MEETING KEN--

I am seventeen years old and I am in a committed relationship with a boy I met over the Internet. As strange or unlikely as this may sound, it is, I assure you, the utmost truth.

We first met in the summer before freshman year on a computer game called MUD, also known as a Multi-User Dungeon. He was apparently intrigued by my quirky personality. Over the course of several months, we developed a casual friendship. We didn’t know everything there was to know about each other’s lives, and we were fine with that. I guess it didn’t really become anything serious until sophomore year. It was then that I finally decided to tell him that I liked him. To my utter incredulity, he liked me back. He had liked me since we first met.

Reality took a while to seep in, but it did. We began learning more about each other’s lives. This username on the World Wide Web was more than a few electronic bits immaculately placed. He had a family, friends—a life. The phone calls began, bringing with them skyrocketing phone bills and over two hundred dollars in phone card purchases.

I just… couldn’t tell you. It’s as if we were created to be each other’s opposite. Same interests, same personality, same sense of humor. Same everything. We just fit. Our differences served to complement our relationship even more. His sarcastic personality combined with my warped sense of humor was a source of constant amusement for the both of us. We knew each other so well, and we had only talked over the phone. I didn’t even care what he looked like. I knew he was the only person I wanted to spend my time with.

Despite all the perfection of our match, I never would have predicted that I would see this boy in my real life. That just didn’t seem plausible, and, to be honest, I had not considered that such a thing would ever happen, be it plausible or not. No, this was just some silly fling over the Internet. At least, that’s what everyone told me. I could never meet him. It just wasn’t realistic…


But I would be meeting him. In about twenty minutes, actually. If you told me five years ago that I’d be sitting in an airport awaiting a boy I met on the Internet on the day after Christmas, I probably would have laughed at you. However, situations change. People change. I changed.

Now I’m just desperately trying to ignore the queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. This feeling hasn’t gone away since Christmas. The anxiety of seeing this boy for the very first time has loomed over my head ever since I heard from him on the phone this morning. This just doesn’t seem real. His flight will be here so soon, and I’m not even prepared. I look frumpy, and my hair is a mess. I feebly attempt to make myself look presentable in front of an airport bathroom mirror, but my appearance is a lost cause by now. Instead, I go back to my chair in the atrium, where I wait some more.

To distract myself from my inner turmoil, I tap my foot on the floor whilst listening to music. But not even Ben Folds Five can relax my spirits. My nerves are tied up in knots and even breathing seems difficult at this point. I try to remain calm and collected, but it’s becoming harder each minute.

I want to see him so badly, but I’m so incredibly nervous that I don’t know if I can. I briefly contemplate escaping from the airport so as not to deal with all the emotions that are currently turning me into a wreck.

To an innocent passerby, I must look like a crazy woman. These intense feelings of anxiety and imminent doom have become impossible to ignore. Bravely, I press on. I remind myself that I will not let this opportunity pass me by. I will be myself. Everything will be the same. We’ve known each other for three years. Everything will be the same.

Ten more minutes. As I process the time in my head, the numbers reverberate in my mind like a drum. Ten minutes. It seems like an eternity.

Listening to music has become a hopeless task now. My brain is running on overdrive. Dazed, I stare around the atrium at the various people waiting. These people are also meeting loved ones. Some are leaving; some are waiting—just like me. Waiting. Not so long now…

To occupy my time, I watch people. A woman is scolding her children in line at a Burger King while her husband is ordering a meal. Near the entrance, an older man is leaning against the wall reading a newspaper. Far off in the corner, I see a woman who looks to be about in her twenties tightly hugging a middle-aged man like she hasn’t seen him in years. They are both staring intently at each other, hardly noticing the people around them. I suddenly feel a rush of anticipation shoot through my body. Will we be the same way?

Instinctively, I glance up at the clock. Roughly five more minutes. How can I possibly do this? The butterflies in my stomach don’t exactly help to calm me down.

Steeling myself, I stand up and start walking to the baggage claim center for Northwest Airlines. The whole way there, I constantly reassure myself that everything will be okay. He’ll like me. Everything will be the same.

Unsure of myself, I stand off to the side of the baggage claim for his flight. I try to keep myself inconspicuous—unsuccessfully, of course. I nervously adjust my shirt while biting my nails. He’ll be here soon.

I hesitantly lift up my head and gaze around the crowded terminal. People are everywhere. He probably just got off the plane. In front of me, a woman, with some difficulty, grabs her extremely large suitcase off of the conveyor belt on which the baggage claim operates. Looking around, I notice boys my age coming my way. I swiftly lower my head and turn off to the side, trying hard not to be noticed.

And I wait.

Curiosity eventually gets the better of me. I look up and turn around.

My eyes desperately attempt to pick him out from a crowd of people. A boy in a gray hooded sweatshirt with blonde curly hair… no. Another boy with a striped polo shirt and dark brown hair isn’t him either. I strain my eyes, looking all around me. Where is he?

That’s when I feel a finger tap my shoulder.

I whirl around so fast I nearly lose my balance. Sure enough, it’s him. He’s wearing a patterned dark blue polo shirt and jeans, as well as a nervous and somewhat goofy grin. Embarrassed, he lowers his head and mumbles, “Sorry.”

I’m completely dumbfounded. My heart is beating so fast, it feels like it’s going to leap out of my chest. I can hardly talk, but somehow I manage to stutter, “It’s okay.”

Not even thinking, I dive forward and hug him. It’s a nervous hug; we both quickly pull away. I’m so tense I can barely look him in the face. But he smiles warmly, and this time he hugs me.

“I love you,” he whispers into my hair.

I’m so put off by him saying this that I can’t comprehend anything anymore. It’s one of those moments where you feel like you’re looking in on your own life and watching someone else live it.

Why is it so strange to me? We’ve known each other for three years, him and I. I’ve confided in him. I’ve cried with him. He knows everything about me. And I can’t even look him in the face and tell him I love him back. It’s the most awkward situation in the world. I love him so much, and all I want is to tell him that, and I can’t. I just weakly stare back at him as he steps back to get his luggage from the baggage claim.

We slowly walk out of the airport. I can’t take my eyes off him. I feel like I’ve never known him before this instant. As we talk, we can’t stop looking at each other. His eyes light up whenever he glances over at me. His smile is warm and inviting.

It’s happening all over again. All the feelings I felt in the beginning are rushing back and exploding everywhere inside of me. I look at him and talk to him like it’s the first time I’ve ever met him. Ironically, it is, in a way.

Is it possible to cry from happiness? I’ve never known such things before.

On the car ride home, I tentatively grab his hand and clasp mine in his. Whatever this feeling is, I’m prepared to enjoy it. These are going to be the best ten days of my life.

I look over at him and smile. “I love you, too.”

Everything’s a new beginning.

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