A Girl's Life Online by Katherine Tarbox Page A

the left leg, but I still wore them. I loved them. Feeling cozy and safe in my familiar pajamas, I got under the covers, turned out the light, and rolled over to sleep. It was 9:15.

    It was 9:37 when the phone rang. I mumbled a hello and the phone cord became tangled around my hand.
    â€œHello,” he said, with a hint of excitement in his voice.
    â€œI thought you weren’t coming, why were you late?” I talked softly since Ashley was awake and in the bathroom.
    â€œI missed my connection. Actually, it was pretty close. I was running through the airport and got to the gate just as the plane was leaving. There wasn’t another flight for a couple of hours.”
    â€œWell, you’re here now.”
    I sat up from the bed and leaned forward to the phone. I dangled my feet and curled the phone cord as it moved over them.
    â€œSo when am I going to get to see you?” asked Mark. “Can you come down now?”
    â€œI guess I can come down for a quick hello.”
    â€œI’m on the ninth floor, room 938.”
    â€œI’m on the eleventh.”
    â€œWell, get yourself down here.”
    â€œOkay.”
    I hung up the phone, got out of bed, and stood there for a moment to think about what I was doing. I was in my pajamas. I knew I wouldn’t look my best, but I didn’t think he should care. We were friends. More than friends, actually. It shouldn’t matter how I dressed.
    An hour earlier my mother had left her raincoat in our room as she was going out to the grocery store to buy some breakfast food for the morning. Now that I was dashing out, I decided to grab the coat to cover my pajamas. As I did, Ashley came out of the bathroom.
    â€œThat was him, wasn’t it?” said Ashley. “I knew he’d convince you to meet in person. He’s here, isn’t he?”
    â€œWe’re just going to say hi. That’s it.”
    â€œKatie, I don’t think . . .”
    â€œHe’s in 938. If you get worried, you can call me down there.”
    When I went to the door, Ashley jumped in front of me. I couldn’t do anything else but laugh because I thought she was joking. But she insisted that I stay and braced herself with one hand on the door handle and the other pressed against the door frame.
    â€œYou can’t go see this freak,” she said. “I won’t let you.”
    â€œHe’s not a freak. Let me out.”
    I knew she was just ignorant, unable to understand a mature relationship. I looked at her and tugged on the door. She was not going to stop me, and she knew it, so she let go. Neither of us said anything as the door swung closed behind me.
    I paced the hall as I waited for an elevator. I couldn’t imagine what was taking so long. There were six of them, after all. Then I heard the chime, which was not so different, I guess, from the chime that announces “You’ve got mail” on AOL. The door opened. I got inside and pressed the button. Nine. The doors closed, and I took a deep breath.

    I stood outside Mark’s door for a minute, looking at the PRIVACY PLEASE sign on the knob, steadying myself. I was now about to meet the man I loved. He knew so much about me, but also very little. He knew my stories, my struggles, and my accomplishments. But he knew none of the thousands of little things that become clear when people meet in person—every gesture, turn of the head, change in the voice. I felt strange, almost disoriented, and extremely nervous. I lifted my hand and tapped gently on the door.
    I was expecting to meet a trim man, based on his photo, but when Mark opened the door I was absolutely shocked by how short he was. Since I am short, I always expect that people are the same height as I am, or taller. Mark was tiny. And he was the scrawniest man I had ever seen.
    Later Mark would say he hugged me at the door, but I can’t remember that. It could have happened, but I wouldn’t bet money either