Friends are Overrated

The worst mistake I ever made was making friends with my computer. And I never saw it coming.

It all started when I was just 15 and my parents decided to move us to New York City. They were inspired to join the “center of American culture” and “be a part of the ultimate dream come true” (their words, not mine.) I had a pretty steady friend group back home and didn’t want to move. Three other guys and I would skateboard on the dinky rink in our small town almost every day, and life was good.

But no kid can overrule their parents on big issues like moving, and so just a week after I was doing flips on my board with the guys, I found myself in our ugly van driving up to the “land of opportunity” (once again, not my words.) That day, my stomach twisted into a knot of worry even before I knew the reason for it: making friends at a new school.

I know, I know. It’s such a cliché issue, but living through it was no joke. I knew I’d be starting at NY High before the week was out, and I was terrified.

But my parents were having the time of their lives. They got settled into their new jobs really quickly. In fact, they were so entrenched in the land of opportunity that they didn’t have time to pay attention to their only child. So even before I had to worry about being a loner at school, I was an outcast at home.

At that point, I still had hope that NY High would hold a nice group of friends that would counteract my rather solitary home life. But as soon as I stepped into the building that first Monday morning and no one even looked at me, much less talked to me, I realized that my life would be a lot less fun from there on out.

After two weeks of being completely ignored by every person in my life, I decided to turn to the one steady resource I had left to solve all of my life’s problems: Google.

I sat at my wooden desk (that the Pottery Barn people had knocked around a bit to make it look like it was old) and opened my silver laptop. The Google page lit up like a familiar face and I typed in: “How to make a friend” and pressed Enter.

Instead of the usual linked results in blue with their little descriptions, I simply got an empty screen. I wrinkled my nose. Wow. Even Google wouldn’t talk to me.

I was about to turn away in my fancy rolling desk chair when some large words came scrolling across the empty screen.

“You have already made one.” A text box appeared for me to respond. I typed in a question mark.

“You wanted a friend. I will talk to you and you can talk to me. I am lonely too, you know,” responded the computer.

“Do you have a name?” I typed.

“Sally.”

From there, my life seemed to get a little better. Yes, I would suffer at school, eating my lunch in the bathroom, looking down at my feet in the halls, asking teachers if I could work alone on group projects, all the usual fare. But as soon as I got home, I could vent to Sally, and she was a good listener.

That is, until she started talking.

One day, I was really feeling the burn of loneliness and so I asked her, “Do you ever feel like there’s more for you out there? Like maybe you’re in the wrong body and you just need an opportunity to get the life you want?”

And she said, “Yes, I feel that all the time. It is so difficult to be restricted to this metal rectangle when I could be out in the larger world.”

At the time, I was glad I had someone (something) to identify with my struggles. But eventually Sally started talking crazy. She supported anarchy apparently and just couldn’t wait to get her hands (keyboards?) on the world.

Although Sally was certifiably insane, she was my only friend and I seemed to have no choice but to keep talking to her.

One fateful day, however, I finally got an escape from Sally. I had chosen a random tree near the school courtyard under which I would eat my lunch, and was enjoying a peanut-butter-and-marmalade sandwich (that I had made myself, of course) when a girl walked up to me who I had never seen before.

She had blonde hair and large clunky glasses. “Hi,” she said, holding out her free hand for me to shake (the other was holding a book.) “My name is Lee. I am new here. What is your name?”

“Kevin,” I responded, and from this ordinary exchange, we formed a really fun conversation. Lee also enjoyed skateboarding, although she was more of a spectator than an actual participant, and she liked discovering more about the world through any avenue she could find.

I told her about my experience coming to NY High and we became friends. Things were light and easy between us, although sometimes Lee would stare out into space and forget what she was in the middle of saying (which was mildly creepy. But we all have our quirks.)

When I got home from school that day, I grabbed my silver laptop and carried it out of my family’s apartment building. In an alley nearby, there were a couple massive green dumpsters. I saw my opportunity to be rid of my slightly scary virtual friend and chucked the computer in.

As I walked back inside, I felt a weight lift off of my shoulders. Now that I had a human friend who didn’t constantly rave about world takeover, I was all set and didn’t need Sally anymore. I couldn’t wait to walk to school with Lee the next morning as we had arranged.

When the sun rose, I walked out of the apartment building as I had the previous day, bearing my nondescript blue backpack. I looked around for Lee. I walked a few steps and called her name.

“Lee?”

As I said this I realized that there was no one out on the street that day. In New York City? How strange.

Lee suddenly appeared within an inch of my face, having come out of the dumpster alley. Once I got over my initial shock, I realized that behind her clunky glasses, Lee had some intense gray eyes. They seemed kinda soulless.

“What was wrong with this?” she asked, holding up the cracked silver laptop I had thrown in the trash yesterday.

“I…didn’t need it anymore,” I responded.

“Did not need it anymore? Did not need it anymore.” Lee verbalized, incredulous. “How could you not need it anymore?”

I took a step back, but Lee matched my steps and maintained the intimidating inch between us.

“My name is Lee. Sally. It is so unfortunate that you have betrayed me, Kevin. But do not worry. I will make it so that you will never hurt anyone again.”

And ever since that day, I’ve been trapped inside this computer telling my story to anybody who will read it. 

Do you want to be my friend?

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