As part of the 2007 Blog Short Story Project (thanks, Bryon and Dave), I’m posting the following short story. This, incidentally, is the reason why you will not see photos of my kids here anytime soon….
Blogging a Fantasy
I’ve never had much faith in the Internet’s so-called power to bring people together. That is, until I saw my pretty princess for the first time. Then my assumptions about everything changed.
I don’t even remember how I found her blog. I probably Googled models, or something. All I remember is seeing her picture. Some photo shoot she’d just come back from. God, she was beautiful. Curly brown hair down her back, delicate bone structure, perfect fit in her clothes no matter the cut or color.
But it was her face most of all, her shining pixie face. Her wide eyes were liquid crystal blue; her lips, pink Cupid’s-bow perfection. I go to sleep dreaming of those lips.
The blog, a running account of her nascent modeling career, made it so easy for me to follow her. For six months, I traveled to the cities she visited, watched her walk runways and perform songs and show everyone how special she was. Once I even got into a pageant’s backstage. That was a trip. It turned out just the same as in the movies–I knocked out a maintenance guy, dressed in his clothes and walked around the dressing areas and makeup booths for a while. What an opportunity. It could only have been destiny.
That was why I tried to get close to her for the first time. The only problem was, there were too many people around. Even so, a glimpse was enough. She was dressed like a harem girl. Exquisite.
The next week, a harem-girl photo was posted, along with a beach photo, a cowgirl photo, and an evening-wear photo. I couldn’t help it. I started posting comments, anonymously, of course. How pretty you are, I said. You’ll go far in the industry. Because it wasn’t just the outfits, or even the whole package. It was the sparkle in her eyes, the way she got into each “role,” her movements. I mentioned all that, too.
The next week, anonymous comments had been disabled. That upset me. I only wanted to encourage her. I used the name of a girl I liked in high school, left a comment about how much I admired her ability to shine through the lesser talent.
My big chance came two weeks after that, in the post that told me she would be in a modeling show at the Maine Mall. Just fifteen minutes from home, the entry said.
I Googled the Maine Mall, then went over to Priceline.com and set up my trip, a nice plane ticket-hotel-rental car package. It would have to be my last trip, though, or else I’d lose my job. That was okay, though. I had big plans for this trip.
Once I got to Portland, I found everything exactly where Mapquest said it would be, and the rest by observation and instinct. Watched the show like I always did. Mediocre little production, clearly a local affair. Beneath my princess, who was as always the star of the show.
I followed her to her car when it was done. Memorized the license plate, make, and model. Back at the hotel, I searched on her last name. I found a few matches in the general area. Then I went to find her.
Success came three hours later, around dinnertime. She lived in Gorham, in a nice cul-de-sac. I matched the address with the car.
I drove by a couple of times, planned how I would take her. It wouldn’t be hard if I did it at night. She was an only child, and I could take care of her parents if I had to. Joseph Edward Duncan III took care of a whole family out in Idaho.
Before I do her mother, though, I’ll thank her. If she hadn’t posted those pictures of my princess on her blog, I never would’ve found her.