Dear First Love:
I met you at a LAN war in the University's student union building.
I was 17. You were 18.
I didn't even know what a LAN war was, but I saw men in trench coats loading computers and AV equipment into a room, and thought, "Wow! That's badass to the nth degree!" Some had air mattresses, office chairs and mini-fridges. This is where the party is, I decided.
I walked in about three hours into a 48-hour computer-gaming/file-sharing marathon. I was the only girl in the room, except for a Papa John's employee taking orders from her station in the corner.
I wondered how quickly these guys' eyesight was deteriorating, and I was glad mine was still going strong, because that's when I saw you.
You were playing solitaire on another guy's computer while he napped in the aisle. You didn't even have your own computer. And you weren't in barbecue sauce-stained sweatpants -- the official dress code of the event. You were wearing a black leather jacket with leopard print lining.
You had just returned from a two-month tour of Asia. Actually it was more like two months and two weeks, counting the time you were detained in Yemen after your passport was confiscated in Djibouti when you were imprisoned there.
It wasn't your fault though. You had been traveling, so obviously you were tan and turbaned, and we didn't know that Djibouti had a closed border either. Anyone could have been mistaken for a drug dealer when they tried to cross into Africa.
You have to admit it was really nice of the authorities in Djibouti to transport you to a hospital in Yemen when you got that awful intestinal parasite in the POW camp. But they should have sent your passport with you. And then you were robbed in that brothel so you didn't even have any money to bribe the embassy.
It was all a terrible ordeal, I know. No point in rehashing the details.
But here is what I am getting at: On our second date, you promised to take me to Thailand and Malaysia. If you still want to go, I hope you know that you are paying.
And just so you know, even though you said that goat testicles are the most delicious thing you've ever eaten, I'm putting my foot down. I won't try them.
I'd like to hear what you have been up to lately. I still have two poems of yours, entitled "Fetus in my pocket" and "Neil Diamond ate my baby." I think they have a really good shot at getting published.
Friendster me.
Emphatically yours,
Ilena Michelle Parker
