I haven’t spoken to him in months. And I don’t think I’ll ever see him again. But it worries me when he is off Facebook for more than two days at a stretch. I send him a violent nudge, hoping he’ll respond soon.
I met him at the beginning of grad school. We emailed, chatted online and even met a few times. Those are few are indeed few. I can count them on my fingers and toes. The rest of the time, we played scrabble on Facebook. Almost four times a week, if not more. The 12-hour time difference works out perfectly. We make our respective moves at the start and end of each of our days. The routine rarely varies, except if one of us is sick or on vacation.
We occasionally greet each other, with tiny scribbles in the notes section. Compliment on a good word, whine about terrible tiles and throw a tantrum if one makes a word in the space the other has been eying. But mostly, we revel in the silence.
The knowledge that he can get online and make his move tells me that he’s fine. I do not wish to know more. At this minute, I can’t even recollect if I’ve wished him on his birthday the past few years. That does not bother me. Yes, I’m eccentric like that!