"Dear Larry,
I miss you. There, I've admitted it. I can't help it. Why?
Why did you leave? Why didn't I go with you?"
Renée walked into Ally's bedroom, brandishing a crumpled piece of paper.
"Ally, we need to talk. You've been writing letters to him again and I can't let you keep doing this to yourself. He hurt you. He hurt you bad, but I will not let you throw your life away over him. I've set you up an account on an internet dating website; I haven't put out a personal for you. That is up to you. You need to do this."
Ally opened and shut her mouth several times, as if none of the words she knew could convey how she was feeling. Silently, she walked over to the computer and looked at the screen. Seeing her online moniker, she turned to Renée and said "NeurosesChick? Is that the best you can do? Oh, well." Looking back at the screen, she ran her fingers over the keyboard and started typing:
"Hi, I'm a 31 year old woman. I need a guy as a friend who I can talk to, as I haven't got over my ex-boyfriend yet. All enquiries and jokes to AskMyTherapist@aol.com"
Satisfied that the email did her justice, she clicked on the send button. Leaning back in her seat, she put her head in her hands, emitted a guttural moan and muttered sotto voce "Oh, God! What have I done?"
Occurring over in Detroit...
"Sam, please! Can't you wait for your mother outside?" Larry was growing increasingly impatient, drumming a tattoo on the computer desk. Outside, a car horn sounded. Larry sighed, half with annoyance, half with relief as he kissed Sam on the cheek and reminded him to behave. He looked at the phone, dialled the area code for Boston and punched in half of Ally's phone number before hanging up. He was disgusted with himself. He could represent mass murderers in court, but he couldn't make the call he had been trying to make for the last six months.
He signed on to AOL, greeted by a cheery "You've Got Spam", which included three porno emails, two life insurance policies and one virus. All of these had the obligatory miss-spelt headers. He opened his favourites and logged into the one website that Sam had convinced him to join. He was "HotFudgeSundae", an allusion to when Ally had dumped candied toppings on him when he was having lunch with Helena. Nobody had emailed him, save two men who thought he was looking for a relationship. He decided to edit his profile to read:
"Lonely guy, 31, seeks anyone for friendship. My son has driven me to this, saying that I need to stop mourning the loss of an old girlfriend. All jibes and mockery to HotFudgeSundae@aol.com"
Meanwhile, in Massachusetts...
Ally was pacing nervously, staring at the monitor as though it might bite her. Renée came in and softly asked Ally what was wrong. "There's this guy online and ... I think ... I think I might like him!" Renée looked at Ally with her head on one side, and said, "Ally, you can either email this guy to find out what's what, or you can draw another picture of your wedding dress".
Slowly, Ally lowered her shaking fingers to the keyboard and began to type.
Renée walked into Ally's bedroom, brandishing a crumpled piece of paper.
"Ally, we need to talk. You've been writing letters to him again and I can't let you keep doing this to yourself. He hurt you. He hurt you bad, but I will not let you throw your life away over him. I've set you up an account on an internet dating website; I haven't put out a personal for you. That is up to you. You need to do this."
Ally opened and shut her mouth several times, as if none of the words she knew could convey how she was feeling. Silently, she walked over to the computer and looked at the screen. Seeing her online moniker, she turned to Renée and said "NeurosesChick? Is that the best you can do? Oh, well." Looking back at the screen, she ran her fingers over the keyboard and started typing:
"Hi, I'm a 31 year old woman. I need a guy as a friend who I can talk to, as I haven't got over my ex-boyfriend yet. All enquiries and jokes to AskMyTherapist@aol.com"
Satisfied that the email did her justice, she clicked on the send button. Leaning back in her seat, she put her head in her hands, emitted a guttural moan and muttered sotto voce "Oh, God! What have I done?"
Occurring over in Detroit...
"Sam, please! Can't you wait for your mother outside?" Larry was growing increasingly impatient, drumming a tattoo on the computer desk. Outside, a car horn sounded. Larry sighed, half with annoyance, half with relief as he kissed Sam on the cheek and reminded him to behave. He looked at the phone, dialled the area code for Boston and punched in half of Ally's phone number before hanging up. He was disgusted with himself. He could represent mass murderers in court, but he couldn't make the call he had been trying to make for the last six months.
He signed on to AOL, greeted by a cheery "You've Got Spam", which included three porno emails, two life insurance policies and one virus. All of these had the obligatory miss-spelt headers. He opened his favourites and logged into the one website that Sam had convinced him to join. He was "HotFudgeSundae", an allusion to when Ally had dumped candied toppings on him when he was having lunch with Helena. Nobody had emailed him, save two men who thought he was looking for a relationship. He decided to edit his profile to read:
"Lonely guy, 31, seeks anyone for friendship. My son has driven me to this, saying that I need to stop mourning the loss of an old girlfriend. All jibes and mockery to HotFudgeSundae@aol.com"
Meanwhile, in Massachusetts...
Ally was pacing nervously, staring at the monitor as though it might bite her. Renée came in and softly asked Ally what was wrong. "There's this guy online and ... I think ... I think I might like him!" Renée looked at Ally with her head on one side, and said, "Ally, you can either email this guy to find out what's what, or you can draw another picture of your wedding dress".
Slowly, Ally lowered her shaking fingers to the keyboard and began to type.