The next five are from last week's online writing. I am continuously surprised by what comes out of my pen. Thank God!
The prompt for this one was "it's not a work of art", but sometimes it's fun to NOT write the obvious.

WORK OF ART

They met online, not at one of those tacky internet dating services that connect the dysfunctional with the desperate, but introduced by a mutual friend, Barbara, thru email.

“You have a lot in common,” Barb typed. “You’re both adventurous, out-spoken, well-read, and independent. You share a love of the water and boating. Here’s his email address.”

“I don’t know,” Ellie typed back. “I’m not really looking for a relationship at this late date.”

“Who said anything about a relationship? He’s a nice guy and I think you could be friends; that’s all. Besides you’re always bitching about how solitary your life is.” Barb leaned back in her chair, took her fingers off the keys, and read what she’d written -- twice. Then she shook her head and pressed her finger on the backspace key, deleting that last sentence. Instead she typed, “It might be fun. Can I give him your email address?”

Ellie read what Barb had written and mulled over the ramifications of saying yes. It would be nice to have someone to chat with and email was a relatively safe way to communicate. No worries about that extra twenty pounds showing, or dress code judgments. No possibilities of her blurting out something that would make her feel like a fool. Only words on a screen that she could tweak for as long as she liked before sending.

The next morning she sent Barb an email that said, “Okay, I’ll give it a shot.”

Art had no reservations at all. Ellie got a chatty two page introduction from him before noon. Her first response was only a paragraph and that painstakingly written and re-written before she felt it had just the right combination of casual interest and minor personal information. She got back a page and a half in less than an hour and felt like she’d just been asked to the prom.

For two weeks they wrote back and forth, the letters getting more personal and in depth as the days went by. Ellie had been relieved to read that he was retired, yet in her same tax bracket. But she double checked this fact with Barb. No sense getting involved with a man who couldn’t carry his own weight. Was she involved? She did feel a little giddy these days, and she had to admit she was having fun and eagerly looking forward to his responses. Was that involved?

On the second Saturday of their communication she sent him a long email he did not respond to, not Sunday, Monday, or the rest of that week. Had she offended him in some way? She poured over what she’d written but could find nothing that might have been misconstrued. She agonized over the possibilities another three days before she called Barb.

After some polite chit-chat, she said, “Have you talked to Art?”

“Yeah, I talk to him every day.”

“Has he mentioned me?” Ellie asked.

“Well, he did say he was thinking of flying out to meet you the other day.” Barb said.

“He what?” Ellie couldn’t believe it.

“I think he really likes you.” Barb said.

Ellie didn’t believe her ears; this was a patently ridiculous statement from a guy who’d been ignoring her for over a week. She found herself wanting to know more, but hating feeling like she was about fourteen, all caught up in the throes of juvenile emotions with a guy she’d never even met. This thing with Art was never going to work.

What was he thinking? What had she done? Why did she give a shit?

She changed the subject as quickly as she could and hung up as soon as possible.

A month later she got a new long chatty email from him. She opened it and read it three times. Not one word about why he’d been silent for so long or a hint of an apology. What a shame. With a touch of sadness, she reached out and hit delete.