Narrative Essay
RACHEL: It was January 10, 2007, and you were working at a computer lab in Waco.
RUBEN: I got to work, and first thing I did was crank up my e-mail. I discovered one that I didn’t know who it was from, addressed to “RP Salazar.” I figured, Hey, my e-mail is almost the same, so they probably sent it to the wrong person. I dug up this Rachel Salazar name, and I wrote a little message — “Hi, Rachel, holá, it seems as if this message came to me instead of you. I’m in Waco, Texas, USA.” And the signature was “Ruben P. Salazar, Chicano Cyclist, Commuter, and Community Artist.” “PS: How’s the weather in Bangkok?” Because I saw you were in Thailand.
RACHEL: And I wrote to you: “Hi, Ruben, holá, thanks for forwarding the message. Weather in Bangkok is lovely; it’s the best time to visit. Gracias, Rachel.”
RUBEN: So began a chain of e-mails. I just imagined, Here’s this middle-aged woman who’s bored at work. But I happened to hover my pointer over your name and a picture popped up, and I was, like, Wow, she’s beautiful! How can I make this picture bigger?
RACHEL: Every conversation that we had right from the get-go was natural.
RUBEN: I opened myself up and told you who I am, the good things, the bad things. I don’t think I left anything unsaid. By February or March, we were on the computer sometimes for four or five hours.
RACHEL: I wrote a handwritten letter to you on a plane. I actually managed to write eight pages. I started describing the meal, how the flight attendants kept looking at me and wondering, Who is this girl writing to? Around page six or seven I got serious: “I know life has a way of interrupting the best-laid plans, but I am prepared for it.” In hindsight, you are that interruption. Honestly, I don’t think I was thinking about you in a romantic sense, probably until June.
RUBEN: Whereas I looked upon you romantically the first time I saw your picture.
RACHEL: I realized I kept telling you things I didn’t even tell my mom. Then you
RUBEN: I got to work, and first thing I did was crank up my e-mail. I discovered one that I didn’t know who it was from, addressed to “RP Salazar.” I figured, Hey, my e-mail is almost the same, so they probably sent it to the wrong person. I dug up this Rachel Salazar name, and I wrote a little message — “Hi, Rachel, holá, it seems as if this message came to me instead of you. I’m in Waco, Texas, USA.” And the signature was “Ruben P. Salazar, Chicano Cyclist, Commuter, and Community Artist.” “PS: How’s the weather in Bangkok?” Because I saw you were in Thailand.
RACHEL: And I wrote to you: “Hi, Ruben, holá, thanks for forwarding the message. Weather in Bangkok is lovely; it’s the best time to visit. Gracias, Rachel.”
RUBEN: So began a chain of e-mails. I just imagined, Here’s this middle-aged woman who’s bored at work. But I happened to hover my pointer over your name and a picture popped up, and I was, like, Wow, she’s beautiful! How can I make this picture bigger?
RACHEL: Every conversation that we had right from the get-go was natural.
RUBEN: I opened myself up and told you who I am, the good things, the bad things. I don’t think I left anything unsaid. By February or March, we were on the computer sometimes for four or five hours.
RACHEL: I wrote a handwritten letter to you on a plane. I actually managed to write eight pages. I started describing the meal, how the flight attendants kept looking at me and wondering, Who is this girl writing to? Around page six or seven I got serious: “I know life has a way of interrupting the best-laid plans, but I am prepared for it.” In hindsight, you are that interruption. Honestly, I don’t think I was thinking about you in a romantic sense, probably until June.
RUBEN: Whereas I looked upon you romantically the first time I saw your picture.
RACHEL: I realized I kept telling you things I didn’t even tell my mom. Then you