Wouldn't It Be Easier?

Now, months after that first conversation, AngelofMusic was every bit as interesting as he'd been in the beginning. Every conversation sparkled with delicious iconoclasm and his sharp, but engaging wit. He never disappointed her, and she never missed a night. Far from losing interest, Christine found herself feeling a rising craving each time she logged off. She wanted more.

Tonight, she logged on with barely suppressed excitement. It took Meg's audacious problem solving to pin a way to satisfy that craving. In the middle of a painfully slow midmorning lull, Meg casually sked Christine how her cyber-romance was going. Christine had grinned and begun recounting the most recent conversation. It was something about Mendelsshon's use of harmonics, and Meg was lost in the first few seconds.

Oh, the duties of friendship, she inwardly groaned, but kept a patient look of interest with raised eyebrows and frequent, "Mm-hmm"s.

"He says he's been reworking some of Mendelsshon's concertos for guitar. I'd love to hear them…" Christine trailed off wistfully, and Meg leapt at the pause.

"Why don't you just get a webcam and a microphone?" she asked pointedly, heading off on the pretense of wiping down the already-gleaming espresso machine. "That way, you could find out for sure whether this guy is all he says he is."

Christine simply stood there, flabbergasted. Why didn't she just get a webcam and microphone? She had enough saved up for the equipment, and it would certainly be worth it to hear AngelofMusic's music. On the way home from work, she stopped at the neighborhood Target and bought a low-quality webcam and a high-quality microphone. It took a matter of minutes to install the new equipment.

minorchord: Hi there! Edited any good articles lately?

It was her standard log-on line.

AngelofMusic: No. How was your day, Little Latte?

That was his.

minorchord: I realized something today. You realize that we two music-lovers have been communicating in total silence?

AngelofMusic: That's typically how it works…

minorchord: Well, I dropped by Target today and picked up a webcam and microphone. If you do the same, we can just log on and talk – no slow typing.

Christine waited for a response. She was beginning to wonder if he had been disconnected somehow. Normally, he wrote back quickly; she guessed he must type more than eighty words-per-minute.

minorchord: Not that your typing is particularly slow. And I could finally see the genius behind the font. :-)

Christine continued to wait. The lack of response began to feel awkwardly purposeful; she imagined his disapproval radiating through the screen.

minorchord: I just thought it would be nice to exchange music that way. Maybe we could even play music for each other.

Still nothing. Absolutely deliberate silence.

minorchord: Angel? You there?

After a few moments, she saw that he was typing again.

AngelofMusic: You already bought a webcam? And you want me to do the same. I thought you'd be different from all the camwhores. I didn't think that kind of thing would matter to you. I guess I was wrong.

minorchord: Geez…I thought it was a good idea. Sorry I ever said anything. I just thought it'd...

AngelofMusic has logged off.

Christine sat blinking in shock, taken aback by the ferocity of his response and his sudden disappearance. Suspicion and curiosity rose in her mind. Why was this normally calm, intelligent man suddenly freaking out over the suggestion they use webcams? She looked at her new microphone and cam sitting, unused, on her computer desktop. She was telling the stark truth when she said being a barista did not pay well; this purchase represented several nights' tips that she could have used in more practical ways.

Christine's eyes wandered back to the chat window. The nice thing about instant messaging was that messages posted to a person who logged out would still be delivered. He could log off, but if he ever opened Trillian again, he would at least have to glance at her messages. She would explain her motivations and then leave him alone. If he accepted her explanation and messaged her, wonderful. If not, she'd have to chalk this up to experience and move on.

minorchord: I don't know what made you so angry. It's not like you have to buy a webcam if you don't want to. I'd just like to hear you, and I'd like for you to hear me. That's what you always say, isn't it? That the true art lies in live performance? And I don't see why you should get so upset that I ask to hear you, unless you lied to me. Unless you can't really perform. But it's up to you. I'm still here.

She pressed the ENTER button and watched her words appear in the window. The ball had bounced entirely into his court; it was up to him to respond and repair their friendship. She hoped he would do exactly that. In the meantime, Christine let her mind wander to justifications of this sudden harshness. He probably had had a bad experience with some woman in the past who had insisted on webcams. That had to be it. She was willing to chalk his strange behavior up to past relationship trauma; goodness knew she had enough of that herself. Or maybe he was hipster enough to view all users of webcams as shallow and simple? Or maybe she had said something, done something, to make him think she had ulterior motives…

Reluctantly, she turned off the monitor and stumbled down the hall to take her shower. It was a short hallway, which was fortunate because she suddenly was aware of exactly how much sleep she'd been missing. If he never messages back, she thought, I'll at least start getting enough sleep again. As the hot water cascaded over her neck and shoulders, the rock-hard spasms in those sensitive muscles jumped. An internet friendship wasn't worth this angst, was it?

There was something about him, though; something that tugged at the back of her mind, making her want him to write back. The ball was indeed in his court. Christine desperately wanted him to pick it up…and play.