To Find Someone

I was flying high, at the top of my game, invincible. Girls wanted me; boys wanted to be around me. I easily turned down anyone I had no interest in, choosing only the thoroughbreds. Yes, life was great for me, Robert Stanford. As the only child of wealthy parents, I got everything I ever asked for – the latest technology, my own luxury car, a home gym, and major parties for the asking.

When I graduated from high school with average grades, there was no question as to where I would go to college. All my family went to that of our namesake – Stanford, the best college on the west coast. I forget precisely how many greats I am removed from the famous Leland Stanford. Perhaps he was my fourth great uncle. My branch of the Stanford family jumped on the technology bandwagon, which solidified our wealth.

I drove my Audi by myself from my parent’s home in San Diego the start of my freshman year. I was ready to take on the world. That is, until I got pulled over for speeding. I tried to charm my way out of it, but the officer didn't budge, and wrote a ticket. I shoved it in the glove box and groaned. My phone chimed, signaling a text. The number displayed was 111-1111. The text said:

Be careful. Better late than dead.

I wrote it off as some strange, spam number. I set my phone down and went on my way, closer to the speed limit.

When I arrived, everything had, of course, been arranged. I had my own off-campus apartment, near enough to walk and not worry about traffic, and far enough to have some privacy. It was furnished with luxury furniture and bedding. It may not have been as big as I was accustomed to, but it was a far cry from a dorm room. I couldn’t wait to host my first party.

The first thing I noticed as I pulled up to the parking lot for registration, was that the average car in the lot was much more high-end. Mine no longer stuck out in a sea of mostly junkers as it had in high school. It was the first time I paused to think about whether I would continue to be a golden child. That thought didn’t last long, as I was personally greeted by the president, Marc Tessier-Lavigne. That brought a crowd around me, and I was on top again.

I spotted a blond in the crowd, smiling coyly. She looked good for a fling. Then, I locked eyes with a brunette. She wasn’t the typical made-up trophy girl I sought, but something about her spoke to me. I made my way through the crowd and said to her, “Hi, I’m Robert Stanford.” I resisted the urge to add, “Welcome to my university.”

We shook hands. She responded, “I’m Ann Fuller. Nice to meet you.” I found myself drawn to her confident demeanor. She had a natural beauty, unlike the high-maintenance girls who historically flocked around me.

I flashed her my most charming smile. “Where are you from, Ann Fuller?”

“Zanesville, Ohio. I’m majoring in business. How about you?”

“I’m from San Diego, not far south – well, compared to how far you’ve come. We may end up in some classes together, because I’m also pursuing a business major. What made you choose Stanford?”

She blushed, “Well, I got the Women’s Entrepreneurial Scholarship for being Valedictorian, and for an essay I wrote.”

I took a step backwards. Something about what she said made me feel like our worlds were too different to converge. Rubbing my hand over my perfectly trimmed hair, I said, “Nice to meet you, Ann. I’ll see you in class.”

I found the blond and had her hanging on me in a matter of minutes. I asked her, “Would you like to see my apartment?”

She batted her eyelashes and said, “I’d like that.”

I enjoyed her company for the night but couldn’t get Ann Fuller out of my mind.

The next day, I decided to buy some Stanford Cardinal gear for myself at the bookstore. I had an armful of shirts, a tie, a water bottle, and a pennant. As I walked to the checkout, I literally ran into Ann Fuller. Some of the books she had been carrying fell to the floor, as did some of my shirts. We both bent down to pick up our items, only to conk heads. We both laughed, apologized, and laughed some more.

Ann looked at my purchases. She crinkled her eyebrows, “Aren’t you buying books for class? I managed to snag a couple of used ones for some of the freshman courses.”

I got that disturbing feeling of disparate worlds again. I gave her a half smile and said, “My mom arranged for all my books to be delivered to my apartment. Um, see you around.” I turned to get in line. Just then, my phone chimed for a text. Setting my pile of shirts on a shelf temporarily, I pulled my phone out of my pocket. It was that strange number again. It read:

You’re just going to leave her there? Offer to pay for her books.

I looked around and then back at my phone. I replied, “Who is this?”

You like her. Stop acting like a stuck-up, silver-spooned snob and snag a girl worth keeping for a change.

“Who is this?? I’m about to block your punk ass.”

Trust me. Pay for her books. Then, I’ll get back to you.

I shrugged. My curiosity got the better of me. I found Ann in the next line over and got behind her. When she put her books down, I put my items down as well. I said, “I've got this.” I puffed my chest out. “Don’t worry, Ann, I’ll handle these books for you.”

Ann’s mouth dropped open. Then she put her hand on her hip. She raised her voice causing everyone around to focus on us, “You think because I’m here on a scholarship that I’m a charity case? You want to help so...what? I’ll make out with you? Sleep with you? You think I’m a stupid Ohio bumpkin, unwise to the ways for the world? Go buy someone else, Robert. I’m not for sale.” She started throwing my Cardinal shirts in my face.

I felt the heat rise in my cheeks. I had never been spoken to in such a manner. I dropped my purchases on the nearest shelf and slinked out the door. I got another text:

You really shouldn’t leave items lying around like that.

I angrily punched a reply to the mysterious texter: “Are you kidding? Whoever you are, you are an idiot.”

I tried to block the number with my phone, but it didn’t offer the option. I called the service company and walked back to my apartment while waiting for a representative. Just as I sat on my plush sofa, I heard, “Good morning. Thank you for choosing Cellplus. My name is Cindy. How may I help you?”

“Cindy, I’m trying to block someone who is sending me disturbing texts.”

“I’ll be glad to help you with that. Do you know the number in question?”

“Yes. It’s 111-1111. Strange, number, right?”

“Um, yes, sir. That is not a valid number in our system. You shouldn’t be receiving texts from it.”

“...and yet, I am. Wait! I just got another one.”

Give up. You can’t get rid of me that way.

“Never mind, Cindy. I’ll take care of this bozo.”

I disconnected the call and texted, “Who are you? What do you want? You said you’d get back to me after I paid for her books. I tried, just like you said.”

You attempted it in an insulting manner. How did you expect her to respond? She’s not going to be impressed by displays of wealth. Write a nice apology letter by hand and invite her for dinner. Make use of the cooking lessons your mom made you take, and no funny stuff.

“How the heck...? Are you following me?”

Not exactly.

“If I comply with your advice, will you tell me who you are?”

You’ll figure it out.

“Will you stop texting?”

If I’m happy with your progress.

“Are you from my dad’s office?”

No. Now go write the letter!

After several attempts at an apology, each cheesier than the last, I was finally happy with my final copy. I found out with a little bribery that Ann was in Stern Hall, Larkin House, room 206. I walked the note over, set it on the floor by her door, knocked, and ran. I had included my number.

Ann texted later that evening. She wrote, “Apology accepted. I may have overreacted. I’ll be there tomorrow evening. Should I bring anything?”

Not wanting to insult her finances again, I wrote, “Whatever kind of olives you like.” They would go nicely with the spaghetti with homemade sauce I’m planning to make.

Ann showed up right on time, wearing jeans and a simple, blue top which made her look more appealing than most of the girls I knew who spent hours getting dolled up. She held up two jars – black and almond stuffed green. She explained, “I like both.”

I smiled and said, “Me too. Please, come in.”

She surveyed the layout and said, “You have a really nice place. Where is your roommate?”

I ran my hand over my hair. “It’s...just me. That’s not going to be a problem, is it?”

“Not if you act like a gentleman.”

My phone chimed. I held up my right index finger and said to Ann, “I’m going to check this and then turn off my phone to give you my undivided attention. Go ahead and add some olives to both of our salads on the counter, and I’ll be right there.”

She nodded and stepped up to the counter.

I read:

By “gentleman,” she means don’t try anything tonight.

I wrote back, “How are you hearing our conversations? Is my place bugged?”

I have your ears, Robert. I believe you are now on the right path with Ann, so I will lay off for now. From now on, you will hear me only in your head.

“Wait - so you’re like ... my conscience?”

I told you that you would figure it out. Now behave, or I may surface again.

“For what it’s worth, thanks.”

You are welcome. Goodbye.