Suspicious spam

Shortly after nine my normal morning routine came to a halt in front of the computer screen. Like every other day I clicked my way through my daily dose of friendly e-mails and sighed as I confronted my spam box. Sometimes e-mails intended for me wind up in the long list of unsolicited offers of Viagra, debt consolidation, e-dating services and products to lengthen, enlarge or reduce the size of various body parts. At seven messages, today’s list was pleasantly short. I scanned down the names of senders when one near the bottom slapped me with memories. My stomach took a dive for my toes which curled like claws into the carpet. The dot com of the address and I glared at each other for a painfully prolonged second. Repeatedly my eyes traced each letter of the name before a spark of reason shook my head clear. Certainly this unexpected and unwelcome message in my spam box was just a strange and unhappy coincidence. By now that blue-eyed apparition from the past must have lost all interest in corresponding with this over-flung fling. However, the “what if” worm kept wiggling and boring into my brain, painting absurdities with the perfection of Salvador Dali until I had no choice but to open the dreadful message.

I held my breath while my stomach performed another flip-flop. My hand trembled on the mouse as I clicked on the message. A voice in my head scolded my cowardice, my sense of self-importance, and my silliness at even caring whether that obscure name could be so prolific. When it came up I checked to see how many others had received the message, but my name stood alone in the recipient row.

Our two cryptic names in such close proximity seemed odd together, just like the two of us back when a well-intentioned person invited us as a “couple” on a day trip. We floated through it like oil and vinegar salad dressing, side by side, mixable, but distant. Pressed close in the back seat of a small car we drove for several hours, touching without intent or interest, seeing each other only peripherally, and speaking solely to those hosting our misery fest. The message revived the feeling of being near him and yet invisible. A thought crystallized in my psyche; he had painted my portrait as would a blind man who had never experienced me with any of his remaining senses. Hostility toward the wasted canvas inappropriately carrying my name lead me to fume.

Another deep breath allowed me to scroll down to the message from the potential past acquaintance. It consisted of a single line made up of 4 words and a question mark, but my eyes couldn’t focus on them immediately. “Is this from you?” it asked followed by a zipped attachment. Was it disappointment or relief that fed my paranoia? Under normal circumstances I would rapidly delete such an e-mail with a huff or a silent curse, but here was that ridiculous name stirring up questions, muddying my mind. Realizing that the name would hypnotize me as long as it continued charging up my optic nerves, I logged out and stared at the innocuous screen.

A few minutes later, I checked in again like the child whose curiosity overrides his fear so he reopens the closet door to see if the monster is still there. And he was. And I couldn’t delete him. But never fear, in thirty days my e-mail provider will do that for me.

~2004