Page 5 of A Christmas Mystery

Two

THAT EVENING, I MAKEmyself wait to check for messages.

One of the things I’ve discovered in the past two years is that a primary source of stress in my life is the constant need to check my phone, to scroll social media for news or hits of stimulation, to be constantlyon.

After Chris died, I mostly disconnected, but when my platform started to grow, I found myself getting obsessed again.

I had to force myself to limit my screen time to an hour in the morning and an hour in the evening. During the day, I’m brainstorming posts, taking photos, and drafting out reflections and meditations, but only twice a day do I post, scroll, and check messages. I will check text messages and calls throughout the day, but only my close circle can reach me that way.

Everyone else—including my pen pal—uses my social media accounts to connect with me.

More than once, I’ve been tempted to give him my private contact information, but I’ve talked myself out of it each time. That would make the correspondence real in a way it isn’t right now. It would mean something, and I’m not ready for it to mean anything.

But every day I’m more and more excited to check my messages and see what he’s said to me.

I make myself a quick panini for dinner and eat it outside, chatting with the retired couple whose RV is parked next to my house. I finish the chapter of the fantasy novel I’ve been reading. Then I finally let myself go inside and get on my computer.

I make this evening’s post first. Then reply to several business-related inquiries. Then finally click on the bolded name: GVPioneer13.

The Pioneers are the Green Valley High School sports team’s name. None of my followers know that I’m from Green Valley, so I have to assume this person is actually from the same town and knows who I am, at least in passing.

We probably weren’t friends. If we were, why not come out and tell me his name? More likely, it’s someone outside my circle who reached out randomly after noticing my success online and then fell into daily correspondence.

It’s a man. I’m convinced of it. But I have no idea who or how old or whether our paths ever crossed in person.

The message is short this evening. He says he heard I was back in town and hopes I’m getting to connect with friends. He gives an update on the biography he’s been reading. He asks me about this morning’s post on how weird and unsettling it is to discover you’re starting to heal from grief. And he explains he’s got plans this evening and so doesn’t have time for a longer message but he’ll get up early tomorrow so he can write more.

I read the message over twice, quickly getting past my initial disappointment in the brevity of the note. I write back, asking how he heard I was back in town and then writing a paragraph responding to his comment on grief.

I’ve hit Send and am clearing out more messages when another reply from GVPioneer13 comes through.

A couple people mentioned you’re back. More in the morning.

I frown, disappointed because this reply gives me no clues as to his identity. Why won’t he just tell me who he is? After all, it’s not like I’ve ever tried to make our online relationship romantic or sexual. He doesn’t need to be afraid that, as soon as I get his name, I’ll be pounding at his door and trying to throw myself at him.

I don’t care if he’s a multimillionaire—Green Valley has more than a few of them—or a groundskeeper or if he’s just out of college or in his sixties. If he’s married, it will be a little cringey since some of our messages have been emotionally intimate, but otherwise I can think of no reason not to tell me.

I’ve asked him directly, and all he’s said is that it doesn’t matter.

Honestly, it’s getting a little frustrating.

With a surge of determination, I pull out the notebook I always carry around with me to jot down ideas or lists or sketches. I turn to an empty page and start making a new list.

Green Valley local

Pioneer (went to high school there???)

13 – Graduated in 2013? 13 on team? Moved to town at 13????

Reads biographies and historical nonfiction

---