I Never

Excerpted from the anthology “Geektastic“, edited by Holly Black and Cecil Castellucci.

I should take this moment to point out that me playing Catherine Earnshaw in a massive online multiplayer game was Lisle’s idea in the first place. It would never have occurred to me, mostly because I don’t use the computer that much — or at least, I didn’t. It was Lisle who was crazy about the Game. Lisle and I had been friends for so many years that I’d forgotten when we’d met. She lived next door to me and was just always there, like a sister more than a friend. She annoyed me like a sister might, too. Especially since she became completely addicted to her online journal. She had a fair number of people logging on to read the rambling thoughts and massive multi-chaptered Buffy fanfiction she posted on her site, Pretty When You Blog. To be totally honest, Lisle isn’t that great a writer. She never seems to be able to streamline her thoughts into any sort of logical shape, and she doesn’t care about spelling or capitalization either. But she has a really cute icon of herself in a black corset top up on the page, which on the Internet is better than being able to spell.

It was because of her other blogger friends that she wound up being in the Game. There are lots of role-playing games online, but the Game is the most famous because it’s so huge. The idea behind the Game is that every player picks a character from a book, TV show, movie, video game — anything, as long as it’s a character a fair number of people can be expected to recognize. Every character gets a journal, and the ability to message other characters. The idea is that everyone in the Game is trapped in a huge castle together, where they live and eat and sleep and interact with each other. In theory, they’re trying to get out of the castle, but nobody pays much attention to that part of the Game. Mostly they flirt and fight. And you’re not supposed to interact exclusively with people from your own fictional “universe,” which is why you get Alice in Wonderland hanging out with Indiana Jones and Lolita hooking up with Conan the Barbarian.

“It’s a total mindfuck,” Lisle explained when she first joined it. She was into the Game fairly early and got to pick the character she wanted — Faith, in her case. She’d been obsessed with Buffy the Vampire Slayer since we were about ten years old and first watched it together and she’d declared that she was Buffy. Later she decided she was Faith, because Faith had the dark hair. Lisle had been a crazed fan of a lot of things since, but nothing else seemed to have the staying power of Buffy.

Lisle quickly struck up an online love triangle with the brothers from Supernatural. (Lisle likes it when boys fight over her.) She never seemed to take it too seriously, but she was online constantly, messaging them, exchanging photos, and giggling. She got caught up in all the backstage dramas of the Game, always telling me who’d deleted their journal recently in a fit of pique, who was trolling who, and who had hooked up with who behind who’s back.

It drove me crazy. For years, every day after school and on the weekends I’d gone by Lisle’s house and hung out with her in her bedroom. We used to sprawl on the floor and watch movies together (Lisle wanted to watch Legend and Alien and I wanted to watch black-and-white classics. We compromised on Merchant Ivory costume dramas, because she liked the boys with the English accents.) Once the Game started, all I did was lie on Lisle’s bed and watch while she typed on her computer. She could sit there for hours, literally, without ever looking up. Every few seconds I’ll hear that “pong” noise that meant someone’s sending her an online message. After a while I felt like every time I heard it was another punch in the face.

Finally, I cracked. I joined the Game because it was either that or move and find a new best friend. Lisle was so excited that I was going to play in the Game with her, she practically cried. “I’ll play if I can be Catherine Earnshaw,” I told her, thinking of my favorite fictional character in my favorite book of all time, Wuthering Heights. I didn’t think I’d get her — Cathy is such a great character, and her love story with Heathcliff is so intense, someone was sure to be playing her already.

But no one was. Lisle was practically dancing while she set up my journal for me and showed me how to message other players within the game interface. But there was one big problem: no one was playing Heathcliff, and a Cathy with no Heathcliff is like a bike with no wheels. I made a few journal entries about how life on the moors was dull and I wish something exciting would happen and about how the heather is growing plentifully this season. I figured I must have the most boring Game journal ever.

Sometimes other characters came into my journal and try to interact with me. Lisle bopped by occasionally and pinged me with messages; Draco Malfoy tried to start up a chat, and when I wasn’t responsive, left some nasty comments in my journal and departed. Sherlock Holmes pinged to ask if I’d seen an enormous dog on the moors, and since I do love The Hound of the Baskervilles I considered e-mailing him back, but wound up being too shy. Lisle was disgusted with me and declared me a failure at the Game — and, it was strongly implied, at life.

And then there was Ben. He didn’t tell me his real name at first, of course. I logged into my Game account one day and there it was: a note that I’d been added by a new character: Heathcliff. And a message in my inbox. I opened it, expecting it to be of the ‘What up UR kewl and Kute!” variety, but it wasn’t. It was a love letter from Heathcliff to Cathy. And it was beautiful.

Even though it was addressed to Cathy, and not to me, and was from someone I’d never met, it made me cry. I sat there crying while I read it and feeling stupid but sort of not caring that I felt stupid. It was a letter about that sort of amazing, total love you always hope someone feels for you some day, that obliterating passion that makes everything else in the world not matter. It didn’t use any of the words from the book, but it still sounded like the Heathcliff who said about Cathy: I cannot live without my life! I cannot die without my soul. The letter talked about how his soul would wander the dark moors forever, in purgatory until I — or Cathy, really — came down to speak with him once again.

I wrote back. How could I not write back to that? It felt like someone had reached right into my chest and zapped it with forty-thousand volts. When he messaged me, I stayed up all night, fingers flying over the keyboard. When I was messaging Ben, I was Cathy. He was Heathcliff. I could smell the air out on the moors, feel the cold, the loneliness, the excitement.

It was weeks before Ben even told me his real name, and then I was sort of shocked, a little bit, that he had one and that it was so ordinary. I felt a sort of terror — what if he was just completely ordinary in every way? But then, no one ordinary could write those letters, those messages. I asked him for a photo of himself: he sent me elliptical pictures he took with his phone camera, just a piece of himself at a time: an eye here, a hand there, the side of his chin. I sent them same sort of pictures back, standing in the quad at school taking pictures of my painted toes in sandals. And the weird thing is that I felt like Cathy when I was doing it, even though Cathy lived hundreds of years before cell phones and text messaging. But I felt wild and flirty and free, just like her.

I thought Lisle would be pleased, but she seemed sort of annoyed about it. After all, she kept telling me, the point of the Game was to interact with everyone, and I only interacted with Ben. I didn’t know any of the gossip she knew, and I still stared at her blankly when she talked about who was a drama queen and who was a sock puppet and who had deleted whose journal. Plus I’d been mean to Draco Malfoy, who was a friend of hers. Still, she told me she “shipped” me and Ben together, whatever that meant, and she kept trying to think of ways for me to meet him. Which, since he lived like two states away, didn’t seem very likely.

But then Xena suggested the meetup. She had a condo out by a lake, she said, with a timeshare, and nobody was ever there in the winter. Why shouldn’t she host a party for the East Coast members of the Game? Anyone who wanted could come and crash on the floor, as long as they were eighteen years old. “We’re going,” Lisle told me, with a manic gleam in her eye.

“But we’re not eighteen.”

“That’s what the Internet is for. Lying about your age,” she said, punching out a YES WE ARE GOING message into her AIM messenger box. “Besides. Ben’s going to be there.”

I sank down on her bed, gripping a pillow between my hands, which had gone suddenly numb. “He is?”

Lisle turned around and grinned at me. After that, it was just a matter of lying to our parents about visiting Lisle’s older sister Alice at college, and we were gone. We drove up in Lisle’s yellow Datsun with the radio on, Lisle singing her head off and me quietly freaking out with every mile marker we passed. I’m going to see him, my mind said, over and over. I heard his name in the soft grind of the wheels on the asphalt, the crunch of old snow. Heathcliff. Heathcliff. Then we were at the condo and Lisle was jumping out of the car, slamming the door behind her with a short, decided bang.

Ben.