The whine and static had become an old friend at the late night hour. Soon words from another part of the country would be splayed out. Technology of the 90's that allows a person in New York City to electronically "speak" to another person in Anchorage. In the 70's it was CB radios that allowed people to communicate with others; some frequencies picked up far areas, others a closer area.
Sipping a cup of coffee the young woman stared at the computer screen as the window opened and she saw that indeed she did have mail. For six months she'd been typing words to another person and receiving mail from them. Always late at night; always filled with words of romance. Letters into words, words into sentences; sentences into paragraphs. To a person she'd never met except electronically. Never laid eyes on except when slumber overtook her. She'd received beautiful cards and gifts in the mail and sent her share to him. Both were still afraid of what a photo would mean. They wanted the dream to continue.
As she read the mail he'd sent to her, she spilled coffee on her bare leg and cursed loudly. She wasn't sure if she was damning the blister rising on her leg or the words that spelled it out to her.
TICKET IS BEING WIRED.
That's all the message said. She grabbed the mouse and angrily clicked on the menu to find the member on-line. Damn, she thought. He wasn't on. So she would compose the letter to tell him to forget it. But her fingers wouldn't move to the keys. Nausea overwhelmed her but she fought it back. Nerves. She printed the message and disconnected the line. Grabbing the coffee, she made her way to the couch. A loud buzz filled her head. While she absorbed what the message meant, she thought back to their first electronic encounter.
Gwen Davis threw her book aside and looked at the computer. It had been a long time since she'd talked with others from over the country. The ticking of the small clock, made to resemble a grandfather clock, seemed to get louder. Her spacious apartment always felt like a small cubbyhole late at night. The ticking echoed throughout the one bedroom flat. Outside of her sliding glass doors the balcony was in darkness. The sun had set some three to four hours earlier. The only light came from a small desk that sat on the computer desk. The fragrance of lilac potpourri tickled her nostrils. It was almost midnight and sleep wasn't near. She kicked her shoes off and curled her toes in the deep blue carpet. The sensation calmed her. Might as well get comfy, she told herself.
A few moments later dressed only in her old, worn pajamas she connected the computer to the network and entered a chat area. The comments were all pretty silly at first so Gwen decided to liven things up. Her PC name was StarOne and before long she realized she was the only female in the room so she typed some rather suggestive comments. Before long the others were telling her to "come on", "keep going", etc. Gwen let her fingers fly. Soon most of the others were signing off except for one. His PC name was Galahad. They began by discussing the music of the 70's and moved on to romantic movies. Gwen asked him if Galahad meant anything to which he typed back that he was a true romantic. They discussed castles, moonlit beaches, and ages past. Robin and Marian, King Arthur and Gueneviere, and even modern romantic movies. Galahad asked her for her real name, and she gave him her first name only. His was Sandy. Said it was also the color of his hair. Before signing off for the night they told each other they would write again.