They bounce, taunting. Their movement catches my gaze, my eyes inexorably pulled to the mischievous jig at the bottom of the screen.
The person on the other side of the message writes, thinks, writes again. The three spots, an ellipsis decreeing the knowable and unknown, is thrown into a frenzy of movement. I catch myself pulling at my collar and drag the zipper low to bare my throat. The rush of cool air offers momentary relief, and the spots stop dancing.
A melodious chirp from a digital grasshopper.
LOL!
I sigh in relief—the friendship endures—the misunderstanding evaded.
Phoebe Darqueling 