2 Narrating N pt. 1

"So how did you meet this French guy? You never answered this one," Sasha asked me with oozing curiosity in her eyes. She grabbed the pack of cigarettes on the table and fished out two sticks for us. I handed her my lighter—to which she always corrects and refers to as 'our lighter'—as she handed my stick. Smoking in your apartment hits differently, no?

She lit hers and puffed a long one. And I lit mine too.

"It's a long story, Sash. Plus, it was just some sort of puppy love whatever connection," I reasoned out.

"When did I never listen?" she contested in return, placing the ashtray between us.

I just rolled my eyes at her and shook my head. She's persistent when it's unnecessary. It sometimes gets on my nerves. She and her persistence.

"Get me a bottle of Smule first," I teased, looking intently into her eyes as she grabbed one from the cooler she placed beside MY couch. I have to emphasize that.

I dragged a long puff and started this sort of ill-fated connection and this French guy had. I swigged the cold beer. As I looked at Sasha beside me, she was staring blankly into the view of the city lights. She wasn't waiting this time for me to tell the story; she was waiting for me to pour my heart out.

"Bear with me, Sash. I've never told anyone this before," I told her, without looking at her; just looking at what she's been looking at. The feeling of being able to share thousands of words without utterance drove my insides crazy, but she just nodded and puffed her stick.

"I was around 14 that time when we first met. Online. Omegle…you know? The infamous chatroom," I started. Clearing my throat didn't help me mask the surge of emotions and memories as I drew closer to one of my fondest memories of happiness.

"My high school classmate told me to try entering that stupid chatroom. She told me that I should accompany her in her mini-quest to find love, so I agreed. I had to act that I needed to use the family computer to finish some school projects…which eventually, I finished, and saved time and energy for other things. But going back, I went to the site. We met, chatted for a while, and exchanged Skype accounts. That's all," I finished the story.

"Are you for real? Dang, I was expecting you would spill the whole story with all of the details and all," she complained. "I was just starting to have feelings for the story," she continued, rolling her eyes at me and started fake crying.

"Well, you just asked me how did we meet, dumbass!" I corrected her. I recalled it properly, didn't I?

"Well, Miss Madam Carmen, your 'I've never told this to anyone before' was a total clickbait," she argued, chuckling after saying clickbait. She laughed at herself and offered me another bottle of beer.

"Nah, I still have," I told her, holding up the bottle at eye level. "And what's funny about clickbait? Did the Roblox kids abuse it that much?" I teased her. Her love for Roblox is sometimes bigger than her ego. Sure she did never forget how to forget.

She just playfully kicked me and shook her head. "It's not my fault that I can talk to any people from different age groups!" she tried to get back at me, but I just shook my head again at her silliness.

"But to be frank, I would give up cigarettes for a day just to have or at least experience those kinds of things and connections," she told the universe and me. Her bubbliness vanished.

"What do you mean? I thought you could talk to someone easily, regardless of age," I asked her. Even I was confused with my tone and question.

"No, I'm being serious," she clarified, lighting another stick.

"Go on," I encouraged her. I grabbed her stick to light mine, and put it back where I got it—just the way she likes it.

"Yes, I can talk to someone regardless of their age; but you have to remember this, sweetie: talking isn't connecting. But the latter won't happen without the former. How do I say this clearly?" she told me. I opened another bottle for her, and one for me. I reached out for our pack and checked: six more sticks. She'll be able to finish her heartfelt soliloquy.

"Having or experiencing connection with people is far from talking, just like hearing and listening. I know it's a poor analogy, but hear me out. When you talk to people, you are just simply talking to them. But when you talk with people, you're starting to connect with them—no, you are connecting with them. You can feel or see the situation or the side of the story with them! Not just seeing it from your perspective," she paused and puffed. She swigged her beer and raised her eyebrows at me. I did in return. I placed the tray back on my coffee table and tapped my stick to remove the excess ashes.

"Because you may misinterpret it the way it should be looked at!" she continued, moving her hands as if they were straightening out a picture on a wall.

I just nodded at her. Seeing her like this made me wonder if she never had a connection like that with someone else before.

"But why? Why do you want to experience or have my connections even just for a day? I'm curious," I asked her. How could she say that? Listening to her say that made me feel a little bit uncomfortable yet extremely confused and curious at the same time.

"Hey, just let me clarify that I don't mean to romanticize your experiences, and project it like Jesse and Celine, okay? I said that because I've never talked to or made a connection with a foreigner before...from our age group," she explained, widening her eyes as if she was implying Nate and I did more than talking and awkward phone calls.

"Miss Sasha, may I remind you that we were both minors at that time. Get your filthy thoughts off my French guy," I playfully reminded her, mirroring her wide eyes.

She just laughed at me—giving me this mocking look as she puffed her stick.

"I thought you wanna have my connection with people for a while?" I asked her.

Confused, she tilted her head; as if she was implying that I was saying nonsense.

I reached her head, and smacked it playfully." How about you connect with me this time? You were giving me these dirty stares as if we had cybersex!" I answered defensively.

And in between banters, deep down inside me I know my French guy will find his way to me.