Long Distance Lover

by Rylee Swann

  “I’d love to. How about Thursday? Will you be feeling better by then?”

  The eagerness in his voice is unmistakable and brings a smile to my lips. “I’ll see you on Thursday. Seven o’clock?”

  “Yes, I’ll bring a pizza.”

  We disconnect and I sit there smiling like an idiot.

  “Well?” Gemma asks, coming back.

  “He said he’ll bring a pizza.” Huge belly laughs erupt from me and Gemma’s confused face only serves to make me laugh harder.

  “What is so funny about pizza?” she asks, incredulous.

  I lose myself in the memory.

  “Which one do you want to watch tonight?” a younger version of Jayson asks from his seat next to me on the floor of my living room. My meager video collection is strewn around us, along with a couple movies he brought from Canada.

  I shrug my shoulders. “I don’t know. Whatever.”

  All I care about is that he’s here on a visit, since we’re long distance lovers.

  He frowns and picks up a video of Monty Python and the Holy Grail. “How about this one?”

  Again, I shrug. “If you want.”

  I’ve been grumping at him for a little while now. I don’t know why. I’m not angry at him. It’s just a mood, one I can’t seem to break out of. To his credit, he’s been taking it without complaint.

  Now, he stands and goes to where I keep my stash of take-out menus. Perusing them, he opens his mouth to speak and then apparently thinks better of it. Moving to my landline phone, he dials a number off the menu. When it connects, he says, “Yeah, I’d like to order two pepperoni pizzas for delivery.”

  “Two?” I say, thinking that’s way too much pizza.

  He glances at me but doesn’t respond. Instead, he gives the person on the phone my address and a moment later he hangs up. He pulls his wallet out from his back pocket and very deliberately counts out a few bills. He exchanged his Canadian dollars for U.S. at the airport and is still getting used to having to look at the numbers on the bills rather than at the different colors.

  Satisfied, he places the money on my desk and pops Monty Python into my VCR. He sits on the couch and I eventually crawl up from the floor to join him. He laughs uproariously at jokes he’s heard a thousand or more times while I sit like a lump beside him. At one point, he recites the dialog along with the actors.

  About a half hour later, the doorbell rings. Jayson pauses the video, grabs his money and answers the door. The transaction takes but a minute and when he brings the pizza in it smells delicious to the point my mouth starts watering. He sets the boxes on the coffee table and heads to the kitchen to grab plates and napkins.

  When he returns, he laughs at me. I didn’t wait for him and am more than halfway done with my first slice. I grin up at him through pizza grease and take the offered napkin. I devour the rest of the slice, wipe my hands and mouth, and then tackle-hug him.

  “My savior! You knew I was hungry. You saved me!”

  He laughs, awkwardly returning the hug, and not commenting on my prior hangry mood. “How’s the pizza?”

  “Freaking delicious!” I reach over and grab another slice, handing it to him. He takes a large bite out of it while I continue to smile like a giddy idiot.

  “What?” He picks up a napkin and wipes his mouth.

  “Thank you,” I say in a quiet, heartfelt voice.

  “You’re welcome. I know how to take care of my girl.”

  He leans forward and takes the movie off pause.

  I’m ready now to laugh along with him.

  “Dee?” Gemma says, her brows pushed together in concern.

  “Yeah?” I realize the enormous smile from that night is stretched across my lips now. And, that Gemma is waiting for an answer. “A good memory is all.” I’m unwilling to share more than that. I want to revel in it privately a bit more. “A very good memory.”

  16

  Jayson

  Placing my order for a pepperoni pizza, I sit at an empty booth to wait for it to be ready. They must have had a run on pepperoni requests. There were none available to just be popped into the oven to get reheated. I’m getting one made now from scratch. This gives me time to think, a dangerous exercise at best.

  A million hours and so many days with Dee. Too many to count. But not a second was wasted. Dee and I met behind the safety and security of our computer screens. I was a twenty-seven-year-old ass with a drinking problem and she was…older, wiser, a delight to talk to.

  More than that.

  I fell in love with her words, never having seen her face. Her mind was razor sharp, her sense of humor goofy and endearing. Her imagination limitless. Her heart pure. She had no idea the almost immediate effect she had on me. I felt safe, wanted, loved, necessary. I could only hope I was capable of giving her a little of the same.

  We role-played online in a text-based world where vampires and other monsters were real but we imbued our characters with a depth of humanity that allowed for astounding compassion and raison d’être. The stories we told together made me forget about my real-world problems. We didn’t roll dice and have our actions decided for us. We created living, breathing people who we cared about, and we followed their lives as they appeared from our fingertips on keyboards.

  From us sprung forth life.

  And love.

  In essence, we were writing our own never-ending story, a book comprised of scene upon scene of our character interactions, life and death moments, and secretive machinations with other characters that inhabited the same game world.

  When I finally screwed my courage to the sticking place and sent her a post from me instead of my character, and she typed back words of her own—not those of her character—a beautiful sense of freedom and exultation filled me. She made my heart beat with a steady desire for life. She brought more joy than at any other time in my meager twenty-seven years. Gave me more self-worth than ever I gave myself credit for when high or wasted. Or even sober, for that matter.

  This beautiful stranger wanted to talk to me. Me, not my character.

  I know she shared this wicked-cool connection we had. We started talking to each other more and more before we went in character, and it was not long after that when she gave me her email address. She wanted more as much as I did. I was positive that to her I wasn’t just another player, and not long after, this was confirmed. She gave me her phone number.

  All these amazing and painfully exquisite memories flood me while I stand in a pizza parlor waiting for my order. I have a date not only with Dee tonight, but with destiny. I have a plan, not a very devious one, but a plan nonetheless. I’m going to make her remember our joyous times together when we role-played. I’m going to get her to tell new stories of old characters with me, and it will either be the best night of our lives or the worst.

  This plan will either work or break my heart.

  “That’ll be twenty-eight dollars and eighty-seven cents.”

  The cashier’s voice rouses me from my reverie, and I dig out the money to pay for tonight’s dinner with Dee. Not long after, I’m standing in front of her door, my heart thumping like a jackhammer.

  The pizza burns my hand through the box and I shift the positions of it and the cold bottles of soda I picked up as I knock. I’m surprised I don’t drop everything, since I’ve always been something of a clumsy oaf. I’m impressed at my sudden acrobatic skills.

  From the other side of the door, comes, “Who is it?” in Dee’s singsong voice. She’s goofing around, barely able to contain her laughter.

  I smile, the warmth in my chest vying for the number one spot with my pizza-heated hand. I play along. “Land shark.”

  “You have the wrong house. I don’t know a land shark,” she says without missing a beat.

  Laughing, I shake my head. I realize now what I should have said. It’s not too late though. “Pardon me, it’s the Spanish Inquisition.”

  “Oh, really? I wasn’t expecting you.” There’s a sno
rt of amusement that’s quickly muffled, as if she’s covered her mouth against laughter.

  “No one ever does,” I deadpan as she opens the door.

  She’s laughing, eyes alight with humor, and beautiful as ever wearing a pair of frayed gray sweatpants and an oversized white tee.

  I start to bend to kiss her in greeting but she grabs the box of pizza and disappears into the apartment. I follow, shutting the door behind me and doing my best to keep Mac from knocking the soda bottles from my hands.

  “If I’d known this was a black-tie affair…” I tease while hunting down which kitchen cabinet holds the dishes and glasses.

  “Yeah, well, my ballgown is at the cleaners.” She opens the box and inhales deeply. “I figured you wouldn’t mind. This smells so good.”

  Chuckling, I find the plates and take a couple out and set them down on the counter. “Hungry?”

  “Starved.” She flicks a glance at me with a smile and snatches up one of the plates. “You remember how bad the pizza was back in Canada?”

  “Yes, and you got me hooked on American pizza and then we wound up back in Canada. Treacherous wench.” I pull a couple of slices from the box and put them on a plate. “We standing here to eat? At the kitchen counter?”

  She bursts into laughter. “I thought I cured you of that nasty habit.” She points to a round wooden table in front of a bay window. “Shall we retire to the dining room?” She grabs my plate and hers and heads to the table.

  I juggle the pizza box, glasses, and the two bottles of soda and follow, Mac tangling in my legs and making the trip that much more difficult. With a smile of accomplishment, I ease into a chair across from Dee.

  “Impressive,” she says before taking a large bite from a slice.

  “What? Oh, yeah. I’m kinda surprised myself that I didn’t drop anything.” I smile as she continues to devour the pizza. “I guess working out has given me better reflexes. Made me less awkward.”

  She nods and opens a bottle of Pepsi and pours each of us a glass. “Maybe it’s not being drunk.” She gulps down her soda as if to erase what she’d just said.

  “It’s alright. We can talk about it.” She’s focused on the pizza on her plate and, for the moment, I’m grateful for that. “It’s not taboo. It’s part of our history, ugly as it was.”

  “Umm, no, I’d rather not.” She looks up to meet my eyes. They’re haunted by painful memories. “At least, not tonight. Okay?”

  “Sure,” I agree at once. “Actually, I had something in mind for tonight. If you’ll indulge me.”

  “Oh? What’s that?” I’m relieved, and she appears to be as well, to have the subject changed. If she wanted to, I’d discuss my alcoholism and the terrible things I’ve done, but it wouldn’t be easy. “No, Mac. Down.” Dee points to the kitchen and Mac whines but slinks away.

  “Role-play.” I offer her a mischievous grin, quietly impressed with how quickly she’s getting Mac to obey.

  “What?” Her eyes go wide in surprise. “How? I don’t have two computers. I mean…” I let her consider it for a moment, gauging if she has any real interest before giving her the solution. “It’s funny. I was thinking about Samantha and David earlier today. Well, I guess it’s not that odd since you’re here and all.”

  Memories flow freely at the mention of two of the characters we used to play hour upon hour, ad infinitum. A princess of a city and the boy who would be king. Such good times. “Ah, yes. Ms. Castle and David… Did he have a last name?” Of course, I know David’s last name. I want her to revel in the good memories too.

  “Jones,” she says and laughs.

  And then at the same time we both say, “Because that’s Bowie’s real last name.”

  Together we laugh, enjoying the moment. She tackles a second slice of pizza and I devour my first, washing it down with Pepsi. The pizza is dripping with grease, just the right amount, Dee’s lips shiny with it. Without comment, I hand her a napkin and she wipes her mouth and hands. Every move she makes reminds me of a slinking predator cat—graceful, sensual, deadly. Lust tightens my balls and I force myself to remember tonight’s objective. Make Dee remember how in love with me she once was.

  “Those two were great characters but I didn’t have them in mind.” Panic flits across her face but I plow on regardless. “It’s been a long time since we visited Jazmine and Darian.”

  At the mention of the two characters we were playing when we met online, and spent hours playing as we fell in love, she shakes her head and utters a strong, “No. I can’t.” She puts down the slice of pizza, her hand resting beside the plate.

  I reach out and place my hand over hers, ready to pull it back at the slightest resistance. “I understand your reluctance. We became Jaz and Darian, lived them, breathed them, fell in—”

  “Don’t say it,” she says in a shaky voice.

  I nod, switching gears and lowering my voice. “There were good memories too. Weren’t there?”

  She picks a pepperoni off her slice and puts it in her mouth. Chewing, saying nothing. At least she doesn’t deny the good memories.

  “Let’s just try, okay? If you feel the slightest bit uncomfortable, we’ll stop. No pressure, no questions asked.” I lift my hand from hers as if to prove my point.

  Her eyes are distant, like she’s watching a movie of our past that plays in a secret corner of her mind.

  Giving her time to think, I refill our glasses, take another slice from the box and put it on my plate. All the while, fearing my heart is about to give out. Please say yes, Dee, I silently pray. Give us this moment. Let me make amends the only way I know how.

  Finally, her eyes seem to focus on the present, on me. “How could we even do this?” she asks in a small, uncertain voice.

  I press my hand to my chest. My heart is still beating. That’s a good sign.

  In just as quiet a voice, I say, “We’ll talk. We’ll turn off all the lights and make it as dark as possible in here. That way we can picture what we want as we play.”

  “Alright.”

  I let out a shaky breath. She’s giving me a chance. Thank god.

  She stands and turns off the lights in the dining room. Shadows encroach but offer little coverage. It’s still too bright.

  “Let’s go into the living room. We can bring the pizza and drinks, get more comfortable.” I don’t wait for her to answer and gather everything, carry it to the coffee table in front of the couch. I take a seat on the recliner, mulling over how I’m going to play this.

  Dee joins me, turning off the living room lights and plunging us into darkness before sitting across from me on the couch. I can’t make out her face so I imagine she can’t see mine. Perfect. We can let go of our inhibitions and really get into character.

  “You set the scene,” her disembodied voice comes to me, sultry and mellifluous. She is nothing but a shadowy outline.

  She always wanted me to set the scene, so I don’t argue. This is all for her.

  I take a deep breath, every word I’m about to utter so damned important. “Jaz and Darian haven’t seen each other in some time. Darian left to fight the wicked demons with other freedom fighters like him. He doesn’t know what she’s been up to but he knows with supernatural certainty that upon his return to St. Louis, she’ll be there. Not necessarily waiting for him but it’s time for the two to come together once more. Is that enough to start with?”

  “Is this before or after Jaz turned him into a vampire?”

  I hadn’t considered that and smile into the darkness. She’s involved, interested, wants to know our characters’ motivations. “After. Two powerful vampires struggling to hold on to what’s left of their souls.”

  She pauses and clears her throat. “You always said you’d come back but I could never trust those words. I created you, and so would know if you’d ceased to be, but for you to return here to St. Louis, I could never be certain. I never left. It is my home. I am as content here as I could be anywhere. It is too much trouble to le
ave.”

  My god. She’s in character. This is Jazmine speaking. Tears burn my eyes and I’ve never been more grateful for the impenetrable shadows of the darkened room. I’m such a fucking pansy.

  It’s my turn. I’ve got to make this good. I know my endgame. I just have to lead her willingly down the path. “Jazmine, my maker. It is good to see you again. I’d hoped against hope you’d be here. I’ve come back to see you. So many demons we slaughtered. They resisted, battled hard against us, and it took years to conquer them. Year upon year, we wore them down and thoughts of you kept me strong. Night after night, I vowed to return victorious. To you. Will you let me join you? Let me—?”

  “No.” The word is spoken in a harsh, decisive tone. “I am older. Years are not gentle to our kind. I am not the same. What you expect is not the way it will go.”

  She’s playing the game, keeping to the rules as written by the game developers—a game we once spent far too much money and time on by buying the rule books and pouring over them—but she’s already noticed the parallels I’ve been drawing to real life. I never expected her not to. She’s too smart not to catch on. My chest tightens and I stifle a gasp. Oh, the irony that this scene might be more painful for me to play out than for Dee.

  “I beg forgiveness. You are my elder and I meant no disrespect. I’ve come back with only good intentions. A desire to spend time with you. To share stories of our time apart.” My mouth is dry, my words seeming to stick together. I’m desperate for a sip of Pepsi but think better of pausing during my turn. “Have you been well? Have no misfortunes beset you?”

  “I have learned to live without my man-child by my side. I am accustomed to my solitary nature.” The couch creaks. She’s shifting her position. The expulsion of her breath is audible. This is difficult for her, too, and I’m amazed she hasn’t stopped the scene. Except for her breathing, her silence continues. I’m not sure if she’s finished with her turn but something tells me not to speak just yet. “What do you want of me, Darian?” The words are so faint, I lean forward and strain to hear them.