Thumb War
It was a Friday night-a night to live-but instead I was stuck drowning in my one-bedroom apartment. I was busy munching away on trail mix, the usual appetizer before dinner. I had pizza coming. Not the kind you have delivered, but the kind that you just throw into the oven and hope for the best, although I already had a gut feeling that it was going to suck. I’m not sure if I was just too busy or too broke to make the call to the local pizzeria, but I wouldn’t say that it mattered. The important thing was that I wasn’t going to starve.
I sat on my bed with a pencil behind my ear. Papers were everywhere. I didn’t want anything to look up to, so I made sure to keep the television off. Not even music playing in the background would be tolerated to act as a distraction from my desolate life. The reason for what some would say was strange behavior was simply because I had dreadful exams on Monday. Believe me, a cocktail of any kind would be nice to deal with the frustration of what was coming, but instead, I’d convinced myself I needed the whole weekend to study.
I was finishing my bachelor’s degree at my local college and trying my best to stay focused. Although I have to admit, with family and friends so close 24/7, it could sometimes cause me to be counterproductive. So, when my sister called, drooling at the thought of me going out with her, I wasn’t exactly surprised.
Her name is April, and I told her no. At first, she thought I was joking. Then she started whining, basically saying, “Please, Amber! Because I don’t have a million friends to go with.”
I told her not to beg. It’s not my fault that all of her friends were busy like I was. Since I really didn’t want to hear about the time I hadn’t been there for her for the rest of my life, I eventually told her I would go, but only for an hour, two tops. The way she thanked me was to say, “Please wear a cute top or dress if you somehow can’t put two and two together and wear cute bottoms as well.”
This insult came as no surprise. April loves to dress up; she is more into looks than I am. She says it’s therapeutic. I wouldn’t say that’s a complete fabrication. I just think her bank statements would prove that she may have an obsession with shopping.
She is a natural blonde with green eyes and tan skin, and she has beautiful facial features that I’d like to think we both share. Despite a few minor differences, we do look like sisters. April is the spitting image of Mom, and I look more like Dad.
The timer on the oven began to beep, reminding me not to burn my five bucks this time. I cut a few slices of the pizza, and then I went and sat at the table. I sat there peeling off the pepperoni to eat them separately. I was trying to think of what I could wear out tonight, and it was becoming a daunting task.
I was on the verge of losing my mind when I got a call from a number that I didn’t recognize. I was surprised to hear that April was on the other end when I answered it. I wouldn’t say it was the “friendly reminder” she claimed it was, but she went on to explain why she had called me again.
Her words were, “I just wanted to let you know that I love you, but if you don’t dress cute, I’ll have to disown you.” A little confused, I responded, “Umm, why are you calling me from another number?” She said that she had left hers out of reach and that she was too busy to get it, but since Tommy’s was right there, she figured she would use his.
Tommy is her boyfriend, who has just moved from another state. I couldn’t help but wonder as I pictured her putting on her eye shadow: “Too busy or just unwilling,” but whatever. I slowly got myself together, choosing a short, metallic-style purple dress to wear. Paired with a pair of silver heels, I would say that it’s club-appropriate, so I think April will give me an A for effort.
After blowing the dust off my makeup kit, I put a little bit of makeup on. I wanted to send a picture of myself standing in front of the mirror to April, so she’d give me her approval. Not sure if she had her phone now, I sent a message with a question mark after her name, and when she didn’t respond after a few minutes, I knew she was still in the same spot. Did I mention her nickname was “Slowpoke?”
I called Tommy’s phone, and she answered. I asked if she could grab her phone so that I could send the picture to her, and she told me to just send it to his phone instead. She promised me that she would delete it right after she saw it, so I decided to abide by her request and took the picture.
As I was getting ready to send it, I got a smudge of foundation on my screen from my uncleaned hands. While attempting to wipe away the mistake, I accidentally deleted the last two numbers. I immediately typed in what I was sure the numbers were, and then I sent the picture, asking,
{So, what do you think?}
I waited about ten minutes when I got a response that said,
{Beautiful!}
The message was too short; there were no ands, ifs, or buts, so I typed,
{April?}
Ten seconds later, I’m reading a message that says,
{No}
I checked the number, not sure if it wasn’t April, because it was Tommy. To my horror, it wasn’t him either. I had accidentally sent the picture to a different number. Mortified, I replied,
{Sorry, wrong number.}
How embarrassing! It hit me how weird it was that I’d sent a picture to a complete stranger, but also how weird it was that they’d responded, telling me that I looked beautiful. It wasn’t that I was shocked by the compliment, as I never thought that I wasn’t, at the very least, a decent-looking woman.
I’m a brunette with dark brown eyes. My hair is a little longer than shoulder-length. I’ve come to learn that a little makeup paired with a dress, and voilà, I become a five-foot-eight model of some sort, just in need of a little bit of sunlight.
The truth is, and has always been, that in my daily life, I’m probably closer to a Plain Jane than to getting a call from Victoria to be an angel. Sweats and T-shirts were my usual go-tos. Makeup was usually taboo. I loved a good moisturizer and Strawberry Chapstick. My personality-well, let’s just say I’m working on it.
Anyway, on with my night...
April eventually got the picture, and she and Tommy picked me up shortly after eleven. We got drunk and twirled on the dance floor. In the end, she recovered a lost earring, and I forever lost a little bit of dignity. When I returned to my apartment, I heard my phone ping with a message. I was thinking it was April telling me they made it in, but it wasn’t. I read the text aloud...
{Did the night approve of your look as well?}
Could we both be idiots? It was the wrong number from earlier. I responded, saying,
{You have the wrong number.}
Their reply was,
{No, you had the wrong number.}
In some odd, unbelievably, no way type of way, I asked them,
{Do I know you?}
They replied and said,
{No}
“So, adios, go away; you don’t know me!” is what I wanted to say, but I didn’t. I ignored it. I moved on with my life.
After getting into bed for the night, I got another message.
{Goodnight?}
Good grief! This can’t be happening. I texted them back,
{Goodbye!}
Who is this guy? Or...girl? Weirdo is most appropriate, I suppose. I rolled my eyes. I’m too tired to play this dicey game.
***
When morning came, I was in shock.
{Morning!}
That was the message I stared back at. “You again?!” I thought. “Huh?” is what I typed. I received a question mark in return, and I pondered if I could be slipping in and out of a different dimension. Surely this can’t be reality. Did they not get the message? I asked them,
{Why are you still texting me?}
I waited...
I lay there, stretched out across my bed. I was biting my nails, something I can’t say I’ve done before. When I received their next message, we proceeded to go back and forth, texting one another.
{Why not? Do you have a significant other?}
{Amber: I’m suspicious}
{Suspicious or curious? I’m curious.}
{Amber: None of your business. You know what? Goodbye for the second time.}
What a strange human being! Perhaps I’ve met my match. Ugh, never mind that; I don’t want to get out of bed. I wasn’t hungover, just over the weekend.
After thirty minutes of convincing myself that I needed energy, I ran out for some coffee. I received another text along the way.
{Why so salty?}
{Amber: Trust me, I’m not. I’ve recently cut back on sodium. I don’t get this. Who are you? Where do you live?}
Their area code suggested that they may live in Arizona-Phoenix, to be exact-but I knew that if Tommy was here in Dallas with us, then this person could be anywhere. Their response suggested that I might be correct.
{I live nowhere worthy of mention. To be free and able to roam as I please is all I could ask for.}
Yup! Every killer’s response, I thought.
{Amber: So, you’re a traveler. What are you running from?}
A few seconds later, I sent another message.
{Amber: Btw, I’m pretty sure this is harassment at this point.}
{Then why haven’t you done anything about it? The fact that you haven’t shows that I have piqued your interest.}
{Amber: Um, maybe because I haven’t gotten to it yet. It has only been, what, 14 hours since you started bothering me? Half of which was spent sleeping!}
{How can you feel threatened by a person who’s given you a compliment? I mean, sure, you could block me, but I don’t think you will. Don’t you have a heart.}
Aha! That’s it. That’s what they want.
{Amber: Oh, I bet you’d love to have my heart, wouldn’t you? What would you do with it? Are you generally a stalker?}
My thumbs aren’t finished. Even if I wanted to stop, they just kept going.
{Amber: Just so you know, I am in shape, I work out daily, and I can probably kick your ass if I need to, or at least outrun you.}
{I’m actually laughing. Calm down, you madwoman.}
I saved their number under “The Killer.” Gosh, my life has to be pretty boring. I can’t believe I’m entertaining this.
***
Hours pass. I’m at the library. I stand in the mystery section. It’s my favorite genre. I’m not looking for any book in particular. I’ve probably read most of them. Today, I just came to see if there were any new ones that would catch my eye. My phone vibrates, and I reach down into my jacket, nearly dropping it, as I rush to take it out.
{The Killer: I can’t stop looking at your picture. You have me thinking that maybe my behavior is a bit strange.}
{Amber: You think??}
{The Killer: I apologize.}
{Amber: Can you at least tell me your name?}
{The Killer: I’d like to get to know you before you know who I am.}
{Amber: Why? Are you like this famous person or something?}
Ha! I laugh louder than I should, and I feel like such a badass because of it. I placed the book I was looking over back onto the shelf, and I took a seat in the chair nearest to me. I watch the screen like it’s a bomb. I’m just waiting for it to go off, but then it hits me... I’m so much better than this!
Why am I sitting here waiting for answers to come that I wouldn’t bet my last dollar on receiving? I decide it’s best to try to figure things out myself. I pull up the web browser, and I proceed to type their phone number into the search engine to see what information I can find about them.
The results come back, and I’ve now wasted fifteen seconds of my life that I can’t get back. There isn’t any information associated with the phone number that would be useful for figuring out their identity. When their next message comes through, it leaves me even more confused.
{No, not me per se. Just my face.}
I look around the library. I want to yell out, “Is there anyone here who can help me?” I need to figure out who this person is and what they want from me. By the looks of things, I’m getting nowhere.
It wasn’t my intention to turn this mistake into an open investigation. However, I would be lying if I said that it wasn’t in my nature. There is a reason I’m studying criminal justice, and this case has my name written all over it.
Attempting to dig deeper, I decide to send one final message:
{Are you a model?}
Their reply leaves me speechless.
{No, I’m an inmate. I know that sounds crazy, but please let me explain. I won’t pretend to be a model citizen, but I’m far from guilty.}
Done here, I stood up and began to make my way out of the library. I made eye contact briefly with an employee who asked if I had found what I was looking for. I shook my head, yes. It wasn’t exactly the truth, but my mind wasn’t in the right place.
Once outside, I slowly started to walk down the stone path that would lead me back to my apartment. “That was fun while it lasted, I guess,” were the words that echoed in my brain. Shortly after, it was, “Amber, don’t even think about it.”
I couldn’t see myself responding to the message that was weighing me down in my back pocket, and with each step I was desperately trying to forget about it. I just couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d had since the beginning that maybe The Killer and I were somehow meant to cross paths and the reason why might be as apparent as the clouds in the sky.
How could I walk away when I wanted to know the story?
The end!
