By BrianNewman

Artwork by Zakas

She clicked the computer on, and went though the usual steps, wondering. Yes, he was there. Always there, it seemed. So she typed in the usual: 'Hey You!', smiling to herself. It was odd this stranger had become her friend. Where he was, indeed who he was, she did not really know. Just an invisible link, an accidental meeting, just someone to talk with. Someone named Glenn.
The room was dark, the computer screen giving the only ghostly light. It was pleasantly warm, the windows shut tight against the outside rain. Was it raining where he was?
Her cat lay on its back, sleeping soundly, even as her foot brushed along its fur. It would give a contented purr, and dreamily await her next touch. Eyes tightly shut.
A china cup felt hot, fragrant tea. This was the quiet ending to a busy day. She looked forward to it.
A nice conversation with a friendly stranger
They went though the usual greetings, the weather, the day, the usual checklist. But tonight his answers seemed short. Abrupt. Was there anything wrong, she wondered, and then quickly typed in that same question. There was a pause. Then a "Not Really." So there is something, she thought. "What is it?" she asked.
"I have to tell you something that you will not believe," came up on the screen. What could it be? Her mind raced. What did she know, really know, about him?
He was polite, he was formal. He asked questions, he seemed concerned. No personal stories. Very private.
At first she had wondered if he was married. She had asked, and he had said no. Which was strange in itself. Still, you never knew. You never really knew.
Was this the secret?
"What is it ?" she typed back.
These chat rooms, these private messages, were a strange world. It was like meeting someone on a plane.
A shared destination, a close space which led to a certain companionship. A quick but intense friendship, that could quickly turn into an intimacy. And then a parting of the ways. What was his secret?
He delayed his answer and her thoughts rushed on. He had always reminded her of someone. But she had never been able to pin down that elusive memory.
"It's hard to tell anyone," he wrote. The typed words seemed a whisper.
"Tell me." she wrote. And then the memory came back to her. So many years ago. Something in his manner, something in his gentleness. He reminded her of that young priest so many years ago in high school.
"I was a Jesuit priest," he wrote, "for eight years."