The
Christine
+
Jake
Affair
Textual Encounters Book 1
Morgan Parker
© December 2012
QuoteStork Media, Inc.
www.TextualEncounters.com
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This is a work of fiction. All characters, conversations, circumstances and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any and all references to real products, objects, locations, events, locations and people are meant to lend the reader a sense of authenticity but are used fictitiously.
With the exception of quoted text used in a published review, no part of this work can reproduced without the written permission of QuoteStork Media, Inc..
Author’s Acknowledgments
This project could not have been possible without the tireless efforts of many people, but I especially want to thank Cathy Givans (CathyGivans.com) who put her own writing on hold to provide me with exceptional feedback, guidance and encouragement and to Madison Seidler (MadisonSays.com) who offered top-rate editorial assistance. Without your help, this would have remained a work-in-progress for… well, forever.
Table of Contents
I
Tuesday January 1, 2013
Friday January 4, 2013
Thursday January 10, 2013
Friday January 11, 2013
Monday January 14, 2013
Tuesday January 15, 2013
Wednesday January 16, 2013
Thursday January 17, 2013
Friday January 18, 2013
Saturday January 19, 2013
Sunday January 20, 2013
Monday January 21, 2013
Tuesday January 22, 2013
Wednesday January 23, 2013
Thursday January 24, 2013
Friday January 25, 2013
II
Friday January 25, 2013 (Continued)
Saturday January 26, 2013
Sunday January 27, 2013
Monday January 28, 2013
Tuesday January 29, 2013
Wednesday January 30, 2013
Thursday January 31, 2013
Friday February 1, 2013
Saturday February 2, 2013
Sunday February 3, 2013
Monday February 4, 2013
III
Thursday February 7, 2013
Thursday February 14, 2013
Friday February 15, 2013
Saturday February 16, 2013
Sunday February 17, 2013
Wednesday February 20, 2013
Saturday February 23, 2013
Monday February 25, 2013
Friday March 1, 2013
Saturday March 2, 2013
Sunday March 3, 2013
Monday March 4, 2013
Wednesday March 20, 2013
Tuesday March 26, 2013
Friday March 29, 2013
Saturday March 30, 2013
IV
Preview: Textual Encounters 2
Preview: Non Friction
I
It’s the first thing I see when I slide into the taxi; a flashy white iPhone 5, in pristine condition.
Although I didn’t notice the last passenger leaving the cab, I peer out the windows to see if I can spot find her in the chaos of the arrivals area while the driver loads my luggage into the trunk. I see a lot of people, but none of them has an interest in this taxi or appear frantic from having lost her iPhone.
The driver slams the lid shut and walks around to the driver’s door. I lean forward into the front seat, ready to tell him about the forgotten phone just in case his last passenger is still nearby.
But when he opens his door and settles behind the wheel, I hold the words back. Part of the reason for keeping quiet is that the driver has a pair of headphones strapped to his head. He sings along to a song that’s clearly not English, and I catch myself sliding back into the seat. He’s not listening to me anyway – I’ve already told him where to take me: Broadway and W 169. I don’t live there exactly, but it’s close enough that I can walk the rest of the way to my apartment. This strategy not only helps me stay in shape but it ensures creepy cab drivers never know where I live. (Yes, I am a self-diagnosed paranoid).
There’s another reason I keep quiet. I realize this incredible iPhone for what it is – a sign from the Universe. This phone is the exact same model I asked my parents to get me for Christmas and when they failed to deliver, I asked for it again at Easter. And again they failed to deliver.
Finding this iPhone means I don’t have to ask for it again on my birthday. Even better is that my birthday is a couple of months away and right now, right here in my hand I happen to be holding the very same phone I have been asking for the past two holidays. So by keeping my mouth shut, I not only save my breath but avoid a third round of disappointment. Everyone wins.
The driver pulls away and I stare at the phone in my hand.
It’s clearly brand new, or close to it; if the owner loved it half as much as I do, she never would have forgotten it in the cab (I figure the owner- uh, original owner is a woman because white iPhones, in my opinion, look more feminine – and yes, stereotyping was one of my bad habits, something I picked up during my Emergency Medicine rotation last summer).
I swear I can hear the voice of the Universe speaking to me loud and clear: “Here’s your phone, Katie. Take it. Let Mom and Dad pick up the tab for med school, I’ll take care of your material needs.”
So there you have it. For a brief moment in time while sitting in the cab, the stars align. I realize just how rare these moments are and decide to take advantage of it. I make a quick, mental shopping list of all of those other big things my parents never gave me – the Spring Break trip to Miami Beach for my senior year in high school, the congratulatory BMW for getting accepted to Columbia, the hot boyfriend who was supposed to propose after fourth year and help me avoid the hectic life that typically follows med school. Okay, maybe I couldn’t blame my parents for not getting me that last item, but if the Universe could deliver an iPhone, it sure as hell can find me a husband.
With my wish list ready and the iPhone in my lap, I close my eyes and channel all my energy, every last ounce of it, at the Universe. And that’s when it happens. The phone actually starts vibrating. My eyes shoot open and I look down in shock. Holy shit!
I grab the phone and poke the screen with my finger. A red circle with the number “1” in it notifies me of a new message; it hovers over the jAppe application, a popular but expensive text messaging application that keeps chats confidential and secure (or so the marketers say). Drug dealers and other criminally minded people love jAppe for its discretion; funny how I much “street smarts” I actually pick up at med school).
The phone vibrates again and the “1” changes to a “2.”
Now I’m downright curious – if I’m really getting two of the three things I asked for, what could they be? I’m really hoping for the vacation (winter in New York sucks, especially after Hurricane Sandy last year) and the husband (I have been single for 2 academic years thanks to my schedule and my minimum income standards for potential suitors).
Deep breath. I’m about to find out what combination the Universe is giving me. I poke the jAppe icon (jAppe is apparently taken from the French word, “jappe,” which means to bark or, in the slang variation, to gab) and I’m a little disappointed with what I see.
Just one jAppe conversation, and all of the replies are directed to the iPhone’s original owner – nothing at all from a travel ag
ent, BMW salesperson or potential husband.
I poke around the different screens and notice that this is the only conversation on the entire phone. I skip back to the last two messages:
“Since I have not heard from you and I don’t think I can go on like this, I decided to cancel this phone number by May 1. I’m sorry things didn’t work out for us.”
And it finishes off with:
“I will never forget you, Christine. Soulmates forever.”
I notice three months’ worth of conversations between the phone’s legitimate owner and this so-called “soulmate.”
I flick the screen, scroll to the start of the conversation and I’m captivated instantly. It looks something like this:
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
-----------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------
2:03pm:
How do you feel today?
--------------------------------------
2:06pm:
Same as always, with my fingertips. You?
--------------------------------------
2:07pm:
You’ve certainly got mum’s smart assiness.
--------------------------------------
2:09pm:
I didn’t know *assiness* was a word.
2:09pm:
Who is this, by the way?
--------------------------------------
2:10pm:
Shit. Wrong number. My bad. Happy New Year’s, who ever you are :)
--------------------------------------
2:11pm:
No problem.
--------------------------------------
The potential of a message sent to the wrong person makes me wonder how two strangers can go from wrong number to soulmates in ninety days. And more importantly how a relationship like that could get forgotten in the back seat of a Medallion cab.
When the cab stops at Broadway and W 169, I shove bills at the driver, yank my suitcase from the trunk and hurry off at a jog. Two blocks never seem as far away as they do right now, but I eventually reach my apartment and let myself in.
“Hello?” I shout, but only my echo responds. I have the place to myself!
Chad is probably out with one of his girlfriends or working a rotation and Ellie likely won’t get home until after midnight.
With a selfish grin on my face, I head straight to my room, lock the door and start reading from the beginning.
Friday January 4, 2013
--------------------------------------
11:34pm:
Hey, it’s me. The girl you texted the other day.
--------------------------------------
11:35pm:
Are you looking to rub my face in my age- and possibly hangover-induced dislexia?
--------------------------------------
11:36pm:
No.
11:36pm:
Well, maybe.
11:37pm:
You live in New York? Or just work there?
--------------------------------------
11:40pm:
I didn’t mean to trouble you. Really, I’m sorry.
--------------------------------------
11:41pm:
And I don’t mean to freak you out.
11:47pm:
But what if you texted the right number? Maybe you didn’t know it at the time?
--------------------------------------
11:48pm:
???
--------------------------------------
11:49pm:
I was supposed to cancel this phone last week. It’s a work device, and I never get texts.
11:52pm:
I’m over-analyzing your error, that’s all.
11:53pm:
Sorry to trouble you.
11:54pm:
Have a good night.
--------------------------------------
11:56pm:
K. U2.
--------------------------------------
Thursday January 10, 2013
--------------------------------------
9:47pm:
Hiya.
--------------------------------------
9:50pm:
Hey. Is the dyslexia kicking in again?
--------------------------------------
9:51pm:
Funny, haha. So you’re a comedienne.
9:53pm:
Anyway, here’s your answer.
9:53pm:
I live AND work in NYC.
9:54pm:
Where R U?
--------------------------------------
9:55pm:
Not NYC.
9:57pm:
I was transferred for work at the end of last year.
--------------------------------------
9:58pm:
Where do you work?
--------------------------------------
9:59pm:
I’m a tax accountant. I now work out of our Canadian unit.
--------------------------------------
10:00pm:
Is that right, eh?
--------------------------------------
10:02pm:
Now who’s the comedian?
--------------------------------------
10:03pm:
Turns out I’m irresistibly hilarious.
10:03pm:
I blame that on my upbringing.
--------------------------------------
10:03pm:
Don’t take this the wrong way, but why are you texting me?
--------------------------------------
10:04pm:
Your comment re: the right number is bugging me.
--------------------------------------
10:05pm:
Sorry about that.
--------------------------------------
10:05pm:
You still haven’t cancelled your device...
--------------------------------------
10:06pm:
I’m a procrastinator.
10:06pm:
I blame that on *my* upbringing ; )
--------------------------------------
10:07pm:
Maybe there IS a reason for this.
10:13pm:
??
--------------------------------------
10:14pm:
Maybe.
10:17pm:
Or maybe we’ve both wasted a lot of time over-analyzing a simple mistake.
--------------------------------------
10:18pm:
Yeah.
10:18pm:
Maybe.
--------------------------------------
10:20pm:
I’m Christine, btw.
--------------------------------------
10:22pm:
Nice to meet you Christine. Have a good night.
--------------------------------------
10:25pm:
So, what’s your name?
10:32pm:
You there?
10:35pm
Jerk :p
--------------------------------------
Friday January 11, 2013
--------------------------------------
3:02am:
Nice way to treat a new friend!
--------------------------------------
3:02am:
You can say that again!
--------------------------------------
3:03am:
Nice way to treat a new friend!!
3:03am:
What are you doing awake at this hour?
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Textual Encounters (The Christine + Jake Affair) Page 1