What had it been? Twenty-seven years? I was forty-seven. Tim would be, too.
Tim Barney.
It wasn’t him. Glancing over the other e-mails awaiting my attention, I kept seeing that name.
I was going to open it, of course. I had to. Just in case. But I’d clear out my inbox first. I’d be practical and take care of business. Then, just before I started work, I’d bother to look at the e-mail just to make sure it was someone trying to sell me something.
Maybe a top spot on search engines for the TTQ website.
Or maybe it was one of those Dearly Beloveds, as I called them. The ones where someone had left me a fortune and I just had to give up all my personal information to collect my funds. Or someone was dying and wanted to send me their money for safekeeping.
Maybe it was . . .
I clicked. Before I’d looked at a single other e-mail.
And I came up blank. The message was from Classmates.com. It told me that someone I knew, someone from my past, a Tim Barney, had sent me a message.
Tim Barney had sent me a message, but it wasn’t there for me to see it? Was this some kind of joke?
A really sick one?
And then I remembered registering Tara Gumser at Classmates. com just the month before. I’d listed my e-mail address for Classmates. com to send me private messages but not to share with anyone else.
They’d just sent me a message.
I had to retrieve it. It had to be my Tim. What other Tim Barney would have sent Tara Gumser a message?
With shaking fingers I clicked on the URL in the message, which took me to the Classmates.com website. I quickly filled in my username and password. My stomach was in knots.
My Tim was only seconds away. He’d contacted me. He remembered me.
The screen changed and . . .
The message wasn’t there. Another one was, from Classmates. com. I’d only completed their free registration. If I wanted to receive messages through them I had to join their club. I had to pay $15. But more than that, I had to share more personal information than I could share.
“Damn.” I said aloud. And right clicked on Tim’s name. I searched for him on Classmates.com. I went out on the Internet and ran a search for him. I was pretty computer savvy. I’d find him. One way or another.
Or not.
Two hours later, writing time passed with zero pages to show for it, I was back on the Classmates.com website, typing in my personal information. I paid my fifteen dollars. With shaking hands, and a stomach that was now doing flip-flops, I waited.
The screen changed.
And . . .
WOW! I can’t believe that I actually found you. I was going thru some of my old stuff today and ran across some of your letters and started wondering how you were doing. I’m still in the Dayton area and doing pretty good. I would love to hear from you and hear about your life. Are you a famous reporter yet??
Please feel free to e-mail me. If I don’t hear from you, I understand. Talk soon.
P.S. I guess I just assume that you remember who I am. I was that crazy long-haired guy from Eaton that went to Wright State with you back in 1970 something. You broke my heart and ran away to Alabama to go to college to be a famous newspaper writer (haha). Seriously, it would be nice to hear from you if that’s okay.
Tim Barney
If I remembered him?
It was Tim Barney. My Tim Barney.
I sat. I stared. I turned up the music. Turned it off. I couldn’t believe it.