Monday Challenge: Tweethearts

[Dan_Diego]

Tweethearts

"If my girlfriend died six months ago, then who is tweeting intimate details of our relationship from her account?"

John looked across the table at his best friend. He said, "Did you ask the folks at Twitter?"

Leonardo took a sip of his coffee and leaned back in his chair. This was his first trip back to the coffee shop since she died. The visit was easier than he thought it would be. The shop was full of regulars. During her treatment, his beloved Kate gave each of them a nickname. Like today, "Hemingway" sat in the corner pecking away at his Mac Book. He typed in short bursts and often charged his coffee from a flask.

He looked back at John and answered the question, "They cannot help without a warrant from the police. And the police don't see a crime in this."

"The account has grown to a million followers since the story aired. Identity theft is a crime. Someone is profiting from your sorrow."

Leonardo did not see it as identify theft. It was far worse than that. It was more like someone peeking into a special place in your heart, a place reserved only for the love of one's life. And now some voyeur shared the details of lost love 140 characters at a time.

They both looked at the lady at the counter. Kate called her "Mrs. Reagan." The hunched old lady would soon be seated with her latte and open her paper to the daily horoscopes. She read them in a whisper and frequently wept at their message.

"Just unsubscribe," John said, "someone is messing with you."

"Barbara Walters" walked by their table after writing her morning question on the coffee shop chalkboard. Today's question was, "Is there any luster in the congressional filibuster?" It was widely known by the college boys that drifted through that she would buy coffee for anyone willing to discuss her daily question. Kate asked Leonardo if he thought the boys that cried in their conversation got "bonus points?"

Leonardo focused on John. He said, "Who would want to mess with me?"

Hemingway approached their table and stood above them. He said, "Nardo, I'm sorry about Kate."

There was only one person who called him Nardo. It was Kate. It was the last five letters of Leonardo.

And it was a secret. He looked up to the bearded man and found his eyes, and asked, "Why did you just call me Nardo?"

Hemingway took a step back from their table and said, "About three months before she died, Kate sat with me and gave me the plot to a love story she always wanted to write." The man wiped a lone tear from his eye. "She told me to name the main characters Nardo and Kate because Leo and Kate was already used in a movie."

"Did you write the story?"

"Random House picked it up for publication in June. I'll make sure you get a copy."

Hemingway left the table.

John said, "I bet he's the one. Maybe Kate gave him her password. He’s a writer, too."

Leonardo watched the man walk away and climb behind his Mac Book, his eyes still moist from their conversation.

Mrs. Reagan approached their table and sat in an empty chair. She said, "Leonardo, I'm very sorry about Kate. She was a credit to all Capricorns."

Leonardo grabbed her hand and said, "How did you know she was a Capricorn?"

"About two months before she died, Kate took an interest in astrology. She came to me for answers."

"You said she was a credit to all Capricorns?" After a long, meaningful night of conversation on the beach, Kate told Leonardo he was a "credit to all the stars in the sky." He thought it was the most wonderful thing one lover could say to another. And now this little old lady used the same expression.

"She loved you, Leonardo, despite what the stars said." Mrs. Reagan resumed her spot at her table, opened her paper to the horoscopes, whispered one and began weeping.

John said, "That was creepy. Maybe she found Kate's password in the stars."

Leonardo smiled at his friend and rested his chin on his chest. A fresh cup of coffee slid into view. Barbara Walters sat in the chair. She said, "I'm so sorry about Kate. You were the bonus points of her life."

"Excuse me?" John stared into the lady's eyes.

"Kate always gave meaningful answers to the rhetorical questions I write on that chalkboard. I teach philosophy at nights. A month before she passed, she told me that you were the deep thinker in the relationship. That you answered the questions in terms that even she could understand. She said she simply repeated the answers you gave her to me. She said you deserved the bonus points."

"She said that?"

"That and that she would miss you forever." Barbara Walters pulled out a white handkerchief and daubed her eyes. "This Twitter thing is a travesty."

Leonardo thanked the lady before she left. John pulled out a sheet of paper and started listing possible suspects. He said they could start a little investigation and stop the tweeting. "After we catch this thief, are you willing to meet other girls?"

***

John climbed the stairs to his loft above the coffee shop. He dropped his keys on the table and nudged the mouse of his computer. The screen came to life. He unfolded the piece of paper and read the list of John’s suspects: Old Man Writer, Old Lady Hunchback, Chalkboard Girl.

He crumpled the list and tossed it into a waste basket. He opened Twitter on his computer, typed his username as @KATElovesLEO and entered Kate’s password, NORDO. There were a hundred tweets waiting for him to read. He ignored them and typed, "Of all the stars in the sky, I finally found Earnest, Nancy, and Barbara. But the one named Nardo is still the brightest."