This post is part of a blog series entitled, Memoirs of a Ghost. For more information, click our About page, and check the bottom of this post for previous entries.
There was something about Asher I couldn’t put my finger on. I sat there in the deli listening to him tell me about his life … traveling the globe as an international sales rep. Logging on at stops around the world; he had friends in every time zone … or at least that’s what he said.
I nodded as I sipped my tea. It seemed all too unbelievable. I would see him pop up on my list almost every day, and if he lived a live half as well rounded and successful as he made himself out to be, why was he spending so much time in Second Life?
“You don’t believe me,” he laughed.
I turned crimson. Was I that obvious? “Not true,” I muttered.
“I tell you what,” he said, pushing his plate away. “Tomorrow’s Saturday. I’ll be in Prague. If you log on around lunch your time, I’ll take you to this awesome club … mostly French, Dutch and Germans … but I think you’ll love it.”
I was thinking through my potential day. No plans in the real or otherwise, and nodded hesitantly as I wiped my mouth. “Sure, why not.”
He reached across the table and touched my hand. I could feel the electricity as it moved up my hand, and I pulled back instinctively.
“What’s wrong,” he asked. “Sorry … maybe I misread …”
I interrupted. “No … you’re fine. I …” Was it true that I was fine? I could feel my face flushing hard. It wasn’t that I didn’t want the touch …
“You know I’m seeing someone, Ash,” I continued.
“And what was it you told me the first time we went out … you actually hardly ever see him unless you’re working?”
“I’m not the kind of guy that sees other people when I’m in a relationship.” I was a little flustered, yet when I looked at him, it was hard to resist those eyes that saw through every wall I was throwing up, and whose energy made me long for the next time they would show up at the club, or as a text on my phone.
“It’s not going to last. You know it as well as I do. You’ll take so much, and then you’ll leave. And … I’m a very patient man.”
I laughed, slightly embarrassed. “I would never ask someone to …”
“We can be friends in the meantime. We’re already friends … I look for you every time I log on.”
So do I, I thought, but I wasn’t going to admit it out loud.
“There’s this place their building by the Blake Sea … some sort of replica of the Italian Rivera. They’re going to have rentals … we could be roomies!”
I was going to reply that I was already living with Bruce … I knew whatever reply that would lift easily from his lips would easily justify why it still wouldn’t be a problem.
But that wasn’t it. Despite my own internal protestations, I was slightly more excited about the prospect of living with this man who was invading every aspect of my sensory experience.