Chapter Text
Good evening! I hope you're well (and that the meeting you were worried about this morning went as smoothly as I predicted). I suppose you might be wondering why I didn't wait for you to come online tonight to say hello, but the truth is, I didn't feel this could wait.
You see, even though we've only ever communicated via the Internet, I feel I've grown quite close to you over these past few months. I can only presume (perhaps hope?) that you feel similarly. I confess that I suspect you do, as the kindness and companionship you've displayed towards me in the aftermath of my divorce has been far and beyond anything I could have imagined — which is, again, why I feel I ought not to put this off.
Anyway, onto the point: Lately we've been talking more and more about what it might be like to meet one another in-person. Given the seriousness of our chats, and the fact that you live near enough to me to place such an encounter firmly within the realm of possibility, there is something I feel I should disclose to you first. If it means losing either your companionship or the opportunity to someday meet you 'for real', then I completely understand, and harbour no ill will toward you.
All of that being said... At the current time, I weigh somewhere in the neighbourhood of six hundred pounds.
I can walk just fine, if not for especially long distances; I can drive, and (as you already know) I work every day. It isn't something that dictates my life, necessarily; however, other people certainly notice it, and not all of them react well. Again, given how close I can't help but notice we've been getting, I feel you deserve to know about it... and, if you need to, adjust the trajectory of our friendship accordingly.
Once more, I apologize for not waiting until you were online to talk. I suppose I would be lying if I said I wasn't a bit nervous about how you'll take this. I'm not particularly sensitive about my weight, but — and I apologize for being so blunt — I am rather sensitive about what I've come to share with you.
Hoping to talk soon,
The Narrator
When you first saw that there was a message from him, you were excited — clicking on it right away to see what Narry had to say.
Now that you had clicked on it, though... well, now you weren't quite sure how to answer it.
Good evening, Narry, you started, only to immediately find yourself feeling stuck. You were right about the presentation, you decided to go on, and about using that adorable clip-art, too — everyone loved it; it really lightened up the mood.
You stopped at that, taking your hands off the keys as you stared, bewildered, at your computer screen. You knew Narry well enough by now to know when his tone betrayed fear or vulnerability, and the message he'd sent you happened to have both of those in spades. What could you say that would neither hurt his feelings, nor dismiss his very obvious concern...?
I want you to know how much your honesty means to me, you typed next, because it truly wasn't necessary. You stopped again, making absolutely certain you meant what you'd just written — not to mention, the rest of what you were about to write. Your most rudimentary instinct told you that you truly didn't care one way or another about Narry's size; that nothing he could have told you about his physical appearance or condition could ever possibly have affected how you felt about him.
...Then, you looked over his message again — making sure you'd read everything correctly, including the number he'd listed as being his approximate weight. Numbers themselves being somewhat abstract, you weren't quite sure whether you'd ever encountered anyone quite that size, although something told you that you most likely hadn't. To your own shame, you all of a sudden found yourself wondering just what a six hundred pound man might look like.
You supposed it would depend on how tall he was; on the way he walked; on how he carried his weight... again, not that you felt you should have cared.
Appearances aside, though, you knew he was approaching middle age: Was he concerned at all for his health...? A laissez-faire attitude toward it was his own business, of course...
But still...
No, you thought: No, that was a conversation for later. Right now, he was reaching out for reassurance; acceptance — and the fact of the matter was that you knew in your heart you had already decided to give it to him.
I'm also glad, you began again (suddenly feeling much better about what you were going to write), that you and I seem to feel the same way about the time we've spent together these past few months... and it really does feel like we've spent it 'together'! Chatting with you is my favourite part of every day; you give me so much to look forward to. I hope I don't have to tell you how much I value our friendship, but just in case I do: I absolutely cherish it, Narry. More than I know how to say with words.
That's why I hope you'll believe me when I say that your weight isn't and won't ever be a factor in any decision I make about you, or about... well, 'us'. Like I said, I do appreciate your honesty, but also again, I can promise you it wasn't necessary. You paused, because while you guessed you could say some more, you also didn't particularly want or need to just then.
So long as he knew you weren't rejecting him (and, of course, you weren't), what more was there? If what mattered most to each of you was your connection with the other, then there really wasn't any more — not right now, anyway.
If you want me to be honest with you as well, you went on, the part of your message that most caught my attention was actually the part about the two of us someday meeting 'for real'. I hadn't wanted to seem too forward before, but now I simply have to ask: What does 'someday' look like to you? Stopping yet again, you once more removed your hands from the keys and took in a deep breath. Now who was the nervous one, you thought to yourself? Size notwithstanding, you had been harbouring a very strong desire to meet the Narrator in-person since the end of the first month or so of your chatting with him.
Now, despite his own clear trepidation, he almost seemed to be offering you the opportunity outright.
...Or, at least, you hoped that was what he was doing.
I understand if you need a bit more time, you offered next, trying not to seem altogether too eager, but we've shared so much already that I feel like I've known you for years — and finally being able to see your face, or share a meal, or even maybe hold your hand would be a privilege; a privilege I wouldn't pass up for anything in the world.
You bit down on your lip as your stomach did a somersault. What if this was too much, you thought? Then again, if he was concerned enough about meeting you to offer up what he believed to be relevant information...
Anyway, you finished, I hope I hear back from you soon, whatever's on your mind!
The moment you hit the 'send' button, you got up from your chair, turned toward the window, and tried to steady your breathing. You hoped the tone of your message didn't betray the flutter of your beating heart, the fresh lump in your throat, or the goosebumps on your skin: Because whether he'd meant to or not, Narry had just twisted you into a veritable pretzel with his little evening note — a pretzel that had almost nothing at all to do with what he'd actually been trying to say.
All you could do now was wait for him to answer... and maybe (if you were very lucky), tell you a little bit about what, exactly, 'someday' meant to him.