A Girl's Life Online (12 page)

As we got closer, Mark seemed to worry more and more about our secret being found out. Over and over again he wrote, “You really wouldn't want your mother finding out about this.”

I didn't need him to tell me this. I had never considered telling my parents. The only way they would ever know about Mark, I thought, was if we were still together when I was eighteen.

We had a very complicated relationship. One minute we might talk about kid stuff—like making snowmen—and the next we'd be in a deep political debate. At fourteen I was a Republican because my parents were, and I liked to think I knew everything about politics. I was cocky about it, especially with my friends, but maybe even with Mark.

Mark was a political independent. He said that people who tied themselves down to one party were complete idiots. He had voted for Clinton, and was proud of it. He said that he blamed Reagan for all our national debt problems. He thought most Republicans would tar and feather him for that comment, but he didn't really care.

In the middle of all our chatting about everything under the sun, I told Mark about how I was training for the junior nationals in swimming, which were to be held in Texas. I was also preparing for a piano competition, and I had tons of rehearsals for my choir, which was to sing at the all-state convention. Even if Mark came to Connecticut, I wouldn't be able to see him very much.

Mark couldn't have been more sympathetic. “I'd do anything in the world for you, Katie,” he said. “I have the money to buy you almost anything, you know. The sky's the limit.”

“Mark, I don't need anything like that, you know.”

“Then how about if I come to see you? How would you like that?”

That evening I had the house to myself. I had just carried the portable phone into the living room and what he said made me stop in my tracks.

“I'd really like to see you face-to-face. It would be so much better than being on-line or on the phone. I'd make you laugh. You know I would.”

I sat down on the piano bench and stroked a couple of notes. He kept talking.

“You're at the piano? Could you play something for me? How about ‘Ode to Joy' or ‘Chopsticks'?”

“Mark, those are first-year pieces. You must have heard them a million times.”

“That's okay. I want to hear them. I want to hear them as you would play them.”

“All right then, I guess.”

I played the pieces he wanted, and a couple more. He listened quietly for a moment, then started talking over the music.

“What kind of piano do you have?”

“An old Baldwin.”

“I once had a Yamaha. I think those are really great pianos, maybe even better than Steinway or . . . what's that German-sounding one?”

“Bösendorfer?”

“Yeah, they're just as good as Bösendorfer. I once had a Yamaha, a white baby grand.”

“That's so tacky,” I teased. “You might as well own a red one or a pink one.”

“Play some more.”

He was silent for a moment while I played. I finished a short piece, and in half of a beat he spoke.

“What if I came to Texas?”

At first, I didn't know what to say.

“Katie, what if I were to fly there from California so we could meet?”

“Oh, I'm not sure it's the right time or place. It's a national meet, you know. I'm going to be under a lot of pressure.”

“Katie, are we ever going to get together?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are we just going to talk forever? This has been going on for six months, you know. I thought we had a connection, that you wanted to see me as much as I want to see you.”

“But I do . . .”

“All right, then you're probably just nervous. That's understandable. But believe me, it's okay. I'm just going to come, and I'll see you there. Even if it's just an hour, that's okay. We deserve it, don't you think?”

I couldn't answer.

“Katie? Do you want to see me?”

“Yes.”

“All right then. It's settled. I can't wait.”

He asked if he should stay at the same hotel my team had booked. I said yes, but I told him I had never seen the place, so he should not expect much. I didn't know what kind of hotels he was used to staying in, or whether he knew how to rough it.

“There's probably going to be five hundred girls and their coaches in this hotel,” I warned. “It could be really noisy.”

“I can handle it, no problem. I really want to finally meet you.”

“Me too.”

The day before I left I was excited, as if it were Christmas Eve, or the day before my birthday. It was a Monday night. I didn't have to swim that day, because they rarely made us swim before a large meet.

So after doing a little homework, I began to lay some clothes out on my bed. My family always says I overpack. I am not quite as bad as David, who once packed seven shirts for two days, but I can overdo it. This time I had an excuse. The winter climate in Dallas is iffy. It could be cold or warm. It could rain or be perfectly sunny. That meant I had to bring many types of clothing, because I always felt it was better to be safe than sorry.

Eventually, the wardrobe I chose covered my bed, and that didn't include shoes. I packed jeans, sweaters, shorts, dresses, you name it, I had it in there. I wanted to have choices when I got to Texas. And though I do think about my clothes a lot, I honestly didn't think about what I would wear when I first met Mark. I knew that given the way he felt about me, anything—even jeans and a T-shirt—would be fine.

It was about ten P.M. when Mark called. I was excited to hear his voice. In my mind he was no longer just an on-line buddy that I met in a chat room. He had become the love of my life. I loved the way he talked. It was soothing and sweet. I lay back on my bed, feeling comfortable, happy,
loved
.

“Yup, I'm just about ready to go,” I told him. “I've got a little packing to do, and some homework to finish.”

“I've got my ticket,” he said.

I could hear a clothes dryer running in the background. Mark said he was doing some laundry before leaving.

“I've never washed my own clothes, ever,” I told him.

“You've got to be kidding. What kind of spoiled brat are you?”

“Hey, I'm only fourteen. Besides, we've always had someone to do these things.”

“I'm kidding you, Katie.”

“It's kind of cute, you doing the wash like that.”

“I know how to cook, too. Everybody should have these kinds of basic skills, Katie. It's part of life.”

At that moment I thought I heard a woman's voice in the background wherever Mark was. “Hold on,” he said, and he covered the phone with his hand. When he came back on the line he chuckled and then said, “I'm sorry.”

“Who was that?” I asked.

“Oh, just my sister-in-law. She's visiting,” he said.

I couldn't remember him ever saying he had a brother, but I let this pass.

We avoided talking about how meeting would change our relationship. As much as I wanted to see Mark, there was a part of me (a very small part) that wanted to just have the voice and the image of him in that picture from Disney World. Meeting him would mean I would be forced to accept the way he really was, including whatever flaws I might see. I was sure I could do this, though. I mean, I knew what he looked like, and that was not what I was in love with.

“When I get to Dallas, I'm going to want to see you as soon as possible,” he said.

“I don't know where I'll be, but you can leave a message on the hotel phone.”

“Will you have your own room?”

“Ashley and I are sharing. It should be registered under my name, though.”

“I want to spend as much time as possible with you. There's so much I want to ask, and I have a lot to tell you about myself, too. It'll be so much better, face-to-face.”

“I gotta go Mark. It's late and I'm going to have trouble falling asleep as it is.”

“I know, I'm really excited, too.”

“Wow. I guess I'll see you tomorrow.”

“Sweet dreams, Katie.”

I hung up the phone and smiled to myself. I turned my head on my pillow, pulled my quilt up, and thought about him. Though I didn't expect it, I quickly fell asleep.

S
ince I didn't have to leave until one in the afternoon, I went to my choral practice at 6:45 A.M. I joined the group, stood up tall, and opened my mouth, but my heart and mind were not in it. The same was true when I sat down at the piano to play an accompaniment.

I wasn't required to go to class after choir, so my mom took me to the hairdresser's for a trim. The haircutter was a young man named Daniel, who always wore black leather pants. He described my cut as “fun and flirtatious.” When I left, he said, “See you in Hollywood, sexy!”

On the way home in the car I worried about meeting Mark. I was not concerned about whether I would seem smart enough, but I was worried about whether I would be attractive enough. I wasn't interested in seducing him, but I wanted to impress him. Would his face show that he was pleased to see me or disappointed?

When I got home my mom came upstairs with me to check my packing. I had a large bag stuffed with team towels, uniforms, and suits. I had another big rolling suitcase for all my other clothes. When my mother looked inside she said it was jammed with far too many things. She made me take out two shirts, a pair of jeans, and a sweater. “It would be all right if you just packed swimsuits,” she said. “Because that's all you'll need. You're not going anywhere but the pool.”

Soon after, we wrestled everything downstairs and into our family's green minivan. My mom drove and we stopped to pick up Ashley, her mother, and Elizabeth, another friend from the team.

The trip to Newark Airport took us through the Bronx, over the George Washington Bridge, and down the New Jersey Turnpike. For a while we tried to find every letter of the alphabet, in order, on the passing billboards. When we got tired of this we sang songs, including “Turkey in the Straw” and “Deep in the Heart of Texas.” In the quiet moments, I imagined Mark going to the airport in Los Angeles and boarding a plane to see me.

As we drove around the airport, parked, and headed for the plane, I felt more and more excited about my decision to see Mark. I'm not sure whether everyone else thought I was anxious about the meet, or nervous about the trip, but my anticipation must have been obvious. My heart was filled with excitement. At last Mark and I were going to meet.

After the plane landed at the Dallas-Fort Worth airport, we found our luggage and dragged it to the yellow-and-black Hertz rental car counter. For a while, none of the clerks could find our reservation. While we waited, Ashley and I sat on the luggage and tried to spot “Texas big hair.” My mother said that they probably have stations—like gas stations—where Texan women fill up with hair spray. It doesn't surprise me that Texas is a beauty pageant mecca. Even in the airport you can see that women invest a lot of time on their hair, makeup, and splashy clothes. Texas just feels different from Yankee country, in a way that I liked. Everything seemed so proper and friendly, and I loved the accents.