Spineless

The crumpled business card bore a simple and cutting phrase, scrawled in blue ink: “I am a truly spineless piece of shit.”

The card fluttered to the floor when Allison opened the well-worn copy of The Prince of Tides, the call number on the spine faded to the point of near invisibility. She wondered which of the hipster guests of “The Beach Retreat” would have possibly shoved the card in an old library book. Did they find the book on her “leave a book, take a book” shelf in the lobby, or did they actually bring a library book on their surf vacation?

Allison could think of any number of recent guests who objectively would be considered pieces of shit, based on their obnoxious and entitled behavior. When she really thought about it, though, these people probably instead thought that their shit didn’t stink rather than that they were actual spineless pieces of shit.

Just below the message, Allison noticed an email address, written in the same blue ink: permanentvacation@xymail.com. 

It struck her as odd that the writer would leave their email address. Why would they want to invite someone to email them about their piece of shit status? The chosen email address itself implied that they may have already checked out of this life.

Allison gripped the card, her curiosity piqued. She felt it in her bones that she was about to get sucked into something, and this filled her with a familiar excitement that hadn’t always led to good places.

Allison spent the rest of her otherwise mundane day fantasizing about all of the possible reasons he was spineless. It had to be a he, right? The first thought was that he was cheating on his wife and was too afraid to tell her. That was so cliché though. Instead, maybe he had stolen money from his aunt who lived in a skilled nursing facility. And then gambled it all away. Or even more tantalizing of a thought, what if he had sold clients land that he knew was on a toxic landfill? That seemed to qualify as spineless.

Allison was self-aware enough to know that this quest to find Spineless would soon turn into her next distraction, or who was she kidding, obsession. He had left his email, after all. And she was a firm believer that there are no accidents.

Allison waited until her husband went to bed before emailing Spineless. She had already rehearsed all sorts of opening lines earlier in the day as she went about her daily chores, finally landing on the right message. Allison had decided to keep her first contact, simple, not too aggressive. Feeling clever, she emailed Spineless from an email address that she had embarrassingly kept all these years, but never used anymore: davematthewssuperfan@zahoo.com.

“Hi, I found the message you left on the business card.” And so it began.

***

He almost missed the email from davematthewssuperfan@zahoo.com, thinking it was junk mail. But the subject line, “Spineless” caught his attention. Something connected in a remote corner of his mind, but the association was foggy. He adjusted his glasses, cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter as he considered the consequences of reading the email. He downed the shot of scotch next to him and opened the message. 

His chest tightened and the vague association coalesced into realization. Someone had discovered his long-forgotten message, that he now realized had probably been the result of a mix of adrenaline and not enough instinct for self-preservation. Stupid youth. The fact that someone had found his message meant that the time had come to deal with his shit. He didn’t think he was ready. But he had promised himself that if this day came, he would actually develop a spine.

He thought carefully about how to respond and tentatively typed, keeping it simple just as the mysterious sender had: “Where did you find this message?”

***

Allison nearly jumped out of her chair the next morning when she saw the email from Spineless. She couldn’t believe he had responded so quickly, even if it was just to tell her that she had the wrong person. But his response confirmed that she had found Spineless, or at least someone who knew about the message. She decided she had to play it cool.

“I found your message in a library book.” It didn’t feel right to say where she found the library book. Not yet. “How long ago did you write it?”

***

He saw her response and thought back to the day he had written the message. He had been inconsolable for what he had done, or rather, for what he hadn’t done. The years had softened the details, and for that, he was grateful. The emotions, though, came flooding back, and he was transported to his old self who had just for a moment, thought about ending it all that day.

But he wasn’t his old self anymore. He had somehow survived that chaotic night, the details of the trauma slowly returning in disjointed spurts. He felt the same terror mixed with disgust, but he no longer had a firm grasp on what had actually happened. He had a sense of worlds colliding, and it put him on edge.

He knew that his email account was untraceable, which essentially made davematthewssuperfan@zahoo.com his virtual priest. He would never meet them, and it might feel good to unburden himself. Without any recognizable details, of course.

“It was more than a few years ago, and the person who wrote that note doesn’t exist anymore.” Or at least in all the ways that matter. He continued, “I promised myself that if someone ever found the note, I would tell the truth. No matter what.”

***

Allison had rushed through happy hour with her friends so she could go home and check her email in private. Leaving any social event early was not like Allison at all--she faked a headache so her friends wouldn’t wonder what was going on. Plus, she had told her husband that she was driving over the hill to San Jose to pick up tile for one of the guest bathrooms she was remodeling; he would know that the store was now long closed. It wasn’t lost on her that she was lying to everyone who was close to her.

Finally home, she read the message from Spineless twice and wondered if this meant the actual person who wrote the note was dead. Had Spineless killed him? You’re getting kind of dark, Allison. Or maybe he just meant that he wasn’t the same person he was before. Either way, his comment about telling the truth no matter what was unnerving. She wasn’t sure why, since there was no way he would ever know who she was. Allison thought the best approach would be to keep it light.

“Tell the truth no matter what, that sounds so serious! Unburden yourself, I am here without judgement.” This was the biggest lie of all, as Allison was always judging. But he couldn’t know that, because he didn’t know her at all.

***

He had just gotten home from a long day of angry clients when he saw the response. He didn’t believe that anyone could ever be without judgement. Or maybe it was completely different when the person you’re judging isn’t yourself.

It was tempting to unburden himself, but to what end? He weighed the possible consequences, the most worrisome was the likelihood that this person could or would actually do anything if they found out who he was. He remembered his recent promise to himself to stop living in fear. Being afraid was exhausting as hell and he knew it was time to let go. 

“How do I know that you won’t judge me, or worse?” He wanted to say more, but sensed he needed to keep things tight. He wasn’t sure what the “or worse” might be, other than fear of the spotlight that was now shining on his long-buried spineless act. Even though this person had no idea what his spineless act actually was.

***

“Babe, are you okay? You seem a little distracted,” Allison's husband commented that night at dinner.

She was surprised that he noticed, because for weeks now, he had been oblivious to her weight loss and the fact that her hair was falling out in tufts. He was probably just happy that she had stopped drinking. Or so he thought.

“I’m fine, just a little frustrated with how long the bathroom remodel is taking on the Sunny Cove room. Rick promised me he’d have the fixtures in by now.”

Her husband accepted this with a sympathetic smile, telling her he had the name of a guy if hers didn’t work out. He put his dish in the dishwasher, kissed her on the top of her head, and retreated, as usual, into his office.

Allison took solace in the fact that her husband was easily placated, grateful for the space. She could now focus on her growing curiosity about what Spineless looked like: was he hot, or had guilt over whatever he had done led him to drown himself in food and self-loathing? Did he have a family, or was he all alone because of whatever he did? For some reason, images of Mark Ruffalo kept entering her mind.

Allison sensed that she had to say the right thing so she wouldn’t scare Spineless away. Even though she herself was a little afraid of him, she also didn’t want him to disappear.

“I have done so many things I am not proud of, but people have forgiven me. And I have no idea why.” She added, “And even if I did judge you, it doesn’t matter because I don’t know you. What is the “or worse” that you’re talking about?” Allison hoped she didn’t sound too eager with her last question.

***

The direct question about the “or worse” comment felt like someone was calling his bluff. He definitely wouldn’t have instigated this conversation in his present state; he was keeping the promise to his old idiot self who wrote the message on the card that day. Back then, he hadn’t learned the fine art of sleeping on things.

“There are things we aren’t proud of, and then there are things we do that define us. What I did back then can’t be erased. I guess what I’m afraid of is that I’ll be found out for the fraud that I am. There is a chance that I could go to prison for the rest of my life for what I did.”

He erased this last line, rewrote it, and decided he would sleep on it this time. Two hours later, still wide awake, he kept his promise to see this through and added “I am the reason someone is dead.” He hit send. Well idiot, I guess you still don’t know how to sleep on it.

***

Damn, this shit just got real. The fun Mark Ruffalo fantasy Allison had been holding onto took a darker turn, more of the Anthony Hopkins variety. She suddenly realized how careless she had been with contacting some random who could be a murderer. Emails weren’t actually that hard to trace, and she had no idea who this person was and what they might be capable of. What if now that Spineless had made this vague confession, he decided to find her to shut her up? Allison chastised herself for the reckless behavior that continued to define her life. She was suddenly very afraid and no longer so interested in knowing how Spineless had caused a person to die. She decided at that moment that she was going to forget all about the business card and let Spineless atone for his sins, on his own. Allison had her own problems to deal with, the first of which was her growing desire for a drink. She knew that would be the worst possible idea.

***

Three weeks had gone by and he hadn’t heard from davematthewssuperfan@zahoo.com. He figured he must have scared them off, and maybe that was for the best. His life was finally stable and the last thing he needed was to stir things up. And prison was definitely not anywhere he wanted to be. He took solace in the fact that he hadn’t run away when this person found his admission and contacted him. He took the fact that they had backed away as a sign that this was as far as it was ever meant to go.

***

Allison reluctantly returned to her chaotic, yet familiar, routine. The bathroom remodel was nearly done and it was high season at the resort. She spent her days meeting the very specific demands of her guests, falling into bed exhausted each night.

Allison couldn’t decide if she was relieved or disappointed that she hadn’t from Spineless for several weeks. She assumed that he must not have wanted to open old wounds, no more than she wanted to deal with the consequences of her compulsion to email him in the first place.

Allison had always had this masochistic need for closure. It was the scab that she couldn’t stop picking, even knowing that it could become a festering wound that would take weeks to heal.

Allison sat at her laptop and gathered her thoughts. She attempted to log into her email account but her system kept crashing. She realized that her computer had gotten much slower over the past several weeks, leading her to conclude that it had some kind of a virus.

And suddenly she knew that Spineless had somehow caused the virus. She couldn’t believe she had been so stupid to fall into this trap. Allison imagined a spy cam installed in her operating system, giving Spineless clues to her identity and location.

She didn’t know who to turn to, as this game with Spineless had been her own stupid secret. Allison knew that in her frantic state she wasn’t likely to come up with the most rational solution. Her gut told her that her best way out was to convince Spineless that she was done with trying to figure out his mystery. She would promise to leave him alone forever and let him atone in peace.

Resolute in her decision, Allison went upstairs and logged onto her husband’s computer. He hated when she used his computer, claiming she messed with his settings. No need to mess with anyone’s settings, she was just sending out a quick goodbye.

Allison spent the next several minutes crafting the perfect email to get herself off the hook. She agonized over her words until settling on what she thought was the right mix of resolve and goodwill.

She hit send and was about to close the laptop when she heard the ding of an email notification. There was no way he could have written back that quickly, but the timing was interesting. Maybe he had shut down this email account and her email was getting bounced back. That solidified her suspicion that she had stumbled onto something dark and criminal.

Part of her was relieved that the decision had been made for her. If Spineless had closed the account, he wouldn’t know that she had reestablished contact. She was safe and he would never be able to find her.

But something told her that he hadn’t closed his account, that he wasn't quite finished with this conversation.

She looked on the screen and saw that it instead was a desktop notification letting permanentvacation@xymail.com know that an email had just come in from davematthewssuperfan@zahoo.com.

Momentarily confused, Allison felt realization setting in. The discovery hit her with the force of truth, nearly sending her to her knees.

Spineless apparently lived in her house.