Later while alone it what I wanted when around Jeannie became clear. It went beyond her flesh, past the mere material -- just as how the story of a book is worth more than the ink and paper that contain it, 

I'd been daydreaming too much about my meetings with Jeannie. I noticed I wasn't watching as much

Netflix

, reading less of the

New Yorker

, scrolling

Twitter

less. Instead I relentlessly checked my email looking for a message from 

Jeannie Hammond

; even her name looked incredibly beautiful on that 

Gmail

interface. 

The name looked respectable. Not just a girl your friends were trying to set you up on a date with that you knew would go nowhere. It read like someone you would hear about from afar first. You would only get an email directly from them after some time, by which time you'd already be familiar with the legends surrounding her. Jeannie Hammond. It sounded like someone who was pretty. Too pretty. So much so that in general conversation people didn't mention it. Maybe if they were drinking someone would slip and go on a declaration of just how pretty she was. But that was the weekend-hours conversations. During the workday, water cooler or coffee talk, Jeannie wasn't known for how unfairly beautiful she was compared to the rest of 

Balloon House

. instead they talked about how unfairly smart, nice, and creative she was.