7
Spending precious studying time playing on my phone was atypical for me.
All weekend I found my thoughts drawn to Peepers and Theo.
It wasn’t just the app and Theo in particular, though.
From what Collin had told me, I had deduced that everyone on campus was being rude to Theo because he had cheated on his boyfriend.
They were the Peepers Power Couple, and doing such a thing to another beloved character on the app was, apparently, an egregious sin.
I’d never spent much time thinking about one partner cheating on another.
The fact that I’d never really had a real boyfriend was likely the reason.
I’d dated and hung out with guys—and I hadn’t held onto my virginity as if it was some sacred thing—but I’d never had a real relationship for a length of time where cheating would be an issue.
So, I wasn’t sure how I felt about Theo cheating on his ex-boyfriend.
Whether or not it was an unforgivable sin was something I couldn’t even wrap my mind around. People make mistakes. Then again, I’d never been cheated on, either. It was a difficult topic for my brain to toss around.
Another thing I couldn’t quite understand was getting so invested in an app and the virtual strangers who posted videos to it.
Videos curated by creators to give users a false view of a person’s life was no basis for judging whether or not you truly knew someone’s personality, morals, values, or likeability.
To me, the silly videos on Peepers didn’t tell me anything about the person who made them.
They were entertainment, pure and simple—not things to create attachments to people you were likely to never meet.
Watching dozens—or even hundreds—of videos of a couple curating their relationship moments didn’t seem likely to give an accurate and clear picture of what their relationship was really like.
Judging either person in the relationship when it ended, based on what a person had merely viewed online, seemed psychotic to me.
At best, misguided.
It all seemed like a projection of one’s feelings about their own life and relationships onto the people they were idolizing.
To then hold those misguided feelings so sacred that you would want to scream insults at a stranger in public was astonishing.
One time, at the grocery store, a woman had run over my foot with a shopping cart and hadn’t even said “sorry”
afterward.
I’d actually excused myself, as though it were my fault.
If there had ever been a time to scream “Dick!” at a stranger, it would have been then.
So, I couldn’t imagine screaming at someone I didn’t know, and had never had any interactions with, simply because I’d heard a rumor.
As my mind remembered the woman and the shopping cart, I realized I probably should have said something.
Then again, you can’t shame the shameless.
Which made me consider Theo’s situation even more.
It was obvious that the shouts, insults, whispers, and giggles affected him.
Whatever had actually happened with his ex-boyfriend and their Peepers account, he felt guilty.
That told me that he wasn’t a shameless jerk who expected people to simply ignore any bad behaviors because he was internet famous.
I scrolled through his Peepers from beginning to end.
Hundreds of videos were consumed from Friday evening until Sunday afternoon between my study and food breaks.
It began with his first videos, those he’d made with his ex—whose name, I was reminded, was Ben.
The account they’d shared, Two Gays from Blaze, was no longer active, but, fortunately, they’d both posted videos to their individual accounts during their time together, too.
Over hours of Peepers playtime, I saw their relationship begin, bloom, slowly seem to become forced, and then end.
I noticed three months lapsed between Theo’s last video with Ben until he started posting again. He never made mention of the split, he never offered excuses or apologies, he simply stopped posting for a few months, then returned and carried on with business.
Odd.
His videos as a single guy were as charming and fun as those with Ben, but got noticeably less views. The comments sections got a lot more hostile, as well. His longtime supporters were divided. Some left uplifting comments, some left positive remarks about the content of the videos, some were neutral, and others were outright vitriolic. Blame for the demise of his relationship seemed to be thrown directly on Theo, and Theo alone.
Out of curiosity, I visited Ben’s Peepers account to check out how he was doing without Theo to make content. His views were often ten times more than Theo’s, his comments sections were full of support and love, though comments about supporters’ sadness for the relationship ending popped up occasionally. I stayed on Ben’s account long enough to find out that he had made a handful of videos after the relationship ending, addressing the breakup, and vaguely hinting that Theo was unfaithful and completely to blame.
By Sunday morning, I’d consumed every single second of Peepers content Theo had made, and quite a bit of Ben’s as well. In the end, I realized I’d gained nothing from the experience. Of course, Theo had several dancing and “Get Ready with Me”
videos that had made me laugh out loud a few times. His videos with animals were adorable. However, I found I was no more invested in his relationship with Ben than I had been before.
Did that make me the strange one?
Were all of the viewers who left comments on Peepers videos normal, and I was a freak? What did it say about me that I could watch hours of videos about a person’s life and feel no differently about them? I’d enjoyed a lot of Theo’s videos—even Ben had a few fun ones—but I didn’t feel any closer to either of them. The videos didn’t seem…real. I felt like I was experiencing who they were through a filter. Like actors on T.V., Theo and Ben both remained strangers who had helped me spend hours wasting time entertaining myself.
No more; no less.
Ultimately, I decided that I was definitely not normal. However, people who got emotionally invested enough to drop disparaging comments online or shout insults at strangers in public who were minding their business weren’t either.
We were all fucked in the head, actually.
If you couldn’t find better things to do with your time, that was fine. Getting that emotionally invested in what was simply entertainment was not. When I set my phone on my desk Sunday afternoon, determined I had made my decision about the situation, I was satisfied. My “experiment”
for the weekend had given me some clarity into the mindset of the students at Midway who were rude to Theo. They were not completely in touch with reality because they weren’t living in reality.
All in all, I figured the hours I’d wasted over the weekend on Peepers hadn’t been a complete loss. As a Communications major, it had given me more insight into the lives of people who lived online and constantly consumed content. That wasn’t unhelpful to someone in my major, and could actually be the topic for a future paper if I couldn’t think of anything better. Additionally, the “experiment”
had taught me that I probably needed to objectively observe more online interactions with strangers to excel in my industry.
I hadn’t changed my mind about the internet and social media being evil, but I was beginning to understand the draw of it.
“I would bet a chunk of bills that you’ve been right there. All weekend.”
I jerked in my seat at the sound of Collin’s voice. Spinning in my desk chair, I found him standing inside our dorm, the door slowly shutting behind him. I’d been so deep in thought that I hadn’t even heard the door open. If I’d been in a horror movie, my guts would have been all over the wall before I could begin to scream.
“Well,”
I said, frowning at him, “you’d be wrong.”
“Oh?”
he chuckled and headed over to his desk, his bag sliding off his shoulder. “You made it to the bed and bathroom a few times?”
I couldn’t help but chuckle.
“I’ve been to the dining hall and the bathroom and bed, yeah,” I said.
Admitting to Collin that I’d spent most of the weekend in our dorm wasn’t going to happen. I’d been social enough during meals, but I hadn’t done anything exciting or to enrich my college experience. Telling him that would only add ammunition to his insult gun for future use.
“Look at you,”
he cooed. “Going to the dining hall and stuff.”
“Guy’s gotta eat,” I said.
“Fair enough,”
he replied, dropped his bag by his bed and slumped onto it. “Oh, my god. Dylan wore me out this weekend.”
He grinned evilly at me.
“I might actually keep this one through the whole school year!”
He squealed. “I mean, he’s cute, he’s good in bed, and he thinks I’m the fucking best, so he might be a keeper.”
“I mean,”
I said, “if you can find someone that delusional in your favor, why fuck it up, right?”
Collin glared at me playfully.
“That’s like spitting on God, to be honest.”
I shrugged.
“Someone’s in a mood,”
Collin said, crossing his arms over his chest. “I came back so you wouldn’t have to miss me for any longer than necessary, and this is how you treat me? Your best friend gave up spending more nights with his insatiable boyfriend for this?”
“Sorry,”
I said. “I’m just teasing anyway. I’m glad Dylan makes you happy.”
Collin smiled immediately, lowering his arms.
“Well…ish,”
he said. “He’s sooooooooo boring when we’re not fucking. But he’ll do for this year.”
I had nothing to say to that, so I didn’t say anything.
“So,”
Collin began when he realized I had no response, “what have you been up to all weekend?”
“Mostly studying,”
I replied, turning back to my desk. “You know how I roll.”
“I assumed.”
Collin laughed and pulled his bag up to the bed and unzipped it. “I knew you weren’t hosting any wild parties, for sure. Or—gasp—entertaining a gentleman caller.”
Turning in my chair again, I stared blankly at him.
“Two things,”
I said, “did you just say ‘gasp’? And ‘gentleman caller’? When did our dorm room turn into a Victorian drama?”
He waved me off and began digging items out of his bag and tossing them onto his bed. The smell that emanated from the open bag told me that Collin desperately needed to do laundry. I hoped that he was going to gather up his dirty clothes, but especially the ones from the bag, and head down to the laundry room. When he stood from the bed and went to grab his laundry bag from his wardrobe, I sighed internally.
It wasn’t unlike Collin to leave dirty clothes in a pile on his side of the room until the dorm smelled of armpit and mildew. Seeing him get on top of the problem before it became a bigger problem brought me peace. I didn’t want a third year of smelling his body odor. If anyone was going to have questionable hygiene, it was going to be me on Friday mornings when I overslept.
“Fine,”
Collin mumbled as he began stuffing dirty clothes in the bag. “You weren’t getting some strange from another studious nerd on campus.”
“I don’t know that that’s better.”
He laughed and continued with his chore. As I watched him, I realized that eventually, I was going to have to say something about the Peepers video he’d made. I’m not one for confrontation—as I rarely find myself in situations that require it—but I knew delaying the inevitable would make it worse. Nothing brings fire to an argument like the other party finding out you’ve been sitting on your resentment for a length of time.
“So,”
I began with a sigh, “I wanted to ask you about something.”
“Ask away,”
Collin said, not stopping his task.
If you tell any person that you want to ask them something, it’s anxiety-inducing. Collin, on the other hand, seemed to be immune from jumping to the conclusion that anyone could possibly be mad at him. That’s what made confrontations with him difficult. He rarely saw anything he did as questionable, or that anyone would have a problem with any choices he made.
“Why’d you make that Peepers video?” I asked.
Collin didn’t even seem to register what I was referring to.
“Which one?”
he asked, stuffing a visibly soiled t-shirt into his bag.
“Where you said I called Theo all those names?”
I asked. “You said I called him an ‘asshole’ and a ‘dick’ and ‘rude’. I didn’t say any of that.”
Unsure of what I expected, I waited for Collin to drop everything, turn to me, and squeal that I was making a mountain out of a molehill. Or scream that I had somehow invaded his privacy—even though the video was on a public app. Any of Collin’s dramatics were possible. However, I hoped that he would grow red-faced, show shame, and apologize. The first two were more in Collin’s wheelhouse, but an apology was not completely impossible. He’d given them before.
“Oh,”
he waved a hand at me, “no one cares about those things. And no one even knew which friend I was talking about.”
“Theo did,”
I said. “He knew it was me.”
Finally, Collin did stop collecting clothes to give me his attention. The mention of Theo’s name—and the fact that he’d confronted me about the video—was worthy of Collin’s attention.
A smile tugged at the corner of Collin’s mouth.
“Ohmygod,”
Collin squealed. “Did he get all up in your face?”
My brow furrowed so deeply I was certain I felt a crack in my skin.
“No,”
I said. “He didn’t get all up in my face. But he was upset, yeah.”
“That is hilarious!”
Collin barked with laughter.
Waiting for him to settle down, I found myself confused by his reaction.
“It’s not hilarious, Collin,”
I said once he quieted. “His feelings were really hurt.”
The smile melted from his face.
“And,”
I said, “mine were, too. I mean, you lied about me. And you made me look like a total dick to a stranger. You used me to hurt someone else’s feelings. It wasn’t cool.”
He rolled his eyes and stomped over to his bed to shove the clothes from his bag into the laundry bag. I watched as he finished gathering his laundry before turning to me once again.
“You’re so dramatic,”
he said. “It’s just a video. No one even cares. Everyone knows that people talk shit online all the time. I was just trolling.”
“Theo cared. I care,”
I said. “You could at least say you’re sorry, you know.”
Collin slung the laundry bag over his shoulder.
“I’m sorry!”
he squealed.
He stomped towards the door, the bag swinging against his back as he made his way out of the dorm. As he opened the door, he turned for a parting shot.
“That you and Theo are so fucking sensitive!”
Then he was gone, and I was left frowning at the closed door.
The rest of the afternoon, I did my best to focus on my studies.
No matter how many times Collin came in and out of our room during his laundry tasks, we didn’t speak.
We didn’t even look in each other’s direction.
I studied, he did his laundry, folded it, and put it away.
Then he studied. When I went to dinner, I didn’t ask him to go with me to the dining hall.
When I came back, he went. Each moment of the evening was spent ignoring and avoiding each other.
When I was in bed that night, the sound of Collin snoring softly on the other side of the room, I turned towards the wall and pulled out my phone.
I found myself scrolling through Peepers.
Eventually, I ended up on Theo’s account, rewatching several of the videos he’d made with animals.
For the first time in several hours, I found myself smiling.
Before I could think about it too much, I clicked on the messaging function on Peepers and shot one off to Theo.
You should make more animal videos. They’re a lot of fun.
Then I locked my phone, put it away, and drifted off to sleep.