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She messaged me a considerable growl, and five minutes later I went to bed with a smug grin plastered across my face. Eventually we played a full game without either of us sending a message. Her teaching break had ended, and she was back at work.
I took a screen shot of my play, printed it out and proudly showed my three interns the next day at work. At one point, I gathered my courage and asked if I’d said anything wrong. That same day, my mother called to tell me her breast cancer had come back and she was having a mastectomy. Ten days passed before Words With Friends automatically killed the game.
Three days later, my father ended up in the hospital with a blood clot — a complication from leukemia. The last time I saw her screen name was with the message, “They Timed Out.”Midsummer is when she was due to return to the States, but I don’t know if she ever did. Yet my happiest memories here have nothing to do with Nevada or the mountains or the university.
Still, if there was ever a week when I could have used six hours of nightly companionship, that was it. They are of me sitting on my couch furiously tapping away on a three-inch screen to a woman on the other side of the world, a woman I know both intimately and not at all.
The times we each tried to rescue a hurt animal we came across. Fittingly and as promised, I don’t remember what day that was.
The worst thing I did as a kid that I still feel guilty about. Another night, I pre-emptively apologized and told her not to hate me, then played “eutaxies” — a triple word bingo with the “x” on a triple letter for 227 points. Our six-hour chat sessions dwindled to five, then four, then three.
Those six hours had been too good, the kind of night you dream about, and then suddenly the sun is rising.