy. Will was either really creative and a good storyteller, or telling the truth. The way he worded his explanation made me want to believe him. Passion that liars rarely exhibit hung in his every thought and nothing he said contradicted his previous claims. I was looking for inconsistencies. When he told me his father was in the movie business, I wondered what kind of movies. Maybe it was because we were in a chat room that my brain immediately went there, but he squashed my thought like he could read my mind.

“He directs legitimate Hollywood movies, not adult films,” he wrote.

“So you’re one of those trust fund kids that spends all your time at the beach and in the clubs?” I asked, trying to marry the couch potato image, I first had of him, with a snooty Hollywood brat.

“Not me. I don’t enjoy clubbing. The beach, I like, but I don’t get to hang out there much, because I’m always working and I don't live off my parents' money. I work for what I have.” His assurance seemed sincere. From what I've read, most Hollywood brats admit that they don’t work. It’s a status symbol not to have a job.

We chatted for two hours and he answered every question I asked. Sometimes his answers were a bit cryptic, but I figured he would tell me more if we weren't in such a public environment. Besides he is not his parents—none of us are and whatever was going on in the press with them, he couldn't control. 

I always pictured him living down the street, or across the Cities, or at least in the five state area (I could handle that). I never expected him to be from Los Angeles. I didn't even consider it. In that moment, when I learned where he was from, all hope of dating him evaporated. Maybe it’s for the best. Now, I won’t have to worry that he’s using me or that he’s a fraud. We’ll just be friends. He’ll be like one of the girls with a super sexy guy’s point of view. I’m lucky, right?

Damn! I don’t want to just be friends. 

Sarah's Journal: May 5, 2013

Sarah:  May 5, 2013

I stayed off the Internet for the last three days, got both my papers written and transferred my notes from American Lit to my phone so I can listen to them while I ride the bus. I should be able to go through them all at least once before the final. I deserve a reward for all my hard work, right? I do, don’t I?

When I get home I’m going to check the gossip site for Will. As much as I don’t want to admit it, I've missed him. It was hard not clicking on the website and searching for his username in the comments. Part of me wants Will to disappear to where I can’t find him so I won’t get hurt when he turns out to be a fraud. It would be easier if we just never connected again. Eventually, he would erase from my memory—probably. But the other part of me wants to meet him and date him and lose myself in him. I think I just need to be more direct and ask him specifics, like where he lives and why he doesn't have a last name. Then maybe I will feel better about wasting my time.

Sarah's Journal: May 2, 2013

Sarah:  May 2, 2013

It snowed three inches last night. What the hell? It’s May. It is not supposed to snow in May, even in Minnesota. I guess this is why my dad never plants his tomatoes outside until the middle of the month. I hate cold weather this time of year. Most the guys on campus have been wearing shorts and flip-flops for at least two weeks, and once Minnesotans switch to their summer wardrobes, it requires much more than a few inches of snow for them to pull their cold clothes back on. Still, it pains me to see people wearing flip-flops in the snow. I’m a freeze-baby and all I want to do is stay home where it’s warm and I can chat with the Internet guy.

The Internet guy. Maybe it’s not the weather. I don’t know why I can’t get Will out of my head. He sucked me in and I can’t let him go. He’s just too perfect. In my mind, I can imagine his arms wrapped around me and me melting into his chest as we laugh about some hilarious Internet story. I can’t picture his face, though. I wish I had a photo of him. Jessica thinks he’s a “catfish” like on that MTV show where people fake who they are to seduce someone online. That would crush me. She’s probably right. I really need to stop wasting my time. I don’t know what is wrong with me. I have finals in two weeks and two papers to write. What am I thinking?

Sarah's Journal: May 1, 2013

Sarah:  May 1, 2013

At the poetry reading, Jackson put his arm around the back of my chair and whispered in my ear a few times. He was really polite and way more mindful of my personal space than most guys, which I liked. I kept waiting for the butterflies in my stomach to start flapping, but no electricity sparked with his touch. It’s not that he isn't good looking—he is, in an intellectual sort of way. It’s me. I think my butterflies have died. I haven’t felt them in a long time, at least not for a real guy.

When Jackson slipped his car into park by the curb in front of my house, I thanked him and told him I had a good time before quickly opening my door. As I stepped out, I turned and watched disappointment disfigure his face. I don’t think he expected to be dropped into the friend zone so quickly. How can I tell him it’s not you, it’s me, without it sounding like a bad movie?

“We should do this again sometime,” he said.

I just nodded and smiled. I know we won’t.  

Sarah's Journal: April 30, 2013

Sarah:  April 30, 2013

The weather guy says it’s supposed to snow over the weekend. I don’t remember it ever snowing in May before. Damn global warming! The frosty air chased Jessica and me inside for spin class at the rec center this afternoon. Neither of us could imagine freezing our butts off jogging. The entire time that the spin instructor barked her orders and punished my body past its limits, all I could think about was how I was going to miss connecting with Will today. But when I got home and logged onto our site, he was there, as sweet as ever, like he was waiting for me.

I don’t know how he does it, but he always makes me feel like I’m the most important person in the world. Our "discover everything there is to know about Sarah" session lasted more than an hour. I told him my favorite color—turquoise; my favorite flowers—pink peonies; and my favorite season—summer. I revealed the kind of car I drive, what I’m majoring in school, and what my parent’s do for a living. But when I tried to ask him questions, he transitioned the conversation back to me without answering. His words were so smooth that I didn't even notice what he was doing until I was off the Internet. I hardly know any details about him. It’s not fair.

Sarah's Journal: April 29, 2013

Sarah:  April 29, 2013

I ran into Jackson Tripp in line at the coffee shop. We sat for a few minutes and chatted about the classes we have left to take before graduation. He’s an English major, as well, and we’re in American lit together this semester.

It surprised me when he asked me to go with him to the on-campus poetry reading that Professor Hamel is forcing on us. I didn't think Jackson knew who I was. He’s barely said two words to me before today, but his eyes were all dark and flirty, so I’m pretty sure he didn't mean just as friends.

Jackson seemed too excited about the reading. Am I the only English major who loathes poetry readings? I like poetry—the kind found in the lyrics of songs and the words strung together in unexpected places, like a Jesse Eisenberg movie, but readings seem so coerced that I can’t stomach them. I agreed to go with Jackson, though, and I know why. I need to pull myself back into the real world and stop the constant fantasizing about the Internet guy. Will is not tangible.

I gave Jackson my number and agreed to let him pick me up. He seems harmless and I could see dating him—maybe, I don’t know. My last meaningful relationship was back in high school and that ended up being a lie. You would think that with all the psychology classes I've taken, I would have figured out how to trust the male species again, but I haven’t.

Sarah's Journal: April 26, 2013

Sarah:  April 26, 2013

He was there again. I can’t believe it. Cracked23 appeared again after I commented on some ridiculous article. I think I’m just going to that site to talk to him. He’s so funny. He totally gets my sense of humor. His name is Will. He told me today. He doesn't have a last name apparently, “only Will.”
I asked if I googled “Will” would I find a picture of him?

“I don’t know. I've never done it before, but my face is all over the internet. I’m totally famous so it wouldn't surprise me,” he typed. “If a guy pops up, decent looking—dark hair, blue eyes, it’s probably me.”

I tried it and ended up with a list of will writing services. We both LOL’d. He kept commenting on how everyone needed a “Will.” He’s so self-assured that I’m starting to doubt the couch potato theory.

Hmm…dark hair and blue eyes—I can definitely work with that.

Sarah's Journal: April 20, 2013

Sarah:  April 20, 2013

The girls and I went to a house party last night. A guy that Megan is seeing lives there. A frat house wasn't really my first choice for the evening, but my choices are a bit limited until my birthday. It was good to be out with girls, though.

I’m glad the house was dark because I didn't want to see any deeper into the dim shadows. It was the kind of house that spawns teenage horror movies, where a blob of unknown origin rises out of the carpet and swallows all the house’s occupants. The carpet? Eeew! Every time I lifted my foot to walk I was halted by my boot sticking to the floor. I felt like a mouse on one of those sticky traps. How do guys live like that? I was afraid to sit down all night.

Once I got past the ambiance, I had a good time. I didn't know anyone there, except the girls, but I didn't get bored. Jessica introduced me to a couple of nursing students and the guys that lived at the house were actually pretty nice. A guy named Scott kept refilling my cup for me and offered to show me around the house. I’m sure it was just a ploy to get me to his room, though. He was so not my type—totally enamored by himself. As I stood listening to Scott tell me how brilliant he was, and how he was going to take over the marketing for his dad’s Internet company, I kept looking around wondering if another guy at the party could be Cracked23. Scott obviously wasn't him.

I’m so pathetic. I know Cracked23 is probably just a made-up persona devised by a couch potato living in his mom’s basement, but the couch potato seems to know exactly what I want to hear and I can’t get him out of my mind. Maybe I can coax him out of the basement someday.

Sarah's Journal: April 18, 2013

Sarah: April 18, 2013

I visited the gossip site again today. I don’t know why I keep going back there. It’s like an addiction. I've never followed Hollywood, before. It seems so fake, so plastic. I think it’s the people who comment on the site that fascinate me the most. Some of them voice the narrowest thoughts, like they can’t see outside the glass in their houses to the outside world and could never put themselves in anyone else's shoes. Today I ran across a guy who wrote a 300 word blog comment on how celebrities deserved what they get from the press. The article linked to it was about a well-known comedian who got arrested after he smashed a guy’s phone. Apparently the guy had taken a picture of the comedian using the urinal before the incident, but the comedian still got arrested. The blogger’s point was that celebrities were paid a ton of money so they should have to put up with strangers snapping their photos. “It’s part of fame’s baggage.”

I posed the question, “Was the guy taking the picture paying the comedian?”

That’s when Cracked23 joined in and wrote, “Good point, Supermodel.”

It made me laugh. I couldn't believe he remembered me. I had to confess that I wasn't really a supermodel, and after that it seemed like we were in our own little chat room. I was on the website for another hour. If I hadn't had class today, which I ended up being late for, I would still be there.

Sarah's Journal: Crazy Net

(Excerpt taken from Sarah Austin's Journal. Austin is a fictional character in Schussler's book, Between the Raindrops.)

Sarah:  April 15, 2013

I finally finished my paper on the media’s manipulation of pop culture. That gossip site more than fulfilled my quota of crazies. There are some really messed up people in the world and the anonymity of the Internet just frees them to speak their minds—it’s scary. I wish I had known this subculture when I had my abnormal psychology class last semester. It would have provided hours of discussion fodder. The only bright spot in the whole experience was the guy I met, Cracked23. Crazy name—I know, but he was the only sane person on the entire site. He was hilarious and a bit of a flirt. I don’t know what got into me, but I ended up telling him I was a supermodel. If he had seen my face he would have known I was lying, but he just accepted it, like being a supermodel wasn't anything unusual.

Why did I do that? I’m normally such a good girl. I’m not that girl that flirts with strangers on the Internet. Maybe I wish I was that girl with no fear—like my friend, Megan. She gobbles men whole and spits out their bone. “No fear. No regret,” she always says. Not me. I’m not that girl. Not yet.