--15--

 Just as they came to the sidewalk that circled the park, the sprinkler heads started sputtering, then spraying in a quick tempo, beginning their broad sweep of the lawn on either side of the walkway. Virginia ducked behind the nearest one and dodged in and out of its area, trying to get back to the sidewalk while avoiding a drenching. “Bad timing,” she said to Anax. “I thought they were set to come on the middle of the night, but I guess not.” She kept an eye out for errant evangelists, determined not to get caught up in pointless conversation. It occurred to her that what she should have said to the church-hawker the other day was, “I don’t need God, I’ve got Dog.” Not that they would have thought it was funny. They don’t joke around about things like that.

And now there was Steve to think about. Were they headed toward a hot romance? She was definitely anxious to get to know him better. As for sex, her new rule was to wait a month before sleeping with a guy. This was supposed to weed out the ones who weren’t interested in the long term. There were surely plenty of ladies on the dating site who were on the same “quick trip to bed” wavelength—they were welcome to each other’s company. But theoretically if she and a guy both wanted to continue dating after a month, there must be at least a chance the relationship would last. And if he wasn’t willing to wait, good riddance. Also, there were a couple of things that needed to be talked about first, things that were hard to bring up to a near-total stranger.

 She asked herself how close she and Steve were to the requisite month, quickly realizing they hadn’t known each other for even a week. Yet she felt as if they had made huge strides in that time. Did the phone calls count? They really should pay attention less to the length of time they had known each other, and more to the number of times they had interacted. They could spend a month dating but only see each other once a week, whereas she and Steve had spoken twice on the phone at some length and met in person twice for a good couple of hours. Then again, there were people you could talk to so superficially that it didn’t matter how often you saw them. It occurred to her that she hadn’t thought enough beforehand about the complexity of the calculation.

And after all, in the last analysis, it always came down to the same two possibilities: either it would work out, or it wouldn’t. Medical articles were always using statistics to tell you how to live your life, but what difference did a statistic make after the fact? It didn’t help at all to know you were one of only 3% who suffered the unpleasant side effects of that particular treatment. So here she was trying to improve her chances of enjoying a lasting relationship when in fact the only proper answer was “qué será, será.”

Did she want to sleep with Steve? Well of course! It had taken a while to recover from her widowhood, but she thought she was there now. She remembered clearly the first time she had once again felt seriously interested in a guy, one that was way too young for her. Now that she had moved to Colorado, it was like going back in time. She was no longer the one everyone turned to, no matter what the question, because she had been in the library for so long she knew where everything was and who to talk to about whatever you needed; she knew which ones would actually answer your email, not forget about it, and know the answer to your question and how to express it in a way that you could understand.

And speaking of Steve, what had been going on in that last section she read? It certainly seemed as if the printed page was listening to her thoughts and responding to them. But that was crazy. Maybe she could ask Steve about it, they had discussed a few crazy ideas already. So either they were both crazy, or they were just acting as if they were. Was there really a difference? Crazy is as crazy does.

Admittedly, some forms of crazy were more appealing than others. Maybe the best thing really was to find someone whose craziness meshed with your own. There ought to be a website to help you locate a compatible crazy. In fact, there probably was one, but she wasn’t particularly curious about the kinds of crazy she could expect to encounter there. Dating sites were built to handle eccentricity, but only up to a certain point. People would always be seeking each other out for practices, especially sexual ones, that others considered disgusting. It was quite unnecessary to think of examples; it was time to shift her mental view and hurry past without looking.

She and Anax just needed to recross the street to reach home. She would divert her mind by glancing in the refrigerator, ostensibly to see what they needed to add to the grocery list, but actually intending to get out the jar of peanut butter and fix herself a quick snack. But when she looked across the street, she saw that Amanda was already home. She was walking toward the door from the mailbox, riffling through the letters and advertising cards in her hand.

“Hi,” said Virginia. “So how’d it go?”

“Okay,” said Amanda absently, opening the door. “He was easy to talk to. Didn’t say much though. I don’t think that’s going anywhere. Here’s something for you.” She held out a greeting card-shaped handwritten envelope which contrasted sharply with the business letter shape of the other envelopes.

Virginia took it in surprise. “Nobody has this address for me. And I see they spelled my name wrong.” Inside she found a handwritten note addressed To the Virginnia family. “That’s a new one. I guess they think Clarke is my first name. Well, what do you know, I’m invited to a free Bible class to find out the answers to all my questions. They even know what all my questions are: How can I be happy in life? Will evil ever disappear? Will I see my loved ones again when I die? What does God want me to do? I sure wonder how they got my name and address. Do you think the mailman is making a little money on the side?”

Amanda said, “Go to the class. If they really answer all your questions, that’s the way to find out how they got your address. Could it be the dating site? Do they spell your name wrong?”

“Everybody spells my name wrong. I even get things addressed to Mrs. Matt. Anyway, here’s the next installment of Steve’s opus. It’s exciting.”

 Amanda dropped the letters on the table and picked up the story. As she began reading she remarked, “Oh I was wondering when something was going to happen. I mean Paris is interesting and all that, but that first part seemed to talk more about what it wasn’t than what it was. No soot, no dog poop, no cigarettes, no interaction.”

 “In other words, not real? I suppose that’s the point somehow. The virtual is definitely not as expected. It’s even, in some ways, a negation of the real. But how would I know? I mean, since I’ve never experienced it—as far as I know—I can only guess what it will be like.”

“Yes!” said Amanda. “When you say ‘as far as you know,’ you’re suggesting that you may have experienced it without knowing it? I like that. Do you think we’re blocking it out? Are aliens erasing our memory?”

“Sure, any and all conceivable explanations. Maybe it’s where we go when we fall asleep. Or when we lose consciousness. Maybe consciousness itself is virtual reality.”

“I don’t know about that. What would that make reality?” asked Amanda.

“How about shadows on the wall of a cave?” suggested Virginia.

“Yeah, somehow Plato’s allegory is just as appealing as ever. And it’s been what? a couple thousand years?”

Virginia replied, “The blink of an eye from a certain perspective. And nobody’s come up with anything better. But go ahead, read on. I want to know what you think.”

Amanda read quietly for a while and turned the page. Finally she set it down and said, “Aha! I knew it. The real and the virtual are all mixed up together.”

“Yeah, but that part doesn’t seem particularly far-fetched. After all, they are. It’s a story about real people viewing the virtual. But how about the written and the reader? Did you notice anything like your own thoughts getting mixed up with what you were reading?” Virginia didn’t want to be too specific, in case it turned out she had completely imagined the previous weird experience.

Amanda looked thoughtful. “Well, it jumps around a little, if that’s what you mean. It wasn’t always clear who was saying what, but I think that’s kind of typical for first drafts. And I do sort of project myself into the story. Don’t you?”

“Indeed I do, but not usually to the point where I dialogue with the characters.” Virginia picked up the printout and scanned it, looking for the places she remembered the writing responding to her thought. Nothing jumped out at her, so she let it fall. “Maybe I just thought it happened. Sometimes I wonder about my sanity.”

“Oh Mom, you’re the sanest person I know.”

“Is that supposed to be reassuring? You’ve told me all about the people you work with.”