Tag: fiction

Return to In the Chat Box: Stories of Digital Love and Disdain

We’re all just simple fools looking for new and convenient ways to get our rocks off. At least that’s what Alex told himself when he got an unsuspecting instant message from somebody he hadn’t talked to in years. It was the middle of the fall when she messaged him, even if it felt more like winter when she entered his life after years and years of silence.

Anna Renquist.

Jesus Christ. How long had it been since they last spoke to one another? Ten Years? Fifteen? More? He thought about it a lot, but only after the first few conversations did he nail down how long it had been. Looking back at everything that happened, he should have been reading a book about the five stages of grief to better prepare him for everything that would occur throughout two very long and introspective years.

The message seemed harmless enough at First. Let’s go back to the beginning.

Stage One: Denial

November 7, 2021

Alex had a hard time falling asleep lately. That’s an understatement. Alex hadn’t fallen asleep before 2 a.m. in about three weeks. Most of the time, he sat in bed and stared at the ceiling. That never really worked. It often made him more awake because his brain would trick him out of being sleepy. He tried the more modern methods, and those all did about as well as the blank staring into the void. Melatonin did nothing (weed never worked on him, either). Sleep sounds like rain just made him have to pee for some reason. Hell, there were a few nights that he tried to close his eyes and count sheep. None of it worked.

His girlfriend Andrea kept telling him to see a doctor. “Maybe it’s sleep apnea,” she would always say. Alex didn’t think so. He wasn’t sure what it was exactly, but it wasn’t sleep apnea. He wasn’t highly fit but wasn’t chubby or overweight either. Andrea often teased about his “dad bod,” even if she knew Alex would scowl back at her for several hours before getting over it.

Alex figured the sleep deprivation/voluntary insomnia had something to do with a few things he noted lately:

1. Lack of motivation at work
2. Lack of motivation in his relationship
3. Lack of motivation in his hobbies and interests
4. Lack of motivation to see his friends and family
5. A general lack of motivation

On the evening of November 7, Alex felt tired before 2 a.m. for the first time in a long while. The wind picked up late into the evening, with temperatures dipping into the twenties. He lay beside his girlfriend, Andrea, in bed while she snored. He thought about getting up and grabbing something to drink. Watch some TV in the living room. There was always the home office where he worked for some one-on-one time. That could put him to sleep.

No. Alex decided to stay in bed and scroll through his phone in case he might fall asleep. His eyes fluttered a few times while he scrolled through his Facebook feed when a notification popped up. Alex tapped his screen to read who hit him up on Messenger. It was a name he hadn’t heard in years. He couldn’t remember becoming friends with her (upon further inspection later, they became friends back in 2010).

He stood up in the bed to read the message. The time was 11:34 p.m.

Alex stared at the screen for a solid minute. Anna Renquist? As in, childhood friend Anna Renquist? Family friend? He was sure that she babysat him at some point when he was a baby. She was three or four years older, so it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. Either way, it’s been a long time since they spoke.

He tried to think about the last time he saw Anna. He remembered seeing her at a get-together at her grandparent’s house at the beginning of the millennium. He remembered arguing about the Battle of Fallujah with Anna’s father as a bright-eyed college student, such as he was back then. He still had strong opinions about the War on Terror, of course, but at least he wasn’t such an arrogant prick about it anymore like he was nearly twenty years ago.

Alex wasn’t part of her family but had been a longtime friend of the Renquists long before he was born. Alex’s father, Jeff, cared for Anna’s grandmother as a young doctor back in the early 1980s, and he stayed close over the years. The doctor visitors from Ms. Renquist’s favorite general practitioner lessened, yet Alex’s father still found a way to come around. Eventually, he had a family of his own and became an unofficial part of the Renquist clan by the mid-1980s when Alex was born.

Alex cleared his throat and finally decided to respond to her. He could be cordial without wondering if it was some solicitation.

Alex felt like an asshole for being so matter-of-fact and to the point. But this was like getting an unsolicited call from a telemarketer. He didn’t know what to expect. It was too late to take it back, so he hoped she would forgive the unpleasantries. The tiny dots moved for nearly a minute before stopping and starting back up again several times. She responded a minute later. The news made him get up from the bed and stand up. Andrea continued to snore, blissfully unaware of anything else going on. Alex looked over and briefly wished he could trade places.

George Renquist was Anna’s uncle. Of the three Renquist brothers, George lived the most exciting life. Instead of following in the family business of plumbers, George chose a life as an independent general contractor-for-hire and all-around handyman. Alex didn’t know how he made his money or if it was ever genuinely reported on his taxes. Of course, none of that mattered anymore. Alex’s dad also did under-the-table doctoring for George over the years.

George was not the healthiest man. He loved to drink and eat. Mostly, though, his vice was drinking. Some of Alex’s earliest memories are sitting on George’s lap while he held a rum and cola cocktail in hand at get-togethers and other Renquiest family functions. He never drank to excess, but you could always tell her where he was in a house from the trailing scent of alcohol. Overlooking his drinking problem, George was a damn good contractor. Although he attended school at the prestigious William and Mary College in Williamsburg, VA, he was self-taught in every aspect of his business. His last girlfriend, Janice, was his bookkeeper and kept all his records straight (including late notices on payment).

Alex assumed his drinking finally got the better of him, or he had a heart attack.

Alex finally fell asleep after the message trailed off around midnight. The sleep came quickly for once. Not that it was perfect, mind you. But sleep is sleep, and Alex needed a few consistent hours to reset his body. He woke up thinking that he should thank Anna for helping him fall asleep, but immediately felt wiser not to. At the very least, a reword of his response. He awoke early that Monday morning and decided to handle the awkward conversation before getting ready for work. Andrea continued to snore.

It was four hours before Anna replied.

She was right. Alex overthought and overanalyzed everything. Alex received the message on his phone after his Zoom meeting at his work. He worked for a small communications firm called JanTec. Most of the staff came into the office one or two days due to the ongoing COVID-19 pandemic, so virtual meetings were held on Mondays and Tuesdays the majority of the time. It was much easier that way. Regardless, Alex disliked what he did with a passion.

Alex stared at his phone in his office for a few minutes before responding. Andrea, who also worked from home in the same office, asked what he was looking at. “It’s nothing, just a message from an old friend.” When she asked who, he mentioned a childhood friend who got in contact with him about a death in the family. She looked him up and down before shrugging in disinterest. She continued to design a newsletter for one of her client’s upcoming email campaigns. Unlike Alex, Andrea loved her job. She was an independent freelancer, after all. True to his fashion and current mental state, Alex both admired and hated this about his girlfriend.

He decided to play it cool on his message back to Anna.

That last stupid comment tasted like shit in his mouth. Sure, he barely knew Anna. It had been years since any communication. He vaguely remembered seeing pictures of her kid and husband on Facebook—otherwise, just radio silence. But something easy about her demeanor made him want to talk to her more. In his therapy sessions later on down the line, he would describe this curated nonchalance as “Bitchy Manic Pixie Dreamgirl Chic.”

He thought about leaving it alone and simply going back to work. He set his phone down and started writing an email to a coworker about an upcoming project. Halfway through his outline for an upcoming meeting, he told his girlfriend he would use the restroom. Safely in his small apartment toilet and standup shower, he decided to be authentic and tell her the truth. Why did he go to the bathroom to respond to a childhood friend?

She responded a few minutes later. This time, Alex was ready for it. He was still in the bathroom, anxiously waiting for a reply. You don’t pour your heart out like that and put your phone away. That declaration demanded a response, even if it was to tell him to fuck off forever. Either way, he was ready.

Work essentially stopped for Alex for the rest of the day. Over half an hour later, he finally exited the bathroom as a person with a purpose. Was he given a purpose? Alex thought it sounded like a homework assignment. Either way, he would do it.

“Hey Andrea, guess what?” Alex was unusually chipper coming back into their small office space.

“Alex, you were in there for a long time; I don’t need to hear about how big of a shit you just took. It’s disgusting, and so are you.” She looked up to gauge his face for any sign of resentment. Sometimes, Alex thought she openly looked for ways to find it, like she got off on it. He cleared his throat and spoke up.

“No, Andrea. It’s not like that. I just wanted to let you know that I will write something tonight. Like something original.” She laughed loudly, making Alex step back towards his desk.

“You’re going to write something?” She was giggling the entire time she got the words out. “You have talked about becoming a writer for our three-year relationship. I have seen exactly one short story in that time, and it wasn’t the best.” This declaration of distaste came from a woman who reads fantasy novels about elven sexual intercourse exclusively.

“Well, I am. Either it’s a poem or a short story. But, whatever it is, I am going to do it. I am committed.” When she asked him what made him want to dust off his old hobby, he said he felt motivated by something somebody said at work. That was a bald-faced lie. The first of a few, he would tell his girlfriend over the next few months. For whatever reason, he wanted to impress Anna.

That night, while Andrea snoozed away with military precision, Alex sat on his couch with his laptop and a notebook he last used several years ago for “interesting writing ideas.” When he found it buried in a drawer underneath a large stack of his 2019 and 2020 taxes and a stack of cashed checks dating back to 2016, he hoped there would be a holy grail of information to draw from.

Nope. There was almost nothing. Only four pages had any writing, and most of it was illegible. There was a note dating back to 2016 for a “short story – hearing neighbor through walls – or poem – whatever.” Maybe he could write a short story about a man in an apartment complex who heard something he shouldn’t have through the walls of his home. Not too bad.

He started slow at first. Soon, the words came to him in the old familiar way he knew and used to love. He started the evening writing to music with headphones. He enjoyed the gentle click-clack of his laptop keyboard more and turned the music off. It was soothing, even if he made the same noises during the workday. Those always sounded annoying. This was bliss. His fingers, slow at first, kept to a machine gun rapidly after the first half an hour of writing.

He drew from a bit of his own life to help round out the short story. He figured he would use the backdrop of his rocky relationship with Andrea to create a basis for what would happen. Essentially, a single man hears a couple arguing night after night through the wall of his apartment. Over time, he got used to it and even set his evenings to the late-night yelling matches. One night, the fight began as usual, around 10 in the evening. Then, about twenty minutes after it ended, he heard a series of loud crashes and more screaming. It didn’t seem like a fight and more like a struggle. Was it an argument or a break-in? Were they in danger? The man had to decide. He left the end ambiguous and wrapped up the story’s eight thousand words around 2 a.m. He closed the laptop and strolled from the office past the bathroom to the last room down the hall. He collapsed into bed and closed his eyes. He fell asleep almost immediately.

He awoke nearly five hours later and couldn’t wait to send it to Anna.

Was he hallucinating, or was Anna being a little flirty with him?

Anna did not get back to him for nearly two days. The anticipation ate at him like a cancer. The hardest part was playing it cool and not messaging her asking if she had read “From the Walls.” It was a good thing he didn’t have her phone number. Otherwise, he would have texted for an update on his latest opus.

He kept calm, at least in his mind. When he and Andrea ate dinner that evening, she got on his case about staring at his phone every five seconds. “This isn’t like you,” she said. “I don’t know why you keep staring at your phone, but I’d like you to stop.” Alex ignored her request. Soon, though, she was fast asleep, and the “writer” spent the evening pretending not to care about his phone by doing other things. At one point, he cleaned his entire kitchen while his phone sat idly on the counter with every notification known to his iPhone on and ready to go off.

Did she not write back because it was so dogshit? Was she not responding as a non-violent form of protest against Alex’s supposed hobby? Several similar thoughts ran through his head. He settled on her being too busy or overcome with his writing quality. He knew it wasn’t the latter, but in his mind, he would accept anything to move on theoretically.

She got back to him the following afternoon. By then, all pretenses were gone. Alex was a complete emotional wreck. He almost fell out of his chair when his phone dinged on his desk. The rejuvenated writer immediately rushed to answer it in the restroom. He didn’t even pause to excuse himself in front of Andrea.

But he wasn’t sure if he was OK with it. He was almost sure of it. He closed his eyes and waited for the response. The chat bubbles seemed to flash in front of his eyes for hours. He finally got his response three minutes later. All his other work would have to wait. There was only this response at this point in his life. This moment. Nothing else. He wasn’t sure if it was a make-or-break point, but it felt like one.

“YES!” Alex yelled enthusiastically from the confines of the bathroom. Andrea did not hear him because she had her headphones on while working. He couldn’t believe it. A (relatively) rave review about something he wrote? And from somebody with some taste. That meant something, too.

Sure, she’s a mom and married with a kid and everything. But she had it. Well, at least from the recent pictures she posted on her Facebook page. Alex wasn’t sure if he was so excited because he found her attractive or because his recent conversations with her made him feel interested, wanted, and restored.

She loved something he did. Love may be a strong word. But she didn’t outright say it sucked. Andrea only had a passing interest in his writing, even if it was a poem he wrote for her that got her to go out with him all those years ago. Anna rightly guessed that it drew from real life. He guessed it was hard to hide. The words spilled out on the page. Alex wondered whether he was talking too much about his personal life with her. It probably didn’t matter. But it could mean everything. He tried to shrug it off and continue to play it cool.

Alex thought very carefully about his response. He wanted to go with his gut and be truthful while simultaneously remembering that he was in a relationship, and she was married with a kid and lived hundreds of miles away. Alex mulled it over for another thirty seconds before responding. He didn’t want to lose the pregnant moment.

There was an infiniteness to talking to Anna. He couldn’t quite explain it. Time stood still and moved too fast at the same time. Maybe it was an illusion. Feelings work that way, especially when you haven’t been given time and attention by somebody you love. Then somebody who talks to you comes along and breathes some new life into an otherwise mundane existence. He wasn’t sure what he felt, but it was something more than a casual conversation.

In whatever multiverse where Alex would shoot his shot, he did so. Fuck it. If it all came crashing down, Alex surmised, he would be down one old family friend and a Facebook contact. He didn’t even have a phone number. It would be as if she continued to not exist like the last decade of his existence. He gulped once while he sat motionless on the toilet seat in his bathroom and responded.

Alex returned from the restroom with a broad smile on his face. He let out a cheerful breath and returned to his seat to answer emails.

“Wow, must have been a good one,” Andrea said. She reached across from her desk to touch his shoulder. Alex was alarmed at first, then grabbed her hand and turned around.

“It was. It was great.” Andrea wasn’t sure she liked the smile on his face, especially after he said he just took a giant shit in the bathroom. It was a more comprehensive smile than she had ever seen in their dating years. It was an idiot’s smile. She once again shrugged it off and continued working. She didn’t hear Alex complain once for the rest of the evening. He walked around with a satisfactory grin that made her question what was happening in that bathroom. She had never been the jealous type, so why start now? Alex made sure to kiss her on the forehead before she fell asleep. Andrea thought she saw him drinking coffee after dinner. Why? He already had enough trouble sleeping, so inviting that much caffeine into your bloodstream seemed almost ridiculous. And on a work night, no less. She wasn’t sure why, but she went to sleep uneasy.

Anna and Alex talked that night. Anna initiated the conversation around 9:30 at night. It started slow initially but picked up momentum after a few interactions about what each other did during the day. Alex had nothing but positive things to say. Anna had more to say about fulfilling orders for her bakery side business. With Thanksgiving coming up, it was one of the more busy times of the year. On top of all the duties of a stay-at-home mom and wife to a working husband, she needed to figure out the rationale for chatting so late.

The conversation continued for another three hours. They talked for roughly the same length the next night. Then, the night after. In his mind, Alex knew that pursuing anything more than casual conversation was a bad idea. No. It was a terrible idea. He messaged her late into the evening for the fourth night in a row.

They talked about everything and nothing at once. Over time, and after hours of conversation, Anna’s walls crumbled. This was no easy test for Alex, but he was engaged. He was methodical. And most of all, he was committed. For what, he wasn’t sure. He found himself emotionally invested in whatever these conversations were forming into.

Anna opened up more about her personal life. Her son, whom she adored more than anything on earth, was a popular topic of conversation. The older yet unmarried/childless Alex could do nothing to agree with her musings about raising a kid. Nonetheless, he stayed interested without sounding like a prick for not having one himself. She even talked a bit about her husband, Rodney, and her current struggles with him.

Two minutes later, he found out exactly what it was. Apparently, for Anna, it was a naked photo she took of her breasts. Alex couldn’t believe his eyes. He had to blink a few times to make sure it was real. Alex didn’t respond at first. He started at the screen for a solid minute before doing anything. He could feel sweat forming on the top of his brow.

He zoomed in to get a better look at it. Although it was a reflection from the mirror and not an authentic nude “selfie,” he got the picture. Anna’s breasts looked like something you saw in old dirty magazines he stole from his dad’s stash he kept under the bed. It was not the over-inflated crap that saturated pornography online nowadays. That was all easy and readily available. But it was all the same-identical girls with the same tits making the same faces at the camera, with or without a guy giving her the business end of his over-inflated dick.

Her nipples looked like two giant erasers, sitting atop two mounds of flesh he wasn’t sure were fake or not. He didn’t care. They were perfect. To be that perky in your early 40s would be a feat of bodily engineering he could not fathom. He looked over guiltily to his girlfriend, who continued to snore away, blissfully unaware. Feeling the guilt rising and his crotch turning hot, Alex got up to go to the bathroom. It was hard for him to walk. By then, his penis was almost fully erect through his basketball shorts. He could feel the heat continue to grow like a lit ruse up his spine. The sweat grew to full-on beaded droplets coming down his face.

He got to the bathroom and locked the door. The impulse to use his hands on himself was more significant than ever felt. Despite the ever-increasing urge to touch himself, he thought it courteous to reply. After all, he just received an unsolicited gift that will keep on giving in his mind for months, if not years, to come. He screenshotted the photo just in case she recalled it before responding.

The conversation continued like she didn’t just send a nude photo to Alex a few minutes ago. Alex, who graduated with a history degree, weighed in on the 1945 Dresden fire bombings. He even recommended a book he read a while back about the end of the war and its impact on German society.

Alex could not get a read on this woman. First, she showed him her breasts; then she started pontificating on the atrocities of World War II as if she pulled all that information out of her back pocket. Even after hours of conversation on topics he couldn’t fathom remembering, she was an enigma. Not the same girl he remembered all those years ago. Alex thought that it was human nature to change a bit over time. Some do it more gradually and gracefully than others. But Anna? She was something special.

The conversation fizzled around 2 a.m. Neither Alex nor Anna mentioned the nude photo at all for the remainder of the conversation. When Anna told Alex she was going to bed, he told her to have a good night and pleasant sleep. He even wished her a good day, fulfilling bakery orders tomorrow. He then proceeded to masturbate the minute the conversation ended vigorously. The time it took for him to whip his dick out could have been a world record if there was one for such a thing. It took less than a minute for him to cum. He created a secret folder in his phone for the photo, masturbated again, and crawled into bed. He fell asleep immediately.

The conversations went deeper. Longer. Sometimes, the talks went well into 3 a.m. Yet when sleep came, it was the best sleep in memory, even if for only a few hours. They didn’t talk every day at first—maybe a few interactions here and there during the day. Soon enough, they chatted for a few hours collectively during the day and through the small hours of the evening at night.

They talked about music, art, and film. Most of their favorites only partially met in the middle. Anna knew when Alex was bullshitting, so the thin veneer of constantly agreeing with her picks stopped quickly. It took very little time for him to adjust and be truthful about his interests outside of writing. Their disagreements were few, which made each conversation feel like a refreshing oasis in a desert of daily mini-fights and micro-escalations.

He always started at his home base in bed next to Andrea each time they talked. After a half hour or so, with Andrea solidly asleep, he moved out of the bedroom into the living room to chat into the evening. Alex even lit a candle a few times to “set the mood.” Sometimes, when the conversation approached mild levels of flirtation, he would bring out his computer to keep conversing with her while he touched himself to the saved picture she sent.

God bless technology.

Alex kept telling himself he was getting the best sleep of his life. In reality, his appearance and attitude made more than a few people notice, including his girlfriend and people at work. During those few days he went into the office, some of his colleagues noted the raccoon-like ring around his eyes. Despite a chipper demeanor, Alex was mentally and physically exhausted without even knowing it.

Worse yet, he grew increasingly distant with his girlfriend, Andrea. At first, she commented a few times on his cell phone habits. Those habits were never fantastic, but now it was almost as if they were connected or sewn together. Every time she saw him sitting on the couch alone, plowing away on his phone, a renewed fight began.

It became more fodder for the conversation he would inevitably have with Anna later in the evening. Like a comedian observing people shop at a grocery store, Alex’s fights with Andrea were a great source of material. In his eyes, it was the perfect way to keep the conversation from going stale.

Alex knew that the manufactured disdain was all coming from his end. Despite her focus on work and sleep, Andrea never gave him a real reason to have so much disdain.

“Did you ever think I am sleeping so much because we have nothing to say to each other?” Andrea remarked one evening in December while they cleaned up from dinner. Alex kept loading dishes into the dishwasher for a few seconds, silently staring at her.

“Look, I don’t know why you are sleeping so much. But it’s like it’s 9 p.m., and you turn into a pumpkin.” He thought about how he could turn the knife more. “I’d love to do more with you in the evenings, especially on weekends. It doesn’t matter what day it is; I’m alone in the evenings.”

Andrea looked like she was about to cry. She looked away and sniffed a few times, holding back tears. “You know, sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night, and you aren’t there. What are you doing? Where are you doing? And most importantly, who the hell are you talking to? Are you hiding something from me?”

Of course, Alex was very much hiding something from her. The only thing he could do at that moment was deny everything. “Andrea, I’m in the living room because I don’t want to stare at the ceiling for hours waiting to fall asleep. This is a small apartment, and we have one bed. You are a bit of a loud sleeper, which is OK, so I want to ensure I am exhausted before coming back to sleep with you.” Alex used his hands to illustrate the size of their room.

“Yeah, speaking of, am I not attractive to you?” Alex thought very carefully about what he would say next. Andrea was attractive. She was beautiful. He always thought she was pretty. He remembers seeing her from across a bar in DC when they first met. For a bar called the “Ugly Mug,” she was the hottest one there. He remembered briefly telling her that joke before buying her a drink. He smiled a bit and remembered why he fell in love with her in the first place. Then he remembered the accusations and decided to lay into her.

Yes, she was attractive. But there’s no adventure in seeing her ass or breasts when she gets out of the shower. It’s routine.

“Yes, of course, I do, Andrea,” he said convincingly. Her head moved to one side as if she knew he would return with a conditional “but” to finish his statement. She was right.

“But we haven’t been hot to trot for each other in a while. Sleeping is one thing, but our lack of togetherness is another. We act like the perfect couple when we are together with our friends at a party. But at night, what are we? Are we separate people?

“What do you mean separate people?” Andrea stopped cleaning up and set a dish down. She took two steps towards Alex and made him back into the kitchen corner with the sink on the left and the dishwasher on the right. She had him cornered. “So, our relationship is solely based on how often I fuck you?” Of course, it wasn’t, but they hadn’t slept together in two or three months.”

“Of course not, Andrea,” he said with concern. It felt genuine. “It’s not like that. I worry that we aren’t spending enough time together.

“Well, look at yourself. You spent all your time glued to that goddamn phone. Where would there be time for me, sleep or not?” She had a point, and he hated it. He looked at her with a dumb look that said he had nothing left in the emotional tank to empty. She threw a dish towel at him that he caught in mid-air. “Fine, Alex. I love you, but you’ve been pissing me the fuck off lately. Do whatever it is on your phone if it makes you happy. I hope you are telling the truth about everything.”

“Andrea, I do love you, and I am. It’s just a coping mechanism. I know scrolling is bad for most, but it’s soothing for me. That’s all I am doing: a few Wikipedia articles here and there. I can also show you my Duolingo score if you don’t believe I am also re-learning Spanish. I want to be productive with my time as I deal with this insomnia, you know?” He did not have those Duolingo scores but figured he would gamble with another lie. What’s one more?

“OK, Alex. I love you. Please work on coming to bed earlier or see a doctor about it. I worry about you.” She kissed him on the cheek and went back to the bedroom.

“I love you too, Andrea,” Alex said, kissing her back. He couldn’t believe everything that just happened. How many times does that make for the stretch of the truth? There are too many to count. For a minute, he even believed what he said. Either way, there was plenty of stuff to discuss with Anna that evening.