Episode 6 - Interlude

(Music fades in)

Welcome back. Last week, the game changed. We hit level 2. Does anything else matter?

I guess maybe one other thing would matter. IRL my family was moving. I was reluctant to admit that to The Forum because people knowing how often my family moved wasn’t the sort of thing that ever worked out for me. Ever. But Aishi offered me some sort of assurance that it would be different on The Forum, partially because they couldn’t know all the details. They would only know what I had said. And one move wasn’t all that special.

(Extended - Music fades out and new music fades in)

Aishi and I didn’t just talk on The Forum. Look, I wasn’t technically savvy, I get it, but I still had some sense that divulging too much information about myself on a place like that was ill-advised. I mean, our shared thread was more about convenience than actual privacy. Anyone could have clicked over at any time. And no one had the ability to make anything password protected.

So Aishi was I went to email, which at the time was a bit better. And yes I can hear someone out there rolling their eyes. There wasn’t this fear about your email hosting service would data mining your email to more successfully advertise to you. Data wasn’t seen as such a hot commodity back, and we had a few years before its market value would be realized. And I’m not worried about that changing.  At least not with that old email account.

Because something else that definitely didn’t carry over to today was the number of email providers out there. And the one I had picked did not survived the testing of technological advancement and time. It’s gone is what I mean. 

I don’t know which one Aishi used, but honestly, if anything from their inbox resurfaced, I’d just be impressed at that point. Not ashamed. I should be ashamed, but I wouldn’t be able to muster it. Aishi didn’t use one of the major providers either. And I can’t even find a trace of the service they used anywhere on the internet. It must be some coder’s failed project or deepest shame because it’s like someone intentionally wiped it clean from the internet and threw the chunks into oblivion. 

You know, there was a time when we could whisper our secrets into the void and feel fairly confident that they weren’t coming back. (Music cuts) And it ended a few years ago.

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Aishi knew maybe too much about me. I was emboldened by the fact that this recipient didn’t have a face and didn’t really have to be considered human. 

Okay, that seems cold. And when I first tried to justify it when working on this script, I remembered that human beings have this tendency to pack bond with literally everything. And I was reminded of that because my Roomba started acting up, and I was way more concerned for its well-being than I should have been. Still am. I moved its docking station to my line of sight when I’m sitting at my desk.

So what was Aishi to me, then, I have to ask. Because I really was pouring out my burdens onto this faceless and probably, technically nameless stranger like it was their job to take it on. All the while, I was doing it or I felt compelled to do it because it was the sort of thing that could crush a person beneath its weight. And I didn’t have anyone else to talk to. Literally no one, never mind a professional. 

And when I had to leave The Forum because my family was moving yet again, that was the sort of cold and unfeeling world I was being thrown into.

Maybe some things would make a bit more sense if I gave you all the details

(Music fades out and new music fades in)

At the very least, you could believe that I did not mean to snap at everyone on The Forum, and I’m pretty sure that’s what you would call what I did, even if you don’t see The Forum messages themselves. 

I was frantic. My anxiety seeped into my fingers and dictated what I was typing out to them. And as this new pseudo-leader, I had all the more reason to watch my manners. And dread a disconnection, but I did not really need too much of a reason to feel that latter bit. 

But I had to, I guess. I didn’t have much of a choice.

Aishi kept reminding me that The Forum and The Funhouse Hallway would be waiting for me when I could reconnect. And I would be able to reconnect. 

While the internet was still seeping its way into every fiber of modern living, it had hit my family earlier than most. Dad worked with computers. His entire job and consequently his life revolved around them. And he would not be able to afford our new life if he did not get that internet set up immediately. So there really was hope, I guess. More than hope. Reason would say that I’d reconnect with them all soon enough, even if my set up wasn’t top priority. Obviously, it would never be top priority, not to my dad, but I could at least make it myself. And he would make sure I had the piece. Unintentionally of course.

(Music fades out and new music fades in)

Surprisingly enough I could do a lot of things myself. However, I was not a tech wizard by any stretch, and I’m sure you’ve noticed. To be one, you have to be motivated by genuine interest whereas I had a sense of survival. 

And this has to be the longest transition ever, I get it.  We’ve reached a part of the story I was dreading to tell you all and that involves my real life. The very thing I wanted to avoid when I fled to the internet and into the funhouse hallways in the first place. Maybe it is relevant to the story. Maybe it isn’t. But this is the source of the myriad of assorted concerns that I dumped onto Aishi’s shoulders. And this is supposed to be Aishi’s story. I guess… I don’t know anymore. 

(Extended - Music fades out and new music fades in)

I logged off The Forum well into the early morning hours of the next morning. I did that a lot. I did that the night of the level change and the night before the move. I lingered far longer than I should have online. There were rules in the house and common sense ones for a healthy life with computers. And I normally at least pretended to follow them. But I couldn’t the night before the disconnection, the eve of something horrible though admittedly brief. 

I mean, generally speaking, I struggled to shut the computer off each night, and before you call me weak or addicted, it wasn’t just about this need for an escape I’m apparently unable to clarify or a hit of endorphins. 

You see, my dad worked in software, and it suited him. Not just for any of the previously mentioned reasons why someone might jump into that world and be great at it but because he would have all these weird ideas and potential workarounds for things that would trip up any other programmer. He’s gone now, and time in the tech world moves quickly, but if you were in the field back then, you probably heard of my dad. You probably learned from him. And maybe touches of his code might still be lingering in what is floating around today. 

On that latter bit, I don’t know. We certainly aren’t still being paid for it. Which doesn’t feel fair because we--Mom and I, but especially me--had to suffer for his art in unexpected ways. 

A great example was a screensaver Dad created and put on my machine. It was this weird, yellow blob, but it wasn’t not a solid blob. It was a bundle of lines held together by unseen forces. But the embrace wasn’t all that tight, so the lines could ebb and flow on unseen whims.

And I thought there were whims, even though Dad swore up and down that it was random. It just didn’t seem random. I swear there was a set rhythm to it, one that led the lines to show me the faces of… 

To show me faces. And they came through so vividly that I was ready to swear that: that was the message, a message essentially screamed through the sleeping computer screen at me. And it was so loud that when the computer was off and the screen was blank I could still see it. I knew it was there. It was there, waiting. Always waiting. Always trying to tell me.

I was haunted, yes, by many things. And maybe that is the one part of the story I can tell you. And being haunted is a complicated thing. The ghost stories we tell and hear make it seem simple, but it really isn’t because sometimes the things that haunt us aren’t the remnants of sentient beings with a task still left on their minds. Rather, sometimes we are haunted by the guilt of past sin, and we make up a specter to project that pain onto. We can appease a ghost, after all. And it seems easy to do, at least on paper. We can comply with external demands, but we are not so good at forgiving ourselves. It’s not just the mistakes or misdeeds of the moment that we have to atone for, but all the suffering we caused ourselves when we relieved those memories and all the suffering that is to come.

It is the sort of debt that compounds exponentially. It dirties the slate in a way that you fear may never be cleaned. And--as with all debts--it never fully leaves your mind. Your physical mind. 

But I could run to the internet. I could escape back there. On The Forum, that was a different person typing out those posts; she was bolder and less broken. I also imagine she was taller, which might not make sense. And she was older, smarter. Basically my insecurities were gone on The Forum. And I had no clue who I was supposed to be in The Funhouse Hallway.

(Extended - Music fades out and new music fades in)

We were moving out west. That’s the direction we always seemed to go. Not that I can think of an alternative. I was born in New York. Upstate, New York I should clarify. And bit by bit we moved towards the other ocean. But each move was supposed to be the last; this was not meant to be a weird reenactment of the Oregon Trail. But things kept happening that we hadn’t accounted for. 

So I guess it was a reenactment of the Oregon Trail, after all. Or maybe I’m just splittling hair.

When we stopped in Phoenix, things went more or less how I would have expected. In that, it went about as poorly as every move had. We hit delay after delay and got in pretty late. It was too late to unpack the truck, so we had to pull the mattress just to make due. My aunt, Mom, and I had ridden in the family car, and Dad had driven the moving truck. I imagine he had a quiet ride if not for the tires occasionally popping, but our drive consisting of my aunt complaining about her brother--my father--who had generously let her move in with us yet again after yet another marriage failed. 

I never understood any of it or either of them. But the mattress thing I kind of did understand. I mean we needed a place to sleep after all, and it seemed a bit better than a hotel. At least we would be in what is now our home. The one thing though was that we never remembered to pack the mattress towards the front of the truck. So Dad and I had to spend the twilight hours of our first day in this new place unloading part of the truck into the home until we could get the mattresses. They were always standing on their side and held up by this large trunk.

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And the trunk was the worst part of the entire process. Dad and I had to move it together. There was no way around it; it was too long and heavy for one person, but we went through this routine every single time, in which Dad would try to do it by himself, nearly throwing out his back in the process. And that was stressful for me. I mean he irritated me, but he was my dad after all. And I really needed him. More than most would. But beyond that need and beyond all the fighting, I still loved him. Or that’s what I kept telling myself. 

In time, Dad would come to his senses and let me help. But all the while he would be nearly screaming at me to never touch this trunk again. Which I did not want to do. It was old, the metal hinges were rusted, and the giant lock on the front had a chip that made a sharp edge and two corners that would definitely draw blood. 

So not only was it unappealing, it was outright dangerous for me to touch it. I had my own reasons for not wanting to touch that stupid trunk. I didn’t need any of his. 

(Music fades out and new music fades in)

The next day furniture would be unpacked as well as bags and everything else. All of it. We would unload the truck and gradually begin to reassemble our home and our lives. But on that day, I started by loading everything up to my room and setting all the computer boxes on my mattress. 

Normally, I unwrap the plastic from my desk, but I didn’t even bother with that this time. My focus was locked on the computer boxes, on reconnecting with The Forum and on revisiting The Funhouse Hallway. Without waiting, I opened the first one, but it was the monitor. It was the monitor screen. A blank screen that I couldn’t believe was blank was staring back at me, and I almost lost my mind.

I was well into the “make my own bed to lie in” stage of my development. As in, if I didn’t want to unpack like I should have. My parents were not going to rebuke me too much. I mean, if I complained about anything, they would shove it back in my face, but that was about it. And by it, I mean hardly anything. My aunt was a different matter, but she wouldn’t be happy with me regardless of what I did.

So I stopped packing, and I walked to the library I had seen when we drove up.

Now, I would never play the game in a library. I don’t exactly know why. It just seemed off-limits and trying it seemed to be assuming that the firewall wouldn’t stop me. And sure, library firewalls can be super hit or miss, but I was always worried what would happen if I hit one with The Funhouse Hallway or The Forum. Especially as a minor. I mean what would they do if they saw me there, if they saw the website, say me talking to other people. I didn’t know.

So I kept it safe. And I checked my email instead. Which is not great for a young-ish person to have, but it did have its practical elements, I guess, so it was excusable. This was in an era when you needed an email for certain functions, but you wouldn’t be punished with mountains upon mountains of spam emails. You would just get a few. I didn’t have any when I opened it up that day. 

So right on top was an email from Aishi. It was blank. The subject line just read: let me know when you get to Phoenix.

(Extended - Music fades out and new music fades in)

I think about Aishi’s writing habits, the way they used words, and which ones they seemed to default to, and I have come to the conclusion that Aishi was an English speaker. Either a native speaker or fluent enough to make it work with an asynchronous method of communication, like email. Forum posting isn’t so asynchronistic, but slight delays while a conversant thought about their words was expected. It made sense. You only question them or get offended. 

But I don’t know. I think I like that theory because it makes it possible that I could run into Aishi somewhere, that we were never fully separated.

The other day I was getting coffee in a new place. New to me, anyway. I don’t know how long it’s been here. But my usually bus was having issues, so I jumped on a different one, and it dropped me off at this shop that looked promising. So I went it and ordered something in the family of my usual coffee shop drink, and I swear I felt like I was being stared at. Though to be fair, I always feel that way. It’s a takeaway from my aunt. But in that moment, it was slightly different. It felt like whoever was watching me was doing so with a sense of kindness and sympathy I don’t typically get. 

It happened after I ordered, so you would think it was someone who recognized my voice, right? And it would be someone who listened to this show or Oracle of Dusk, but I don’t think it was so simple. Because why the sympathy? Why? Sure it’s hard being a podcaster, but sympathy is a bit too strong, In fact, that’s the sort of thing that could only come from knowing… from knowing all the things I don’t talk about on this podcast.

I looked around. Frantically, but no one made eye contact with me. And even though I stayed at that shop until the entire crowd that had been there when I came in was gone, wasting a sick day from work in the process, no one approached me. No one said anything to me. 

But the feeling had been there, and then it was gone. I felt someone staring at me. With a certain kind of kindness, and then it was gone.

Aishi, was that you?

(Music gradually fades out)

Aishi Online is a production of Miscellany Media Studios. It is written, produced, and performed by MJ Bailey with music from the Sounds like an Earful music supply. If you like the show, please leave a review or donate to the show’s Ko-Fi account.