In which Matthew's cellphone hears gunfire

Sat Dec 6, 6:58 p. The Cell felt an unusual txt come in and blurted out an alert. She knew her Caller had a nice dinner party tonight, but he'd forgotten to turn her volume down again. A muffled voice from out above the Left Pocket (the new Banana Republic slacks today, but no underwear: the Caller was dressed to impress but too lazy this week to do any laundry) made fun of the noise. It sounded like a strangled duck, she said. The Cell's display turned pink around the edges, but of course no one could see, but hadn't this woman ever heard a basic Verizon new-txt signal? The txt, anyway, was intriguing: Let's play a guessing game. The Caller, as interested as the Cell was, snuck a quick Ok in response without the fellow dinner-guest seeing.

Sat Dec 6, 7:06 p. Two more txts, same unrecognized number: What's your name; Guess who I am.

Sat Dec 6, 8:37 p. A new txt. Equally confusing, but at least the number was recognizable: Randy. Hey, Matt. I'm going to pick you up at 9:15 -- as in tonight, interrupting the party, which sounded as if it were going well (the Caller seemed to really like the scallops, but kept asking undereducated questions about the wine)? or did Randy mean tomorrow morning? And if so, what was happening then? The txt continued: Bring an ID and a debit or credit card. The card won't be charged unless you steal the gun. -- the Cell gasped -- Wear layers.

Sat Dec 6, 10:26 p. Missed call. The Fiancee. By now, the Caller had less-than-discreetly turned the Cell to silent, so after flashing ineffectually at him from the pocket, she let this possibly important call (was it about Randy and the gun?) go to that automated whore at Voicemail.

Sat Dec 6, 10:47 p. Ah, the Caller thought to check the Pocket, and called his love back right away! But there are still no clues about the gun: only hushed apologies that he could only return home when his ride was ready to go, and that she shouldn't wait up. And more praise of the scallops.

Sun Dec 7, 9:01 a. Reminder: Paintball Sun Dec 7 10am - 4pm. Well, well. After a night of anxious vibrating (guns? ID? were there drugs involved?) the truth comes out in one obvious Google Calendar message. Stupid, stupid.

Sun Dec 7, 9:19 a. On my way. Be at your place in ten minutes. See ya! Randy, the wordiest of wordy txters.

Sun Dec 7, 9:30 a. I'm out front.

Sun Dec 7, 10:01 a. Reminder: chess w/alec @ Sun Dec 7 11am - 12pm. For nearly a year now, both the Caller and Alec had been too busy to keep this weekly date, but the Caller kept the reminder on. More out of hope than nostalgia, thought the Cell.

Sun Dec 7, 1:43 a. That unrecognized number again! Have you figured out who this is yet?

Sun Dec 7, 2:24 p. Missed call, from New York. Emily. Probably just calling to talk. The Cell loved Emily -- she would talk on forever, but she was very kind to the Caller. But no: off to that bitch at Voicemail she went, leaving the Cell alone, hidden from thieves beneath a sweatshirt on the floor of Randy's car. It still sounded like war out there, paint or not.

Sun Dec 7, 5:10 p. Oh, of course, the Caller doesn't play chess or call back his best friends, but now, covered in paint, dirt, welts, bruises, he txts the unrecognized caller: Not yet. Clue?

Sun Dec 7, 6:28 p. I'm a brunette. Male. The Caller is now on a dinner-date with the Fiancee. The wine-and-scallops party was one thing, but if he starts txting with this random guy right in the Fiancee's face... then again, who is this guy?

Sun Dec 7, 6:31 p. The Caller couldn't but respond (the Fiancee must be thrilled:Are you me, but from the future?

Sun Dec 7, 6:33 p. I could be... But not as tall or cute. :)

Sun Dec 7, 6:33 p. Okay: short, male, gay, inappropriately forward, and uses emoticons. The Caller hazards a fair guess: Sam?

Sun Dec 7, 6:33 p. Nope. You don't know me that well.

Sun Dec 7, 6:36 p. The Cell felt the Fiancee roll her eyes in her direction. Hey, don't kill the messenger. The Caller thinks it might have been someone he met at a party last weekend: Did we recently become facebook friends?

Sun Dec 7, 6:41 p. No I'm not on facebook. Keep guessin. :) Are you gay?

Sun Dec 7, 6:44 p. The Caller thinks through the most appropriate response (remember dinner? love of your life? beer in front of you?), and decides on: No... You don't actually know me. How did you get my number?

Sun Dec 7, 6:45 p. A txt from the Fiancee: Give attention. The Caller looked up, and the Fiancee pointed at her face. The Caller smiled.

Sun Dec 7, 6:48 p. And so our gentleman caller disappeared, leaving only his grammar behind. I got it on accident. Guess its the wrong person. Sorry.