Juan Valdez
...written on 02.23.03, @ 11:55 a.m.
Sun February 23, 2003
Athens, Ga 1996
It was a Thursday night. I got home from work and flopped on the couch, reaching for the flashing button on my answering machine. As the messages started to play, I put my head face down inbetween my arms to study the multicolored specks in the hunter green material more closely (read: Kim was tired and about to fall asleep). Upon the start of the last message however, I snapped my head up to listen intently.
It was a man's voice. It sounded rich and sonorous. At first he sounded polite, but with every following word I detected a higher note of concern and urgency, finally ending in a plea for me to call a long distance number if I had any information about the man they were looking for. The message was in Spanish and the caller identified himself as a federal agent from Mexico.
I was intrigued on various fronts. Obviously, it was a wrong number. Who would think to call me and leave a message in Spanish? I didn't know the name he mentioned either, but I am the helpful sort and enjoy using Spanish whenever I can and if I could assist the Mexican police by telling them that they misdialed, I would, by golly!
I got up to go fix dinner and afterwards was washing the dishes as I mentally replayed the message in my head. I figured it was too late to call at that time, but I was looking forward to the opportunity. I suddenly stopped and felt a sharp stab of ice in my stomach. The name that he mentioned at first was unfamiliar to me, but that was because he was using a Spanish version of it. I realized that he was talking about a man that I had met on the internet a couple of months before!
Actually, I had met this man when I was on an "internet rebound". You see, about half a year before, I had found a book on love on the internet. It was an entertaining read and the author actually had his email address in the book, so, typical Kim, I wrote him and told him how much I enjoyed his book. He sent a polite response. I put his name on my buddy list and one night saw that he had come on line. I sent him a "hello" and we gabbed for a while.
That little exchange started a 5 month email correspondence that I think contained some of my best writing. It was at a time when I was doing lots of soul searching and exploring different avenues of creativity.
I think I was so enamored of how I was putting myself out there. I invested a lot of time in constructing my thoughts and feelings and the author seemed to be responding in kind. I hadn't met him and I knew from his book and my own personal experience beforehand, how the illusion of intimacy is easily created through writing, yet the blow was still crushing when it came. While he never said anything outright, his emails became short and allowed no hooks for further conversation.
I felt utterly rejected and even somewhat deceived.
It was at that time that I encountered "k" in an internet chat room. Our conversation was lively and his wit intrigued me. I challenged him to communicate with me with total honesty and soon our online chats became telephone chats. He was in California, I was in Georgia.
One time while we were on the phone he asked me a personal question. It was one of those questions that the credit card companies ask you to confirm your identity. One of those questions that you can use for password verifications and such. "k" did it in such a way however, that stripped it of seriousness and covered it in a mundane cloak. I still felt a jolt to my insides as the answer swiftly left my lips. A few sentences later however, and the jolts were full fledged red lights and sirens when "k" said "As a real leap of faith, we should exchange social security numbers!" I just laughed that one off and from that day on I didn't trust him. Now it appeared that the Mexican police didn't trust him either.
I checked the location of the long distance number and found that it was from the same city in California where "k" lived. I knew "k" had gone on a retreat of some kind for the weekend.
I kept going over the different scenarios in my head. What could this be about? Each turn in my brain twisted it and imbued it with layers of subterfuge and danger. I went to work the next day after very little sleep and told all of my coworkers about it. I was worried about making it through the weekend, sure that upon going out to get my newspaper from the lawn that I would be surrounded by Mexican federales and FBI and DEA agents thinking that I was involved in something, or worse, that the Mexican police thing was a ruse and "k's" drug deal had gone bad and some thugs were out for revenge.
I absolutely tortured myself over it all weekend. Monday, my coworkers were glad to see me on the job, but noticed my furrowed brow, lip biting and general jumpiness. I was a wreck.
"k" called me when he got back from the retreat. After a few minutes he asked me if I had gotten a phone call. My stomach clenched. I asked what kind of phone call and he said "it was a message in Spanish". I lied and said no. "k" then told me that he had a Mexican friend of his call me and leave that message. He said he was impressed by his friend's performance.
GRRRRRRRR. I was boiling inside, but I feigned innocence. He thought it was funny. I thought I wanted to kill him.
I reported all this to my author friend who was set to do a new round of promotions for the paperback edition of his book. He asked me if I would be willing to appear on Oprah with him as an example of "internet love gone bad". I said I would.
A producer from Oprah called me to talk about my experience. He was very polite and concerned. I told him my story and he asked me some questions. Apparently the author had beefed up the tale quite a bit, so the truth was not as tv-worthy as had been hoped. A producer from another show called as well. She wasn't as polite and kept trying to get me to tell my story in a more incendiary manner, but hey, I'm not going to lie on national television and besides, you all are missing the REAL internet love story gone bad anyway, it wasn't with some California crook, it was with the author HIMSELF!
Ha! Now wouldn't that have been a scream? The author and other guests telling their spiels and it's my turn and I give the story, identify the real culprit who broke my heart and the author is left sputtering during a quick cut to a commercial?
I know many internet and correspondence only love stories have worked out and I say "more power to you", but it hasn't been my experience so far.