Charmed Thirds_ A Jessica Darling Novel - Megan McCafferty [1]
So far I've taken the NJ Transit #76 Shore Points Express for two reasons: holidays, and aid in nutritional or laundry-related emergencies, specifically, too little of one and too much of the other. On the laundry-related bus trips, I experienced the novelty of being the Port Authority passenger who no one wants to sit next to, as two duffels' worth of moldy clothes made me an even less desirable neighbor than the unlit cigar–chewing old-timer with the spooky glass eye who continually requested help with his TV Guide crossword puzzle.
As usual, I've allotted myself too much time for the type of mass-transit travel delays that only seem to occur when I'm not prepared for them. So with nothing else to do, I've spent money I can't afford to squander. I blew $3.80 on a speckled black-and-white composition notebook to match the dozen or so speckled black-and-white composition notebooks that I have exclusively used for my journals since, well . . . since you moved a thousand miles to Tennessee in tenth grade. I don't even know why I bought it, though, since my old one still has ten blank pages, and I hope that seeing Marcus for the first time since mid-January won't provide more than ten pages of angst.
Speaking of, I promise you'll get more mail from me once Marcus and I are reunited. You've been very kind not to remind me that I haven't been sticking to our Totally Guilt-Free Guidelines for Keeping in Touch. Especially when you wrote monthly, called weekly, e-mailed/IMed daily, and still found time to emerge as one of the most promising visual artists in the history of the Rhode Island School of Design. (I know you hate hype, but those black-and-white portraits of “notable nobodies” from your “(Extra)Ordinary” photography project were so tragicomically brilliant—even as mere JPEGs via e-mail.) I'll redeem myself over the next few months, you'll see. You escaped more than three years ago, but I still consider you an honorary member of Pineville High's Class of 2002 (a dubious honor, that). I'm sure you can't wait to hear all about the former classmates I'll try—and fail—to avoid all summer.
So, yes, I've been the hetero-female variation of pussy whipped. I wrote to Marcus so much this past year that it was hard to find time to write to you, too. (And while I'm making excuses, I'll also mention how I actually had to apply myself for the first time in my academic career.) I'd like to apologize, but I won't, and not just because a lack of contrition provides the very foundation of the Guilt-Free Guidelines. You know me well enough to recognize that I'm in agony anyway because it's been a loooooooooooong time since I've enjoyed more than the—ahem!—figurative effects of my sexually spellbound condition. . . .
Dickwhippedly yours,
J.
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* * *
To: jdarling@columbia.edu
From: flutie_marcus@gakkai.edu
Date: May 31st, 2003
Subject: Poetry Spam #21
furious flutter
awakened hummingbird heart
hello hello love
—Original Message—
From: Joe Mailbiz [zihxziwkyg@mailbiz.com]
Sent: May 30th, 2003
To: flutie_marcus@gakkai.edu
Subject: hello objectify simmer tenement checklist
roadway hunk mat freudian mischievous buckboard love gubernatorial snuggle cretin flatulent furbish quantity furious seventieth controlled con tireless stereoscopy hummingbird lunch mutineer fourth dialysis backlash concur triumphal percussive allotting coxcomb desist copter aforesaid percent income causation frilly incorporate awakened crosslink bleach apollonian skullcap suspend betray ethel adjourn inhibition heart consider fell pride compose foster dope inviolate flutter assuage chock whale singlehanded sawtooth condescend sunshiny connote dehumidify prissy hello
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the first
I keep rereading Marcus's latest haiku, printed out precisely for this purpose. How did he come up with Poetry Spam? Where did he get the idea to turn his junk e-mail into poems? I marvel at his talent for revealing the hidden beauty in ordinary things.
I miss him and I know he misses me, too.
There's nowhere to sit in Port Authority