Page 19 of All Jacked Up

Ransom: Frank Sinatra was buried with a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. That’s fucking sad. Terrible taste inwhiskey.

Ransom: The father of our country operated a commercial distillery for a short time. Maybe I should run for president.

Ransom: Okay, Shakespeare, I am shooting you vital facts to succeed in life, and I’m getting nothing in return.

Ransom: Are you alive?

Me: I’m alive.

I sent it, knowing I needed to say more, but what?

Ransom: Damn. A response. I was getting worried. What’s going on with you?

I sat there, staring at the screen, trying to think of a lie, but not wanting to lie to him. Maybe a partial truth …

Me: Bad weekend.

He immediately started typing.

Ransom: Do I need to hurt someone?

I laughed, but it was a hollow sound. Ironic even.

Me: No. Not necessary. It’s just hard when people don’t turn out to be who you think they are.

I waited as he responded. This should be interesting.

Ransom: People rarely are. Everyone is hiding something.

I guessed that was true. I knew what I was hiding. And it wasn’t nearly as devastating as finding out that Ransom was a jerk.

Me: Yes. I suppose so, but it wasn’t that they were hiding a secret. It was more of a disappointment in their character.

Ransom: People suck. Haven’t we covered that topic before?

How was this the same guy I’d had dinner with? It seemed impossible. This was the Ransom I enjoyed talking to. The one I trusted and shared things with. This was the one who made mesmile. I didn’t want to lose this, but how did I separate the two?

Me: Yes, I guess we have. I just thought there were some people who didn’t suck.

I stopped and hesitated. Then decided,What the hell?

Me: I’m accustomed to being ignored. But being mocked is something I had hoped ended after high school.

He didn’t type right away, and I wondered if I’d just been too raw with him. I never complained about the way I had been treated back then. Mostly because it had embarrassed me. It was something he had never experienced and wouldn’t understand.

Ransom: I need a name.

What?

Me: Huh?

Ransom: I need a name, Shakespeare.

Me: Whose name?

Ransom: The name of the fucker who mocked you.

Oh. Well, you won’t be getting that.

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