Internet Friends I

He’s always chatting on the internet. Sometimes it’s like he disappears into his laptop. When he’s off in his digital world, I can’t reach him. We first became friends on the internet. We got wrapped up in each other. When I was in Central America, I was often lonely, and the time difference didn’t seem to matter: he was always online when I needed somebody to talk to. Now we’re on the same continent, in the same country, in the same home, and he’s more distant than ever. He’s still on the computer, grinning, sniggering over some bit of cleverness while I’m hanging out, waiting for him to turn his attention to me.

The other day, when I was washing up after dinner, he sat down in the living room with his computer. “I thought we were going to watch a movie,” I said as I dried my hands on a dirty kitchen towel, but he didn’t reply. I made a few attempts to reach him, to lure him to me, to no avail. I went into his room, closed myself in, and half hoped he would chase me, but he never came. I took off my pants, lay in his bed, and masturbated. Serves him right, I thought, his loss. Still, it would’ve been even better if he’d walked in on me and realized that there was a person of flesh and blood in his apartment who wanted him here, now.