Cyber Friend
My name is Andy, and this is my story about a friend I made online. Her name was amy_xo, and that’s the only name I ever knew her by.
When I landed a job and moved to America, I was lonely. Each night after work I would do the same thing I did back home: go on the computer. One night I joined a chat room and entered a room labelled “Life”. People were chatting about terrible childhoods, divorces gone wrong, and a bunch of other distressing topics. I stayed up for hours, my eyes glued to the screen as I read the stories these people had either completely fabricated or truly experienced. Whichever it was, I felt sympathetic.
As I was about to sign off for the night, I got a personal message from one of the members of the chat room, amy_xo. I hadn’t seen her post all night, and her profile revealed no personal information.
“hey”
“Uh, hi. How are you?” I replied. I kicked myself for sounding like a complete jerk to someone I’d never met.
“i’m good. what do you think about the stories tonight?”
“Oh. They’re…interesting.” I said.
“yeah. they’re not as believable tonight as they usually are.”
A part of me smiled at our shared skepticism. “You read them often?” I replied.
“every night. it’s the only way I can get to sleep some nights. these people have become like a family to me.”
We talked deep into the night and well into the morning. From our anything-but-nuclear families to our wildest dreams, little by little we revealed parts of ourselves through conversation. We couldn’t see facial reactions and had no idea what the other looked like, but that was trivial. What mattered most was that we had this open gate we could step through where we could talk about whatever we wanted — a forum for openly discussing matters of the heart and mind.
Over the course of a few months, we became good friends. We shared recipes with each other, talked about our futures, and came to the conclusion that the most meaningful conversations we had ever had were through a computer screen. It felt good to have a friend.
I got to know amy_xo really well, and our friendship got to the point where I could actually see us meeting in real life. As I considered the possibility for another week, I got scared. I started to worry about how meeting in person could affect our friendship. Was it even necessary to meet her face-to-face? Could we be lifelong friends through a screen?
When I brought up my new friendship to my parents over the phone one evening, they were flippant. They made condescending remarks and told me she “wasn’t my real friend”. I berated them for their views. What made her any less of a friend? I felt genuine happiness when I talked to her, and I sincerely missed her when we were apart. People are judged for having “online-only friends”, but why? amy_xo helped me get through (or at least forget about) my loneliness in an unfamiliar place. She wasn’t physically beside me, but it felt like she was. She was waiting for me when I got home from work each day, and she was there when we streamed movies together while laughing late into the night.
After the phone call with my parents, I ran to my computer and logged into the chat room to talk with amy_xo. When I got there, she wasn’t online. An hour passed and she never showed. Two. Three. I was losing my mind as I sat there waiting for her to appear, and she never did.
Looking back, I don’t even know if amy_xo was a real person. We never disagreed on any topics and she was always online when I wanted her to be. It’s like she was one of those on-demand TV services with some corny slogan about shows “always being there when you want to watch,” except, in this scenario, that was the best thing I could ask for.
Today, I’m much the same as I was before: quiet, reserved, and alone. When I get home from work, I still go on my computer; but now, I’m the one writing stories in the chat room called “Life”, hoping that somewhere in the world is a person named amy_xo who is reading what I say.
Cyber Friend by Daniel Dafoe
Did you enjoy what you read? Check out my previous short story, A Strange Hue.
