Out of obligation

Or was it a sense of failure that made him write the letter? He dove into it anyway.

It went like this:

Dear friend,

I hear from friends of yours that you're still trying to get by. You're still in school. You're still doing all sorts of stuff that won't do you any good though, because you know it and I know it that there's not much point in being enrolled in a school if you're not actually interested in going to school.

I've seen your facebook page. Sure I'm your friend there. Who isn't? So I thought I had permission, you know, to look at your photos. Your wall. Your messages. Whatever I could. Some people call this creeping. That makes it sound so sad. So silly. But you should know that I'm doing this because I care. What's a friend if he doesn't care?

Do you understand that I can't read what you write there, on your wall, for every one of the 345 friends of us to see, without wondering "Why did she write that?" Without wondering whether it makes any sense at all? Without wondering if you thought about who might read and get the wrong impression?

The other day you wrote on your wall:

I'm sipping a mocha latte half caffe at the corner 2nd Cup on Edmonton missing u. They're playing 'Funeral' - Band of Horses. What to do? - posted from my Blackberry

I couldn't make it out. There's talk of hipsters. Blackberries and iPhones. Why do you say these things to all of us? Who is u? Why is the music selection the establishment's shuffle music machine has chosen significant? What if every 2nd Cup establishment in all of North America was on the same system? What if they were all playing "Funeral" by Band of Horses at the same time (taking into account the different time zones). What if some other depressed student is listening to "Funeral" at 3359 Mississauga Road North, in Mississauga (obviously), and texting the same dreary half dark, half white, half sweet version of their ennui? Or someone in the 48 Kenmount Road location, in St. Johns, Newfoundland?

What if it's everywhere? What if you're everywhere? You and your alienation. You and your tinny blue cry for attention on that painfully obviously named social network. You and your 345 friends.

I know I know, this isn't helping. It's not lifting you up. But what would do that for you? I've read your posts before. I've seen the photos of you on the deck of that cruise ship with your mom, all smiles and happiness, drink in hand and the sun's glare in your eyes - in the glint of your glasses. Is there only more to drink? Is there only one more holiday? Is there only the next trip to the doctor? Are you ever going to finish that paper? Will you ever actually try to adapt to the professor, rather than expecting her to change for you? Will you ever stand on your own?

Okay. Maybe that's taking things too far. Maybe ...

He had to stop for a moment. He scrolled up to the top of the letter. Reread a few lines. Winced on occasion. But mostly thought he was on the mark. He was hitting his stride. He would be heard, maybe even understood. So he went back at it.

... when you noted the song that was playing was "Funeral" you even knew the words. Some of us know the words too! Don't you think you're responsible for that? You asked us what to do? Well? Is this some kind of hint?

I'm coming up only to hold you under
I'm coming up only to show you wrong

Yeah, you're right. I'm taking this too seriously. It's really only my loss. I don't have to follow you like a friend. I don't have to care. Frankly, the way you keep throwing it around, I don't know what to care for? Do you see that? Do you see that by calling me a friend you've made me something I may not be able to be, when you give me such crappy information? Do you see that when you call me a friend, and then let 345 other versions of me see all the same photos and read all the same messages, that maybe that means that none of us are friends. You know. In that, Hey-how's-it-going-let's-sit-down-and-talk kind of way?

I'm assuming you were in that 2nd Cup alone when you posted from your Blackberry. Or if a real live person friend was there, then I assume you had to stop talking with him or her long enough to post that on your Blackberry. I hope he wasn't saying anything, you know, interesting, or important. I hope he didn't get the wrong impression when you stopped talking and used both your hands (thumbs a'flicking! above or below the table?) to tell the world about your misgivings. I hope they weren't singing that line about waiting for the funeral.

Nah, I didn't think so.

Yours truly,

Your Friend

He pushed away from the keyboard then, and scrolled up and down again. He read and reread. He saved the file under a name he would recognize later, in a new folder named "correspondence with friends". Would it be bravery to print it? To fold the paper in half, and then again into three panels, and fit it into a standard friendly letter envelope? Would it be courageous to stand in line at the post office behind the 80-year-olds who send and expect nothing less? Would it be extravagant to buy a stamp? To find the right mailing address? To drop it in the box? To wait?

Ride report

in: -26'C wind NNW 18 ks

out: -22'C wind NNW 13 ks