Eighteen
eighteen
I WANNA KNOW - JOE
OWEN - MAY 25, 2013
T alking to Callie has quickly become the highlight of my day. Every text, every moment we talk feels like peeling back another layer, and it’s been a long time since I felt this kind of excitement. Our conversation flows so effortlessly, like catching up with an old friend who gets my weird sense of humor and makes me laugh until my sides hurt. Tonight, I’m sprawled out on the couch, phone in hand, the TV playing reruns of The Big Bang Theory that I’m not even paying attention to. My focus is on Callie.
Me:
So, what’s your go-to comfort food?
The question hangs in the air as I wait, my heart inexplicably pounding. It’s ridiculous, really. She’s just a woman I met online, but there's this pull, something that makes me want to keep this conversation going forever.
Callie:
That’s easy! Mac and cheese. It’s the ultimate comfort food. Pineapple on pizza: yes or no?
I chuckle, shaking my head. She’s throwing some curveballs. Good.
Me:
Absolutely yes.
Callie:
That’s so fucking disgusting.
Me:
Well, we’ll just have to agree to disagree on that one until you admit you’re wrong.
Callie:
Don’t hold your breath.
I laugh out loud, feeling all the tension in my body fade away. It’s so easy with her. She’s playful and sarcastic, and I can’t help but want to know everything about her. The conversation flows effortlessly, with no awkward pauses, no struggling for the next thing to say.
Me:
Haha! I won’t. What’s your favorite movie?
I pause, wondering if this conversation feels as easy for her as it does for me. There’s this connection, and I find myself hoping it’s not just in my head.
Callie:
The Princess Bride. It’s got everything: adventure, romance, humor.
Me:
As you wish.
There’s a beat, and I wonder if she’s laughing on the other side. I wonder what her laugh sounds like. I imagine it in my head–soft, sweet. God, why does it feel like I’ve known her for years?
Callie:
Haha! Okay, serious question. What’s your biggest fear?
My fingers freeze above the screen. At this point, I can either deflect or give her a real answer. My gut tells me to trust her.
Me:
I’m afraid of failing my son. When his mom and I split, I left because I didn’t want him growing up seeing two people who didn’t love each other. But sometimes I wonder if I could have done more, or if I made the right choice.
The silence after I hit send feels heavy like I’ve exposed too much. But then her message comes through, and it’s like she’s right here with me, offering reassurance without even trying.
Callie:
That says a lot about what a great dad you really are. Bad parents don’t worry about whether or not they are bad parents.
I blink at her words, feeling the warmth of them settle into my chest. I breathe easier, releasing some of the tension that started to build back up inside me. She doesn’t just get it–she gets me .
Me:
I hope you’re right.
Callie:
I am.
I smile, feeling a warmth spread through me at her words. I stretch out, shifting to get more comfortable, my feet propped up on the coffee table.
Me:
Alright, enough of the heavy stuff! What’s something you’ve always wanted to learn?
I don’t have to wait long for her answer.
Callie:
I’ve always wanted to learn guitar, but being left-handed made it tough. My boyfriend got frustrated teaching me, as I had to do everything backward, and my hands cramped awkwardly. I learned “Smoke on the Water,” but ultimately, I gave up.
Me:
Well, your ex sounds like a real turd. I’m a leftie too, by the way. So I feel your pain. Sketching was always a pain in the ass because my hand always smeared what I was working on.
Callie:
Haha! So true! That was the worst part about art class. So frustrating! Do you have any siblings?
I walk to the kitchen, grabbing a soda from the fridge. The cool fizz feels good against my throat as I sit back down and type out my response.
Me:
Just my stepbrother, Luke. We didn’t grow up together, but we knew each other from school. Our parents got married after we graduated from college. But he’s been one of my best friends over the last ten years or so.
Callie:
Hold on…
You have a brother named Luke?
Me:
Yes… why?
Callie:
You are brothers named Owen and Luke?
Me:
Yes…
Callie:
Like Owen and Luke Wilson?! That’s hilarious.
I burst out laughing, shaking my head.
Me:
If you think that’s great, you’re going to really lose it when I tell you that my best friend’s name is Will and my cousin’s name is Vince.
Callie:
Haha! That’s awesome. You have the whole funny bunch.
Her response makes me wonder what her laugh sounds like.
Callie:
Must be nice to have a best friend as a brother. My sister and I get along now but she and I used to fight like cats and dogs.
I toss my phone onto the couch for a second, stretching again. I think about how easy it is to talk to her—how we’ve been texting for hours now, and it never feels like I’m struggling to find the next thing to say. It’s just… natural.
Me:
Yeah, he’s a great guy for sure.
I saw that you have some tattoos when I looked at the pictures on your profile. How many tattoos do you have and which one is your favorite?
Callie:
That’s a double-up question. But I’ll allow it. I have seven. And my favorite one is the cherry blossom tree on my right arm. I got it after I had my daughter.
Me:
SEVEN?! Damn, girl! I only have one.
Callie:
Haha! I like getting tattooed. It’s like therapy for me.
Seven tattoos. I can’t help but smile. There’s something undeniably sexy about a woman with tattoos—like every piece of ink tells a story. And the fact that she’s got one dedicated to her daughter? That hits different. It’s not just a tattoo. It’s part of her, part of who she is.
My mind wanders, picturing the cherry blossom tree flowing along her arm, imagining how it looks, how it feels. God, I really can’t get enough of this girl. It’s like every little thing I learn about her makes me want to know more.
Callie:
So, what year did you graduate high school?
Me:
1999.
Callie:
Wait a second…
You are from Cedar Bluff originally, right? Did you play football?
Me:
I grew up in a small town in the Midwest. Do you even have to ask that? And what happened to no double-up questions? Because you just asked me three in a row.
Callie:
Fair point. Oh my god, you’re not going to believe this…
My mom was the cheerleading coach in Hawkridge back then. When I was a kid, we had a home game against Cedar Bluff and a bunch of the football players stole the cheerleading shirts from the girls’ locker room because that’s the locker room guest teams used!
I sit up, the memory coming back to me. Holy shit. That was us. I type back quickly, laughing.
Me:
No way! That was me and my buddies! We thought it would be hilarious. Was she pissed?
Callie:
Yes! She was irate! The next day, she called the Cedar Bluff superintendent and everything. He swore to her that you guys were going to be in huge trouble, possibly even suspended from the football team.
Me:
Haha! That’s hilarious. Especially because no one ever said anything to us about it. Apparently, that superintendent was full of shit and didn’t want his football players getting in trouble when we were headed for a state championship.
Callie:
Wow, what a small world. I’ll have to tell her I met one of the culprits.
Me:
Is there a statute of limitations in Iowa for stealing cheerleading t-shirts?
This conversation feels like a ride I didn’t even know I’d gotten on, each twist drawing me closer to her, each turn revealing something new. It’s unpredictable, but in the best way—like there’s no telling where we’ll end up, and I’m not ready to let go. Not when every moment with her feels like something I’ve been searching for without even realizing it.
I stretch again, feeling a pleasant ache from laughing so much. I walk over to the window, looking out at the quiet street below, feeling a sense of peace I haven’t felt in a while.
We move on to other topics, and I tell her about my love for fishing and cooking. When she confesses she’s a terrible cook, I can’t resist offering to cook for her someday. It’s a small thing, but it makes the idea of meeting her in person seem all the more real.
When I ask her what the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to her is, she starts telling me a story about how she slipped and fell down a flight of stairs when she was coming out of the band room in high school. Apparently, she had been wearing a long skirt that got caught under her heel and ended up slipping and landing on her butt before bumping down every step until she hit the floor.
Me:
Ouch, that sounds rough. Did you get hurt?
Callie:
Just my pride.
Me:
So you were a band geek in high school, huh?
Callie:
It's not your turn to ask a question. But yes, I sure was.
Me:
What did you play? The flute? Oh my god! Do you have a “This one time, at band camp…” story?!
I can’t help myself; I hit send on the text without giving it much thought.
Callie:
Omg! No. I didn’t even go to band camp. And I was on the drumline. I was the Captain my Junior and Senior year, actually.
Me:
Drumline has a Captain?
I already know the answer to that. The high school I went to in Cedar Bluff always did really well at band competitions. But I can’t resist teasing her a bit.
Callie:
Yes! I was a cheerleader too, so most of the time I was marching, I was in my cheerleading uniform. Now, quit with the follow-up questions. You keep skipping my turns!
Me:
You’re killing me here. You were a cheerleader too? Christ Almighty. Do you still have the uniform? And will you let me steal one of your old t-shirts?
I wait for the conversation to continue but she doesn’t respond. Wondering if I crossed the line with my cheerleader comment, I replay the conversation in my mind, searching for anything else that I might have said to upset her.
In a moment of panic, I send another quick message.
Me:
Hey, did I say something to upset you? You went silent on me, and now I’m imagining you plotting my demise with a drumstick… one of those big ones they use for the timpani drums.
I wait, hoping for a response, my mind racing with all the possible scenarios. Did I come on too strong? I tap my fingers nervously on my leg, silently pleading for her to reply and put my mind at ease.