inbox

HI.HOW ARE YOU.

That's the subject line of her first missive in months. And being full of keen insight or an aversion to the poorly punctuated and insistently capital, I feel the trepidation gathering even before I click to reveal a message that resembles the work of some especially maladroit spammer:

"I need you help.
em.....
I want to go back now.
BUT,have some trouble.
I hope talk with you.
Can i have you phone number."

"Oh honey," I say. "Haven't we been through this before?" (And didn't I teach you better than that? I can't help but think, though she's been gone longer than she was here.) But regardless of her intentions, or her troubles, or how she thinks I could possibly help her get back from China sans parental consent-- if I had the tiniest fraction of my presumed powers, I swear I'd deserve my own comic: The Misadventures of Ms. P--regardless, I know exactly how my end of this conversation would go:

"No."

"I'm sorry."

"No."

Bookended, of course, with "HI.HOW ARE YOU," and an internal, "What the heck? What is she saying? Is she serious? I don't understand." in two languages at once.

I would rather not.

But my work number is on the school website that I know she's previously perused, and I don't want to alienate, really, and who knows what her story is. So I tap out the the digits, calculate a thirteen-hour time difference and hope for silence while half-expecting an immediate ring.

Not yet.