The Secret Lives of Emails.docx Read Free Page A

like you’re awfully lucky I found you.”
    “Lucky? Lucky that you found me?”
    “Ummm . . . yes. Listen, are you likely to continue like this? With the constant questions I mean. It’s just that our conversation doesn’t seem to be going anywhere, and I actually have questions of my own.”
    “See here, you little newb. You don’t know me. You don’t know how many naked men I’ve seen or why. Call me lucky. I didn’t need rescuing from some man, let alone a naked one.”
    “I didn’t say anything about rescuing you, and I don’t know what being naked has to do with any of this, or why you feel the need to tell me about how many naked men you’ve seen. However, now that you mention it, I don’t think you can argue the point that you needed rescuing. I’d think you’d be grateful to me, and yet all I’ve gotten out of this encounter so far is a bloody nose. And a headache.”
    “I can give you more than a bloody nose if you would like,” she said, clenching her fists. It was the universal sign that she was ready to punch something, and even the naked man should’ve been able to read that signal. “I was talking about the number of naked men I’ve seen because you are now on that list,” she added.
    “It’s a list, is it? I wonder how long that list is. Well . . . one second, did you say naked?”
    “Yes. You’re naked.”
    “Am I?” It now occurred to the man that perhaps the oddness of this conversation was his fault. He was beginning to feel a breeze in places where breezes are reserved for special occasions.
    Upon closer examination of himself, he saw that he was, in fact, quite naked. Not just a little naked, like Oscar dresses, but all the way naked, like some Oscar dresses. Our naked man was sure that this was not how someone carried themselves in polite company, and he rushed to cover himself. He found nothing in his immediate vicinity with which to do that, so he settled for an uncomfortable slight twist of the leg and a suddenly inadequate placement of his hands.
    “You really didn’t know you were naked?” she asked.
    “I guess not. I’m not really sure of much to be honest,” he said, half to himself. He had turned a particular shade of red, which some people might call Lotus Rouge. I would call those people pretentious.
    “Well, I have a bag of clothes somewhere around here,” she said as she glanced around them. She went over and grabbed a backpack, which was on the ground next to some dead bodies that lay against the brick wall. She tossed it over to the man. “Here. You should be able to find something in there.”
    “Thanks.”
    “No problem. If there is one thing I am always willing to do, it’s to help naked people find clothes to put on.”
    The man quickly rummaged through the bag and pulled out a plaid skirt, slipping it on.
    “A skirt? Interesting choice,” she said with a slight grin.
    “Why is it interesting? You’re wearing one.”
    “Anyways, I’m Brittany,” she said with a shake of her head.
    “Uhhh . . .” he said while sliding on a black leather jacket. “I seem to be having difficulty recalling anything prior to running into this wall. I’m not sure what my name is to be honest.”
    “It’s Emal. That’s what’s written on your chest.”
    Emal opened the jacket again, and sure enough, printed on him were the letters E M A L. There appeared to be space for another letter, and perhaps there had been more writing below that, but everything except EMAL had been covered with blood from his nose. He wiped at it with a different shirt from Brittany’s bag, and whatever else might have been there came off.
    “Hmm . . . I suppose that sounds right. Well, nice to meet you, Brittany,” Emal said, reaching out to shake her hand. This was one of those instinctual things he was sure he was supposed to do when meeting new people.
    “I think we are a little past formalities, don’t you?” Brittany said, dismissing him with a wave of her hand. “I