Credit: thespecialblank
–
We’ve only ever known each other online, but I’ve always felt like you were one of my real friends. Yeah, I know how weird it sounds. I’m not exactly a hermit – I have a lot of people around me all the time – but I always felt like you were one of the few who actually understood me.
It’s funny how life works.
How long was it ago? Three, four months? I was idling in a chatroom – something I kept open in the background during work – and then you popped in. I still have the log of what you said the first time:
donkeyskin402: I need to talk to someone.
donkeyskin402: My friend just killed herself.
donkeyskin402: Please.
thespecialblank: I’m sorry, donkeyskin402. Can you tell me what happened?
I spent the next hour talking to you from there. There is something funny about online conversations: it lacks the physical dimension, the feel of someone really being there. But it’s good in a way. I felt like we could tell each other about ourselves, in earnest, without barriers getting in the way. We weren’t sitting face-to-face, but I felt a lot closer to you for that.
I don’t know what it was – maybe it was the weather, maybe it was the fact that I was trying to deal with my hangover – but the next few hours would melt away without me noticing. Soon enough, the sun was peeking over the horizon, and it was a couple of hours before I had to go to work. I mentioned it to you, and you said:
donkeyskin402: Oh no. I’m really sorry for keeping you awake.
thespecialblank: Don’t worry! I don’t really mind. I had a good chat – in spite of what we’re talking about.
donkeyskin402: Are you sure?
thespecialblank: Yep.
donkeyskin402: Well, I’ll be here tomorrow night. I hope to see you online then.
thespecialblank: I’m Karl, by the way. You can call me K.
donkeyskin402: I’m Isabel. But you can’t call me Izzy.
*donkeyskin402 has logged out.
I spent a few precious moments leaning back on my chair, trying to remember what we talked about. And then it occurred to me: I never even found out what your friends’ name was.
~
Manga. Horror manga, to be exact. It took a few tries, but it eventually became the thing that we would talk about. I had a passion for scanlated Japanese comics – and it turned out that you were a fan of horror fiction. Danielewski, King, Koontz – they were names that filled your imagination, filled your lungs with passion.
Meanwhile, I had an incredible love for the works of Katsuhiro Otomo, Takehiko Inoue (the author of that one basketball manga you hated), and Horikoshi Kohei. You didn’t understand it at first: Japanese comics read from right to left, and had exaggerated facial expressions – but I eventually swayed you with horror manga.
thespecialblank: You ever read Junji Ito?
donkeyskin402: Nope. Do I want to?
thespecialblank: Oh yes you do. He wrote Uzumaki, which is a predecessor to Dark City. He writes a lot of short ones as well, if you wanna give it a try. His scene-setting is FANTASTIC.
donkeyskin402: Oh god. I hate it when you fanboy! >_>
thespecialblank: No, no, try this one first. I promise you’ll dig it.
thespecialblank: It’s called The Enigma of Amigara Fault
thespecialblank: http://imgur.com/gallery/ZNSaq
I went to work that morning – giddy and nervous about what you would think. It didn’t make sense: I didn’t write the stories. But it felt important to me somehow, that we’d have a common connection. My knees shivered as I ambled my way home, made my way to my computer desk.
I logged in, and a smile immediately bloomed out of my face.
donkeyskin402: KARL
donkeyskin402: KARL
donkeyskin402: KARL
thespecialblank: WASSUP
thespecialblank: WHAT IS IT IZZY
donkeyskin402: …
donkeyskin402: UZUMAKI
donkeyskin402: IS
donkeyskin402: GLORIOUS
thespecialblank: right?! how far are you in?
donkeyskin402: ch 12
donkeyskin402: OMG
We spent the next few hours talking and swapping links; discussing the many stories and merits of each of Junji Ito’s stories. I felt excited, but content at the same time. Later on, I’d ask you what you looked like, and you’d send me a photo. I thought you were going to be pretty, but I was wrong. You were just straight-up beautiful.
~
donkeyskin402: You think we could be real-life friends?
donkeyskin402: If we met, I mean. Would we have liked each other?
thespecialblank: Of course. Don’t be silly. You’re cool as all hell.
thespecialblank: I bet we’d hang all the time.
donkeyskin402: Ha! If you didn’t let me, I’d just sort of stand outside your window until you came out.
donkeyskin402: COME OUT WITH ME KARL. LET’S PLAAAAY.
thespecialblank: hahahaha you dork
thespecialblank: We can settle for an imaginary alternative instead
donkeyskin402: Hmm?
thespecialblank: You could tell me about where you live.
thespecialblank: And I could sort of imagine I’m there.
donkeyskin402: Hmmm…Okay.
donkeyskin402: Well, I live with my parents in this apartment above a barbershop in Church Street – one of the main roads in my town.
donkeyskin402: I have a room that overlooks this kebab place across the road. It’s always busy, but I like the noise.
donkeyskin402: On mornings, you could see where the sun rise over this building called Bryant and May. It looks pretty as hell.
thespecialblank: Wait. Is this in Richmond?
donkeyskin402: Yeah. What. How did you know?
thespecialblank: I live a block down from that barbershop.
** donkeyskin402 has disconnected.
~
I ran, ran outside into the streets, into the night, across the dining chairs that grew out of the main road. Through the pubs where the muffled sounds of friday night bands leaked out of the windows. The endless honking and beeping of cars stuck in gridlock traffic.
There was a thump in my chest that threatened to heave out my heart out of my sternum. I can finally see you, I thought. This must be fate. This statistical miracle must be fate at work.
I looked up, and I saw the barbershop that you talked about. Atop it, an apartment lay quiet; warm, dim incandescent lights blooming from the inside. I walked up the stairs with my hand on my chest, reached your door- And then I knocked twice.
A weary-looking woman opened the door. She had your pale eyes. The same frizzy hair that hung at the sides. She looked at me with tired eyes and said, “Can I help you?”
I huffed; it took me a good minute to catch my breath. When I finally did, I said, “I’m here to see Isabel. I’m Karl. I’m her friend.”
The woman’s eyes shot wide, suddenly, and her eyebrows curled in a gust of anger. “Is this…this is a really sick joke that you’re playing.”
I raised my hands up, puzzled. “No, no. I’m her friend. We’ve been friends for half a year now.”
“Stop it,” the woman replied. “Please. Just go away.”
“I just want to see Isabel. She lives here, yes?”
At that moment, the woman’s eyes welled up in tears; a sudden display of agony that broke my heart. It would get worse later, when she told me:
No, you can’t see Isabel. No one can see Isabel anymore. She killed herself three months ago.
~
The winter winds blow past the empty streets, and it howls with echoes in my empty apartment. All my lights are turned off; nothing but the dim glow of my computer screen. I can’t sleep.
I keep my windows open, so as not to silence the whistling of the wind. Because when I do, I hear a voice from across the street, calling to me. Come out with me Karl, it whispers. Let’s play, it whispers.
cordeliasdread 