I was 14. By this point in my life, my dad worked, my brother was away at college, my sister had found her independence, and my mom was always gone, having devoted herself to a nonprofit organization. I had no social groups and no connections with anyone. It was as though, now that my siblings were older, all the parenting had been done and I was just… there, accompanying my parents when necessary. How I was raised had caused me to be afraid of everyone and everything. When I was out, I shied away from speaking or making eye contact with strangers. Being home alone felt safest, but I felt so lonely. I was starving for affection and attention, some way of knowing that someone cared.
I had already read all the books many times over and there was nothing left to do all day in a silent, empty house. I couldn’t go anywhere and I didn’t have any friends to call. I was starving for some sort of outlet, so I did what a lot of kids do — I got creative. My parents’ computer was painfully slow (16MB of RAM and a modem!), but I figured out how to connect to the internet (anyone remember Juno?) and I came across Yahoo Pool. I probably wasn’t supposed to touch the computer but for once I hadn’t been explicitly banned from it, so it wasn’t actually disobedience. As soon as anyone came home, I would hurry back to the solitude and safety of my room.
The thing about online games is that people try to talk to you. At first, I was too scared to respond but I quickly learned how to communicate without giving any identifiable details (Internet safety, right? How laughable that is now). I was in awe that little ol’ me, so isolated at home, was getting to talk to people on the other side of the world, places I could never hope to visit.
And that’s how I met him.
He was 16 and English, charming and funny. He had such a way with words. I remember he shared a piece of fiction he had been writing like he was revealing a personal secret. He had blonde hair and blue eyes and seemed the exact opposite of my dad.
We’d lose touch for a year or two and he’d pop back up. I’d be the one with advice and a listening ear. Eventually, we developed feelings for each other. Well, no, I had feelings. He said he did.
He never knew my address or last name but I thought we knew everything else about each other. He was going to university. He came from a Christian home. He said all the right things and it seemed like we agreed on pretty much everything. I was so shaped by my abusive environment that I didn’t know how else to judge whether a man was good except by this mental checklist.
I wish I’d known then what I know now.
