The Little Things
by: Alex Blackstone

There was an awkward, yet calm sort of vibe in our living room last night. Of the five of us in the room, there was virtually no conversation and therefore, minimal interaction. Owen was playing Final Fantasy 12, which I'm certain he's going to finish within a day or two (that nerd). Derek was half-watching him, but only because Stephanie was asleep. Cecilee had stolen my laptop, so I had plopped down in front of Owen's computer.

I didn't really mind the silence, but it was a little eerie, considering the normal rambunctious-ness of all five people in the room. That being said, "quiet time" is not exactly what I'm accustomed to. I wanted to spark a bit of interaction, but everyone seemed so "into" what they were doing that their posture didn't exactly invite distraction. Also, I was too lazy to turn around and speak or even get out of my chair.

Still, I had to talk to someone, so my lazy self sent Cecilee, who was sitting maybe three feet behind me on the couch, a myspace message.

Subject: YOU
Body: Are right behind me.
Hey, it was something to do, and it was mildly amusing. Obviously she was logged on as well, because I got a reply two seconds later.
Subject: And YOU
Body: Are right in front of me. Do you know what this means?
It means that we are in the same room.

I was already bored with the conversation, so I went back to my usual internet activity. On Fark, there was something about nonconsensual kidney transplants in Japan. On Nutang, I'm doing too well as far as revenue. On Facebook, there were a few responses to a note that I had posted about my current haircut dilemma.
Boring, annoying, and not entirely helpful. Back to myspace. I've got a new message.

Subject: Re: Re: And YOU
Body: I just thought of something that I should have said the last time I replied to you, so I'm going to pretend it's at that point in our conversation again.

TIIIIIIIIIIIIME WAAAAAAARP....

Alex: Are right behind me.
Cecilee: Are right in front of me.
Do you know what this means?

It means we both know the other's exact positions, and the only thing left to wonder is who will strike first?
I scroll down. Blank white space, blank white space, blank white space, SMACK, a pen hits my head from behind me, blank white space.

Did that answer the only question left?

Then I'm laughing, Cecilee is laughing, we're both crying, and everyone else in the room is looking at us like we're nuts, seeing as neither Cecilee nor I has stepped away from our computers or said anything for the past twenty-five minutes.

And in that moment, I realized that my best friend is a fucking genius.

Conclusion: I pretty much love Cecilee Jeanne Beck.