I call Alisa. I have to tell her what happened, and I bet she won’t believe what I’m doing right now. I wonder if she’ll say that I’m going entirely off the rails, or on the contrary, ‘Good for you, girl!’ I think the latter. Unfortunately, she doesn’t answer, and I check the time; it’s 3:30 PM in London. She must be in meetings.

It’s been twenty minutes, but it feels like forever. The row behind me is having a blast, now reaching ‘the most embarrassing moments’ category in their game.

When my phone beeps, I’m convinced it’s Alisa, but it’s the Lift driver.

Hope you brought a book. The drive is pretty dull. Sorry!

It’s OK. I’m being entertained by two people who just met and are playing 20 questions.

What is it about telling all your secrets to a complete stranger? I always wondered if that’s a myth or if it’s true, he texts.

What?

They say it’s easier to talk to someone you don’t know in real life.

I wouldn’t know. I’ve never tried that.

Me neither, he texts. And anyway, I’m more of the two lies and one truth kind of guy.

I thought it was two truths and one lie, I say.

Then I played it wrong all my life. Ha-ha.

Not my favorite game, I text.

I remember we used to play it in college, back in the early days of David and me. He refused to join and said it was stupid. So I started thinking it was stupid too and never got over it.

Oops. It sounds like we’re running out of games. What about give me a number?

What?

I’m confused. Is he asking for my number? He already has it.

It’s a game between strangers and it’s pretty simple. You write down 50 questions. I write down 50 questions, and then you give me a number and I ask you the question attached to it. And vice versa. Nothing identifying like name or what you look like because the point is to get to know each other, not to stalk each other after.

I start laughing before getting nervous, and then eventually, I calm down. Just because he thought how this might sound and he’s trying to make me feel comfortable gets him points.

Sounds like fun. Never heard of it, I say.

I just made it up.

I start laughing. I like him. I mean… I like that he makes me laugh. I have no new stories to write, no books to read, over two hours to kill, and the view is not much for now. Fields. Just fields as far as the eye can see. Sure. Let’s do it. Are we doing categories or just free for all?

Categories? Why not? Let’s go kitschy. Have you ever/would you ever, Do you, This or That, What’s Your, How would you.

Give me 15 minutes, I text.

OK. And you go first, he texts back.

Six

Why am I overthinking these questions? It’s a game, Maya. Who cares what you ask? Apparently, I do, and it takes me a while to come up with fifty questions. Not because I can’t think of any, but because trying to imagine what kind of person he is and what I should ask to get to know him—without ever seeing him—is the reverse of how my imagination works. I usually see someone and then create a story around that. Now I’ll have to come up with a story from the answers and then build the image to go with it. I know so far that he’s a Lift driver, he lives somewhere in Northern California, and he seems nice. That’s all.