48 Hours

There are 48 hours that change how you think, how you feel, and how you act, if for a short period of time. The gestation period of the 48 hours exists within 6 months of a young mans often sad search for "love" and "intimacy". Through desperation the Online dating forum became a solace of hope and seeming proactivity for a desperate search for romance. Then, followed by many months of toiling and delving into childish depression, an answer. A response. It was a simple response. "I'm new to the city." Nothing profound about the message, and the words said nothing, yet everything. Through some unravelling, one learns that she is from Thunder Bay, and has moved here for better work, and one could guess, a better future. With those hopes and dreams, the only thing she has been able to accomplish is a part time job at Rona, and a small place with her brothers friend, which exists in the Southwest.

With very little time, a phone number has been messaged forward with the message "Text me?" Unsure on what to do, a text is sent, early in the morning, for the online message was sent 6 minutes previously. She is still in bed, and is "Lasy" as she puts it. Her terrible grammar and poor sentence structure says so much about her, yet so little. It doesn't speak of her past, her family, or her dreams. The conversation strays to Tims, and her hatred of tea, which I myself enjoy. I am nervous. "I do enjoy coffee" I answer sheepishly, though she would never know that since we are corresponding through text. The conversation felt empty, and uninviting. Nothing was spoken, and the questions came only from I, always the conversationalist, unforgivingly curious about individuals. 

After learning about the housing situation, she no longer responds. Dead. No more interaction. Did she leave for work? Did she grow bored of the pestering young man with high class linguistics? One can't say. It simply went dead. As the day progressed, little was accomplished, the cell phone remained dead for many hours. Class came and went, and a few errands where tackled and completed. A conversation with a dear friend occurred, with much internal jubilation and comfort. With time, the phone remained quiet once again, until, with much chagrin, I looked down at the text messages to "Wolfie 588." A seemingly nameless human-being.

Through some guilty sleuthing, I found that she was a real person, with real parents and a real life. The name had a different meaning, and a different context. No longer was it meaningless letters and numbers, but a contextualized human being who had loved, suffered, struggle, failed, and succeeded. Her smile was hidden, and her eyes laughed for her lips seemed unable to. There is so much that you can find in a single photograph if you took some time to look and learn. With a look down at my phone I decided to write something. I wrote and rewrote the message probably a dozen times until I settled on "I hope you had an enjoyable day. I truly do." With some uncertainty the text was sent. I realized something then. I meant it. I meant every simple word. I did hope she had an enjoyable day. i wanted her to be happy, and to feel important and wonderful and beautiful. I don't know her, I have never meet her, and that may never change, yet, through very few words, some soulless technology, and a picture, I learned to care for this human being, and feel compassion and empathy for her. And for that I am proud. And for that, I love myself.