IFINALLY met Amy at Hartsfield-Jackson Airport a couple of Mays ago. I recall walking through the Atlanta airport’s terminal among pictures of nebulae and galaxies, floating along corridors with only a backpack. I called my friend Devin, hyperventilating, feeling downright Neil Armstrong, needing to broadcast this moment to someone.
Amy and I had already known each other for five years by then. We had connected online when we were high school students on opposite coasts; I was in Oregon, and she was in Georgia. I liked her because she listened to Bobby Darin, knew who Italo Calvino was, and posted cute pictures of herself digitally multiplied to play the banjo, guitar, trombone and tambourine at the same time, a full band of Amys.
当时Amy和我已经认识五年了。我们在高中还分别住在东西海岸那会儿就用互联网联系上了，那时我住在俄勒冈州，而她住在乔治亚州。我喜欢上她是因为她喜欢听Bobby Darin的歌曲，知道Italo Calvino是做什么的（译注：前者是美国1950s~60s的偶像歌星，后者是意大利作家），还传给我数字合成的她自己同时演奏班卓琴、吉他、长号和小鼓的图片——简直就是一个由“Amy们”组成的乐队。
I was 15 and had just started dating. My first kiss was at a school dance, regrettably to Usher’s “Burn.” I was terrified to find my date’s tongue in my mouth, not knowing what it was. This was before Facebook had opened its doors to everyone, and before Twitter condensed everything, so all we had were long-winded blogs, which typically fell into two categories: daily observations or teenage angst. Mine was famous for the latter.
Something about the format was enticing: being able to say whatever you wished without ever having to face your audience. Not only did I write about girls and my social anxieties, I wrote on subjects I rarely spoke about: existentialism, family, religion and the wars. I broadcast everything that scared and exhilarated me.
If my blog was a miserablist exercise in self-discovery, Amy’s was the opposite, filled with sweet stories of riding her bike in McDonough, Ga., singing to her dog and dancing in fields with her friends. Her photos were amber-tinted and pastoral.