some serious talking.
Then came the turn of events at Clamor, and Nguyen’s out-of-the-blue offer. “Take it!” they’d implored her, sounding happy – that she was getting back in the corporate saddle, that perhaps the gang was getting back together. So why did Natalie feel such apprehension as she walked into the candle-lit bar, looking out for their familiar faces?
There they were, at their usual table.
She walked over and they hugged and kissed and said their hellos! – yet, it felt oddly restrained. The immediate ease and warmth of yesteryear wasn’t quite there. She thought she noticed a guarded look in their eyes.
“You all OK?” she asked, slipping into deep southern.
“Fine!” Fahn , they said. “So good to see you!”
There was moment’s pause. “OK. I’ll get the drinks. What’ll you all have?”
“Better make it wine – a chard,” Melinda said.
“Me too,” said Stacey.
Natalie strode over to the bar, noticing her friends sink back into deep conversation. A man dressed in black with lively grey eyes turned to her: “Hey, could I get a female perspective on something?”
“No!” she said. She didn’t want to be hit on, but she surprised herself with the force of her rebuff. “I mean, not now. Sorry, I’m just here with my friends.”
His hands shot up in a ‘that’s cool’ gesture.
As she brought the drinks back, they looked up at her – with concern, again. After all the day’s events, she felt slightly light-headed. What was going on?
“You all sure everything’s OK?” she asked again, quite tense now. “Melinda?”
“Yeah, I think so,” and they started to catch up a little. But how differently, how hesitantly compared to times gone by. When Melinda got up to go the restroom and Stacey made as though to join her, Natalie couldn’t take it any longer:
“Gals, what is wronng ?”
They looked at each other, then at her.
“Stacey? Look, I’m sorry I couldn’t make it up here Saturday. I thought it was OK – that you were OK with that!”
“It’s not about Saturday, Natalie,” Melinda took charge. “It’s about your page on Clamor.”
The gnawing apprehension was back. “Huh?”
“Your Clamor page,” Stacey agreed.
“What are you talking about?”
“The profile page you have here on Clamor,” for the third time.
“Nuh-uh. I don’t have a Clamor page, I’m not on Clamor!”
“Yes you are!”
“ No I’m not !” Natalie almost shouted, to the entire bar.
“Come on Natalie, you’re de-fi-nately on Clamor.” And Melinda reached for her handheld, pushing it towards her.
She was definitely on Clamor.
Natalie gave up trying to navigate Melinda’s handheld and pulled out her MacBook. A moment later, she had the wi-fi password from the barman and the three of them huddled round her Clamor profile page, their faces lit white in the darkness.
Natalie suddenly felt very weary. The lead photo of her was a simple headshot from several years back. She had about 20 friends, an odd assortment of people from over the years. Her English friend Verity was there, as was Hélène from Paris.
“When did you guys become my friends?” It felt like she was outside her own body.
“We got the ru-quest this morning. That’s the first time we saw it. We thought you’d caved and joined, an’ we were happy. Then we looked closer.”
Her stated interests were all semi-familiar ones: yoga, ‘lotsa eastern philosophy’, self-inquiry, ‘going-within’, and on went the list of self-indulgent attributes.
But it was the blog feed that sent her heart pounding in her chest cavity:
‘Feelin kinda antsy today. just went 4 a latte, gotta cut down on that caffeine. maybe I need 2 smoke something!’
It went on to describe, in a rather hectoring tone, how glad she was to be free of her last job. How that last job had succkked!!
It was everything Natalie had disavowed about blogging. She’d won prizes for her school essays, and who did she have to
Then came the turn of events at Clamor, and Nguyen’s out-of-the-blue offer. “Take it!” they’d implored her, sounding happy – that she was getting back in the corporate saddle, that perhaps the gang was getting back together. So why did Natalie feel such apprehension as she walked into the candle-lit bar, looking out for their familiar faces?
There they were, at their usual table.
She walked over and they hugged and kissed and said their hellos! – yet, it felt oddly restrained. The immediate ease and warmth of yesteryear wasn’t quite there. She thought she noticed a guarded look in their eyes.
“You all OK?” she asked, slipping into deep southern.
“Fine!” Fahn , they said. “So good to see you!”
There was moment’s pause. “OK. I’ll get the drinks. What’ll you all have?”
“Better make it wine – a chard,” Melinda said.
“Me too,” said Stacey.
Natalie strode over to the bar, noticing her friends sink back into deep conversation. A man dressed in black with lively grey eyes turned to her: “Hey, could I get a female perspective on something?”
“No!” she said. She didn’t want to be hit on, but she surprised herself with the force of her rebuff. “I mean, not now. Sorry, I’m just here with my friends.”
His hands shot up in a ‘that’s cool’ gesture.
As she brought the drinks back, they looked up at her – with concern, again. After all the day’s events, she felt slightly light-headed. What was going on?
“You all sure everything’s OK?” she asked again, quite tense now. “Melinda?”
“Yeah, I think so,” and they started to catch up a little. But how differently, how hesitantly compared to times gone by. When Melinda got up to go the restroom and Stacey made as though to join her, Natalie couldn’t take it any longer:
“Gals, what is wronng ?”
They looked at each other, then at her.
“Stacey? Look, I’m sorry I couldn’t make it up here Saturday. I thought it was OK – that you were OK with that!”
“It’s not about Saturday, Natalie,” Melinda took charge. “It’s about your page on Clamor.”
The gnawing apprehension was back. “Huh?”
“Your Clamor page,” Stacey agreed.
“What are you talking about?”
“The profile page you have here on Clamor,” for the third time.
“Nuh-uh. I don’t have a Clamor page, I’m not on Clamor!”
“Yes you are!”
“ No I’m not !” Natalie almost shouted, to the entire bar.
“Come on Natalie, you’re de-fi-nately on Clamor.” And Melinda reached for her handheld, pushing it towards her.
She was definitely on Clamor.
Natalie gave up trying to navigate Melinda’s handheld and pulled out her MacBook. A moment later, she had the wi-fi password from the barman and the three of them huddled round her Clamor profile page, their faces lit white in the darkness.
Natalie suddenly felt very weary. The lead photo of her was a simple headshot from several years back. She had about 20 friends, an odd assortment of people from over the years. Her English friend Verity was there, as was Hélène from Paris.
“When did you guys become my friends?” It felt like she was outside her own body.
“We got the ru-quest this morning. That’s the first time we saw it. We thought you’d caved and joined, an’ we were happy. Then we looked closer.”
Her stated interests were all semi-familiar ones: yoga, ‘lotsa eastern philosophy’, self-inquiry, ‘going-within’, and on went the list of self-indulgent attributes.
But it was the blog feed that sent her heart pounding in her chest cavity:
‘Feelin kinda antsy today. just went 4 a latte, gotta cut down on that caffeine. maybe I need 2 smoke something!’
It went on to describe, in a rather hectoring tone, how glad she was to be free of her last job. How that last job had succkked!!
It was everything Natalie had disavowed about blogging. She’d won prizes for her school essays, and who did she have to
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