Whoever invented this holiday ought to be dragged out into the street and shot, Sarah thought, scowling. It was Valentine's Day, and she was depressed.
As if it's not bad enough I spend my entire life in here staring at this godforsaken computer screen, they have to go celebrate the fact that there are people out there who date, who fall in love, who get married. These bitter musings flashed through her brain as she struggled to complete the latest phase of her senior computer science project.
The computer lab was quiet that afternoon--everyone busy doing sick, romantic things instead of programming, Sarah thought in disgust--and she was working hard. She was tired, though, and in need of a break. She saved her program and went to check her e-mail.
"No new mail," the screen cheerfully informed her. "Damn," Sarah swore under her breath. She hated it when it said that. Well, she thought, I think I'll spread some holiday cheer. It's Valentine's Day, after all, and who better to write to than the good old god of love himself. She typed the following message:
To: cupid@nmsu.edu Subject: Valentine's Day Dear Cupid, I am writing on behalf of overworked, underloved comp. sci. majors everywhere. I hate you. I hate everything you stand for. Valentine's Day was a really dumb idea. Every other day of the year, being a swinging single is all right, if occasionally a little lonely and dull, but February fourteenth rolls around, and I have to sit back and feel miserable because no boyfriend or husband bought me flowers or candy or even a lousy cup of coffee. And this is all your doing. I hope you're happy. I also hope someone shoots you. Love and kisses, Psyche
Sarah read through her message and smiled for the first time all day. She knew she'd find it returned to her the next day, as surely no one at the university would have a silly e-mail address like "cupid," but writing it had given her a tremendous amount of personal satisfaction, and she returned to her project with a warm glow in her heart.
"I hate e-mail so much," the young man sitting in the lab moaned, running his fingers despairingly through his wavy blond hair. "It never works for me. I swear, people should go back to sending smoke signals. Things used to be so simple."
"Problems, Gabe?" his friend asked with a grin. Gabriel's struggles with technology were nothing short of legendary among his wide circle of friends and acquaintances. He had been fighting the electronic mail system since his enrollment at the university, and though he was but a few months shy of receiving his degree in English, he was no closer to understanding the mysteries of e-mail than he had been on day one.
"Look at this, Dan," he said, his finger jabbing at the screen. "It says here I have a message from 'psyche@nmsu.edu.' Who on earth is that? I'm so confused!"
"Calm down," Dan said, laughing at his friend's distress. "Have you read the message?" Gabe shook his head, looking scared. "Do you want to?"
"No," Gabe replied, pouting like a little boy. "I'm never reading e-mail again. It's just too hard!"
"Aren't you the least bit curious?" Dan, who was very curious, prodded. He decided to go for Gabe's weak spot. "It could be from a woman, you know."
"Well," Gabe said, his eyes lighting up. "I hadn't thought of that. I guess I'll read it, after all."
"That's my boy!" Dan exclaimed, clapping him on the back. "Want me to get the message on the screen for you?"
"Well, you know I'll never be able to do it."
"True," Dan said, tapping the appropriate keys.
The message from Sarah spilled across the screen, its angry words glaring at the two men as they began to read.
"Wow," Gabe said as he reached the end. "This woman is bitter."
"I'll say," Dan replied, shaking his head. "Are you going to write back?"
"I don't know. What would I say?"
"You could ask her out," Dan suggested, grinning. "She really sounds like your type."
"Oh, yeah," Gabe said. He had dated a number of women over the course of his college career, but they had all been sweet and quiet--and never comp. sci. majors.
"It might be good for you, buddy," Dan said. "Maybe you'd even learn to love computers."
"God forbid," Gabe said, distracted. He wanted to write back. He wasn' about to admit it to Dan, but there was something about this letter that made him want to know more about its writer.
Sarah was worried. When she checked her e-mail the day after Valentine's Day, she had found no returned message. Could it actually have been delivered to someone? The thought mortified her.
I'll check again now, she thought. Maybe the system was just slow. She turned on the computer and logged in. "You have new mail," the screen proclaimed. Sarah called up her list of messages. There was only one, from cupid@nmsu.edu. Sarah's face went red as she thought of the message she had sent, and she was desperately grateful for the university's privacy protection system, which meant the recipient of her message would not know her identity, only her e-mail address. She took a deep breath and called up the letter.
Dear Psyche, I'm sorry you had such a lousy Valentine's Day, but don't go blaming me. It's Valentine's Day, not Cupid's Day, and no one has ever mistaken me for a third century Italian priest. Keep smiling, Cupid.
Sarah's embarrassment turned rapidly to annoyance. This guy has some nerve, she thought to herself. I definitely need to put him in his place. She began composing a reply.
Cupid- You clearly think you're pretty clever. That message was never intended for you and you know it. Get over yourself. -Psyche
It wasn't perfect, she thought, but it got her point across. She sent the message and turned off the computer, still seething.
For the first time in his life, Gabe found himself looking forward to checking his e-mail. He went straight to the computer lab after class and sat down at an open terminal. Saying a quick prayer that nothing would explode, he logged in.
"You have new mail," the screen informed him. Gabe nearly moaned out of force of habit but caught himself and grinned instead. He cautiously tapped what he hoped was the right key and watched delightedly as Sarah's short note appeared.
He read it rapidly, his smile never fading. I like this woman, he thought. I like her a lot.
He sat for a moment, trying to decide how to proceed with this strange relationship. He prepared to type his reply.
Darling Psyche, You certainly do dislike me, don't you? That's hardly fair, considering you've never even met me, and your hatred stems primarily from a silly prejudice based on my e-mail address. Surely you have more sense than to continue this way. Eagerly awaiting your reply, Cupid
Gabe sent the message with a laugh, wishing he could see the look on the face of its recipient's face when she read it.
As he wrapped his plaid scarf around his neck and stepped out into the bitter February cold, he realized with a mild start that he had used e-mail successfully for the first time in nearly four years of trying.
I just don't understand this guy, Sarah thought angrily, reading Gabe's message. Could anyone possibly be this pompous and condescending and not get punched in the face at least twice a day? Then again, she thought, for all she knew, he did sport two permanent black eyes.
I probably shouldn't write back, she thought. It really just encourages him. But though it pained her to admit it, this was the most excitement she'd had in months, and she hated the thought of ending it.
Her reply was again short and to the point.
Cupid- You are a pompous, condescending jerk. There's nothing more I can say. -Psyche.
She sent the message and tried to put the whole crazy situation out of her mind and concentrate on her computer project, but as she had found more and more often lately, she couldn't think of anything but the mysterious cupid@nmsu.edu.
"I'm in love," Gabe announced, entering the dorm room and collapsing onto his bed.
"You're always in love," his roommate said, not looking up from the book he was reading.
"This time is different, though," Gabe replied, linking his hands behind his head and gazing dreamily up at the cracks in the ceiling.
"It's always different," his roommate said, still reading.
"No, I'm serious. I've never actually met her. We've communicated only through e-mail."
There was a loud sound as Gabe's roommate slammed his book shut. "Who are you, and what have you done with my roommate?" he demanded.
"Whoa, Aaron," Gabe said, sitting up. "Calm down."
"But, Gabe," Aaron said, a look of confusion on his face. "You hate e-mail. You always said if you got within five feet of a computer, you'd break out in hives. Do you feel all right?" He laid his hand on Gabe's forehead. Gabe batted it away impatiently.
"I feel fine. Better than fine. I feel great. I'm in love!"
"Okay, slow down. You say you've never met this woman, right? How can you possibly be in love with her?"
"It's a long story, Aaron, but the important thing is she is totally unlike any other woman I have ever met. I can tell by the notes she sends me."
"You are insane," Aaron said, looking at his roommate and shaking his head. "Are these love letters she sends you or what?"
"Oh, no," Gabe responded, smiling. "She hates my guts. Wants to kill me."
"Sounds smart."
"Oh, she is. Comp. sci. major and everything." Gabe sighed.
"You're in love with a computer science major?" Aaron said, shocked. "Gabe, have you been hit over the head with a blunt object in the last few days? What is up with you?"
"I know it's crazy, Aaron," Gabe said, suddenly serious. "I don't understand it myself. I've heard from this woman only a few times, but I know she's the one. I just know it."
"All right," Aaron said, finally resigning himself to the fact his roommate had lost his mind. "So you're in love. What are you going to do about it?"
"Well, this is going to sound really dumb, but don't laugh, okay?"
"Okay," Aaron agreed. His roommate's sanity was crumbling before his very eyes. Laughter was the farthest thing from his mind.
"You know the story of Cupid and Psyche, right?"
"That's the one where she can't look at him, right?"
"Right. Well, it's sort of eerie, but my e-mail address is 'cupid,' and hers is 'psyche.'"
"That's strange."
"Yeah, it is. Anyway, I got to thinking about that, and I decided it must mean something."
"Great. What?"
"Well, I'm a pretty good-looking guy, right?"
"Uh, well, I've never been particularly attracted to you, but I suppose that, objectively speaking, you can hold your own in that department."
"Do you think that's why women like me?"
"I suppose it's a factor, yeah."
"Okay. But this time I want it to be different. I want her to fall in love with me because of who I am, not how I look."
"That's a lovely sentiment, but how are you going to do that?"
"Well, I'm going to e-mail her and tell her how I really feel, but I won't tell her who I am."
"That's fine, Gabe, but she's a comp. sci. major. She's sure to know how to find out who you are."
"Well, I'll ask her not to. And besides, ever since they did all that privacy protection stuff--you know, the change they made it so your name doesn't appear when you send mail to someone?--I think it's a lot harder to find out stuff like that."
"Boy," Aaron said teasingly, "You sure do know a lot more about e-mail than you did a week ago."
"I've, uh, been doing some reading," Gabe said, embarrassed.
"Well, it sounds like a good plan to me. I still think the whole situation is really weird, but I wish you the best of luck."
"Thanks," Gabe said, trying to think of how he would profess eternal love to a woman known to him only as psyche@nmsu.edu.
Sarah stared at the computer screen in utter bewilderment.
Psyche, I don't know quite how to put this because it makes so little sense, but I have thought about this for hours and have reached the inevitable conclusion that at some point during our brief and, well, passionate correspondence, I fell madly in love with you. My friends think I'm crazy, I think I'm crazy, and I can well imagine you think I'm crazy, but that doesn't change how I feel. Hopefully, Cupid P.S. I must ask that you not try to determine my identity. At least, not yet. I have my reasons. Please trust me.
I'm going to be sick, Sarah thought. This is absolutely ridiculous. She sat quietly for a few minutes, her mind rushing furiously.
She thought about all the stupid messages he had sent her. About how angry they had made her. About the eager anticipation of another one. About how this was the most fun she'd had in months. And, finally, about how she loved him every bit as much as he loved her.
Her reply was succinct as always.
C.- Love you, too. -P.
There followed several weeks of blissful Internet romance. Long, heartfelt, English major letters from him; short, pointed, computer science major notes from her.
His friends were nauseated, her friends were confused. And more than a little worried.
"Sarah, he must be some sort of freak," her roommate Anne warned her. "Why else wouldn't he let you meet him?"
"You don't even know his name," her best friend Grace marveled. "You two have the most abnormal relationship I've ever heard of. And I'm a psych major!"
Though Sarah always downplayed the strangeness of her love affair, the truth was, it was starting to worry her, too. Suppose there really is something wrong with him, she thought. At first these doubts were seldom, but eventually she would obsess about them even while in the middle of reading one of his magical letters. I have to know, she decided.
It took her several hours and a number of careful lies to negotiate her way through the labyrinth of the university's privacy protection system, but finally she achieved her goal, and all the desired information appeared before her strained eyes.
"He's perfect," she whispered, gazing at the computer reproduction of his smiling face. "Gabriel Jordan Michaels," she breathed, reading the name of the one she loved. "Why were you hiding from me?"
She stared at the screen for another minute before it went blank and a message appeared telling her time had expired.
She exited the program with a sigh and walked slowly back to the dorm, a dreamy expression on her face.
"Oh, no," Gabe moaned as he looked at the computer screen.
"What's the matter?" his friend Dan asked. "That sounds like the old Gabe Michaels, not the new, improved model we've grown to love."
"Look," he said gesturing toward the screen. "Things were going so well, and now this." The message on the screen read, "Gabriel Jordan Michaels, it is the duty of the Privacy Protection Service of Northern Minnesota State University to inform you that your personal information file was accessed at 1:13 AM by psyche@nmsu.edu. We hope this does not cause any problems for you. Questions or comments should be directed to pps@nmsu.edu. Thank you and have a nice day."
"She looked?" Dan asked.
"Apparently," Gabe replied, slapping his hand angrily against the desk. "I trusted her. How could she do this?"
"She was probably just dying of curiosity," Dan replied with a shrug. He had found his friend's plan a little odd from the start and was rather surprised things hadn't fallen apart much earlier. "I can scarcely blame her."
"Yeah, maybe you can't , but it's not your trust she broke. I can't take this."
"What are you going to do?" Dan inquired, though he was almost afraid to ask.
Gabe thought for a moment. "What's the worst possible thing you could ask a completely left-brained computer scientist to do?"
"I don't know," Dan said. "Paint a still life?"
"Hm, that's a good one," Gabe said thoughtfully. "But I'm not as nice a guy as you are. I'm going to make her write a poem to win me back."""
"Oh, Gabe," Dan said, cringing. "That's just plain cruel."
"Oh, I don't know," Gabe replied, unable to hide his smile. "I think it'll be good for her. I've been using e-mail all this time, maybe it's time we start working in my territory instead of hers. And besides, I'm not going to say it has to be in iambic pentameter or anything. Just a nice little poem."
"And to think, we all thought you were such a nice guy."
"Oh, I am," Gabe replied. "I just don't like it when people break their word. She'll win me back. Don't worry about that. But it won't be easy."
Sarah logged into her account on the computer and eagerly called up the latest message from her beloved. As she read it, her expression turned to one of dismay. "He expects me to write a poem?" she exclaimed in horror.
She turned off the computer and returned to the dorm, where she lay on her bed, trying to recall everything she know about poetry and struggling against the tears that threatened to overwhelm her.
Finally she returned to the computer lab and sent Gabe a message telling him she loved him with all her heart but simply could not write a poem. Then she returned to the dorm and cried herself to sleep.
Gabe read Sarah's message that same evening and was overcome with pity. However, he felt he could not go back down, no matter how much he loved her. He hit the key for reply and typed a three-word message: "Try a limerick."
When Sarah checked her e-mail the next morning, her heart skipped a beat when she saw there was a message from Gabe. She looked at it, read it twice, and laughed out loud. A limerick, she thought. Even I can do that.
It wasn't as easy as she had expected, and she ended up cutting all her classes and sitting in the library the entire day, dreaming up desperate, improbable rhymes.
By evening she had written something she thought might pass the test. She sent it to her wronged lover via e-mail and returned to her dorm to spend impatient, uneasy hours waiting for a reply.
When Gabe read Sarah's poem, he burst out laughing and decided once and for all she was the woman for him. The message read:
Gabe- I know this isn't perfect, but it's from the heart. A romance begun on the Net, Far stranger than fiction, you bet, But it was going strong Till I did you wrong... I'm really sorry. Will you marry me? -Sarah
Gabe replied with the only message he could.
Sarah- The poem was perfect, and the answer is yes. -Gabe