18
Uncle Buster was ahead of me in the buffet line. Due to the size of my family, having all of the dishes on the table and also finding room to lay your plate was impossible. So, instead of that, Mom always set out all the food in the kitchen, and we’d all file through, fill our plates, then claim a seat at the table to eat. I watched as the mound of mashed potatoes grew with each spoonful Buster heaped onto his plate. The sizable lump of mac and cheese was nothing compared to the potatoes.
“I don’t know if that’s enough taters, Buster,”
I said. “There’s still some left in the bowl.”
He guffawed and elbowed me in the ribs. With an “oof”
sound, I smiled back as he slapped one more spoonful of the mashed goodness on his plate and headed to the table.
Fortunately, I knew that Mom had another tray full of mashed potatoes staying warm in the oven.
Even with Buster’s efforts, she would never allow anyone to go without the Thanksgiving staple.
I quickly added some potatoes to my plate and then scooped up a glob and deposited it on Theo’s plate as he held it out to me. Neither of us was going to risk missing out.
With the final necessity on our plates, Theo and I jumped out of line and headed over to the kids’ table to sit down.
Having so many family members basically meant that you had to wait for someone to die before you graduated to the main table.
You were a kid until one of the older relatives left you a space at the main table in their will.
So, Theo and I were surrounded by Evie and all my cousins at the long folding table in the living room.
Unfortunately, even with being relegated to the kids’ table, I couldn’t keep Theo from hearing the discussions my family thought appropriate while eating.
We were treated to overhearing my aunt Diane’s struggle with watery stools since getting over her raw milk adventure.
Buster regaled the house with tales of the abscess he’d drained on his cow’s flank, including the consistency and smell of what came out of it.
Mom told everyone about Evie’s bout of ringworm—all while Evie stared at Theo and grinned and he did his best to keep his turkey down.
“I got it from playing with the chickens,”
she reminded Theo.
“You got it from rolling around in the dirt,”
I said. “Not playing with the chickens. If the chickens had ringworm—which is hard to transmit to humans from chickens—they’d be losing feathers. You were rolling around in the dirt out there.”
“But momma said—”
“She simplified it, but it’s from the dirt. Not the chickens,” I said.
Evie huffed, but accepted my clarification. Theo did his best to ignore the story and debate, but I saw him scratching his side subconsciously.
Once we’d finished two plates of turkey, ham, mac and cheese, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, corn pudding, roasted Brussels sprouts, cranberry sauce, and too many dinner rolls to count, Mom announced dessert. With extended bellies, Theo and I agreed that a walk outside would be better than leaping into yet another plate of food, no matter how delicious. Mom waved us off as she was bringing out the pies, understanding that we were simply too full.
Leading Theo out the backdoor off the kitchen, we waddled out into the yard and away from the craziness that was my family. The chilly air did wonders for my stomach, the icy wind biting into my flesh, distracting me from my distended tummy. Theo groaned and rubbed his stomach as we walked slowly through the yard, desperately trying to walk off the feeling in our guts. Once we reached the barn, I slumped against the fence alongside it, letting it hold me up as I groaned.
Theo laughed and turned, leaning his back against the fence. He continued to rub his stomach as he stared up at the house behind us. The sky was turning pink at the horizon, bleeding up into a midnight blue higher in the sky. Stars were beginning to twinkle down at us from the velveteen sky above. Twilight. My favorite time of day. At least on the farm.
“I think I get it,”
Theo said.
“Get what?”
I asked, groaning slightly as I laid against the fence.
“All of your questions about being terminally online,”
Theo explained.
“I never said you were terminally online.”
I chuckled. “I just get curious about what you find so appealing about inviting people into your life like you do.”
Theo turned and moved to lean against the fence beside me. He bumped his hip against mine and gave me a grin.
“You didn’t say it, but I knew what you meant,”
he said. “But anyway, I get why you’re so curious about Peepers and me being an influencer now.”
“Yeah?”
“If you grew up here?”
Theo shrugged, his side rubbing against mine. “It’s no wonder you don’t get being online. I haven’t even seen a T.V. in the house. You guys spend all day outdoors, with animals, hanging out with each other. Living life. I get it now.”
“There’s a T.V. in the den,”
I said. “We just haven’t gone in there.”
“Exactly!”
Theo said. “You don’t center your life around the internet and electronics. You’re just out here vibing. You have a huge family. There’s always someone to talk to or something to do, so you don’t have to search it out online.”
I turned to face him, still leaning against the fence. Theo continued to stare straight ahead towards the horizon. His eyes seemed to reflect the pink and purple beyond.
“So,”
I said, “why do you think it’s different here than in big cities or something? At the university? People are always on their phones but they’re surrounded by people and more interesting things to do than we have here.”
“That,”
he said, turning to mirror my stance, “I haven’t figured out.”
I smiled at him. Someone not having an answer for everything, and being able to admit it, is a sign of intelligence. Theo admitting he hadn’t fully figured out a theory for why we were so different when it came to our feelings about the internet made me appreciate him more.
“I feel lonely a lot,”
Theo said suddenly, staring directly into my eyes. “I mean, not so much in the last couple months—”
He blushed.
“—but before that. At Blaze. With Ben. Ever since I started doing videos for Peepers. So, sometimes I don’t get why I keep doing it.”
I chewed at my lip as we stood there, a hand’s width apart, and stared at each other.
“Maybe because the internet is not a real place?”
I said, smiling.
“Huh?”
“None of it’s real,”
I said. “It’s not genuine. Here—”
I gestured to the farm around us.
“—even though there’re fewer people to interact with, they get all of me,”
I explained. “My mom and Dad and Evie get the genuine me. The good, the bad, and everything in between. They don’t get some filtered version of who I am. So, if they like me, it’s because they know me.”
Theo turned to lean on the fence and look at the darkening horizon again.
“On Peepers,”
I said, “you curate who you are. Your followers aren’t seeing your bad days, or even your okay days. You’re showing them only the things about your life that you think are cool. They don’t know you. They know this version of yourself you’ve created through curation.”
“Yeah.”
“And you get rewarded for it. So, you work to curate more experiences that aren’t necessarily genuine, but will look good online,”
I said, turning to lean beside him. “And when people give you attention for it, it makes you feel lonely because even you know it’s not completely real.”
Theo said nothing, but he didn’t stop me.
“That’s why your interview with Arthur did so well,”
I said. “It was raw and real and he didn’t try to create some narrative that looked cool. He just told a true story that happened to be interesting. That’s why our Halloween dance went viral. We didn’t do that because we planned to make a video for Peepers. We did it because you thought it was funny and we wanted to see if anyone at the bonfire would ‘get it’. You know what I mean?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s why everyone is terminally online at school and all over the place,”
I said. “They’re trying to build these communities because they’re lonely, but because people only like and share the things that they think are cool and interesting—usually curated shit—people feel compelled to only share certain parts of themselves. They get rewarded for lopping off entire parts of who they are to make themselves palatable to others. That’s why everyone is so lonely who is terminally online. A lot of their relationships online are built on half-truths and curation.”
Theo chuckled bitterly.
“So,”
he said, “being an influencer is kind of shit?”
“I didn’t say that.”
I laughed and bumped him with my hip. “But if it’s a job, let it be a job. Don’t make it your life. That’s all I’m saying. Create a real life away from all of that, too. And if you want to feel less lonely online, stop sharing only the things you think people will like and share. Create videos of things you actually care about—things that are important and meaningful to you. Then you’ll find genuine followers who like you for you. Maybe you’ll feel less lonely.”
Theo turned to stare at me, his face blank.
“Or I’m totally full of shit and I’m simply a pretentious asshole who thinks he’s above the online life,”
I said with a shrug.
Theo gave me a genuine laugh and I joined in. We stood there for a bit, staring at each other, then turned in unison to look out at the horizon.
“So,”
I said finally, “what’s it like at your house? What would we be doing if we’d gone there for Thanksgiving instead?”
Theo gave me a quizzical look and stared at me for a moment.
“What?” I asked.
“My dad’s a teacher and my mom is a hair stylist,”
he said. “I grew up in this little three-bedroom house in Schenectady. We don’t really have a lot of family, so it’d be kind of quiet compared to here.”
“Do your sister and brother-in-law come to Thanksgiving sometimes or do they always invite your parents upstate?” I asked.
“I’m lying,”
Theo said, chuckling.
“What?”
“I didn’t think you were serious,”
Theo said.
“About what?”
“Asking me what it’s like at my house,”
he said. “I thought you were playing dumb.”
“Playing dumb…about what?”
He blew out a guilty breath. “I just always assumed you’ve Google’d me or looked me up online at some point. Most people do. No one really ever asks me much about myself because you can find out the gist of my life on Wikipedia.”
“Ah,”
I said. “Another reason you feel lonely. Everyone who meets you thinks they know everything about you because they read an article online. One that can be modified by anyone at any time, too.”
He nodded. “Yeah.”
“I am psychoanalyzing the shit out of you tonight,”
I said and nudged him.
“You really are,” he said.
“So,”
I asked, “what’s the truth?”
“You’ve really never searched me on the internet?” he asked.
“Have you looked me up online?” I asked.
“Yes,”
he said. “You have no digital footprint. Except you’re mentioned on the Midway University website.”
I made jazz hands and Theo laughed.
“So?” I asked.
“Dad’s the CEO of a financial firm. Makes ten-figures a year. Before bonuses. My parents have a townhouse on sixty-ninth in New York. Mom’s always been a stay-at-home mom, but she never really did the stay-at-home mom thing,”
Theo said blandly. “If you catch my drift. They’re…busy a lot. I don’t really see them much. I go home every now and then and sometimes they’re there, sometimes they’re not.”
I’d found another reason why Theo was lonely, but I wasn’t going to mention it.
“When my sister left for college, it was just me and our maid and…whatever.”
“Is that the truth?” I asked.
He nodded. “If you don’t believe me, go to Wikipedia.”
I couldn’t help but laugh.
“If we went there for Thanksgiving, the food would be catered, Mom and Dad would probably show up. At least to eat and have a few drinks. And then they’d be off to a party or something. They’d ask if we were dating, but in a disapproving way, and be completely scandalized if we shared a bed. We’d probably watch Christmas movies in the T.V. room while the rest of the house was quiet as a church. Our maid would be putting up the Christmas trees so they’d be ready when Mom and Dad woke up the next day. Even if they weren’t at home.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah,”
Theo said with a sigh as he stared out at the horizon.
I stared at the side of his head for a moment.
“And that’s all the truth?”
“The gist of it, yeah.”
Not knowing what to say about the bleak picture Theo had painted of his home life, I stared at him for a few moments. He continued to stare out at the now dark sky and the twinkling stars beyond us. I turned and leaned against him, my side against his. I tipped my head and laid it on his shoulder. He tensed for a moment, then slowly and gently tilted his head until it was against mine.
“Is it lonelier being on Peepers alone?”
I asked. “Or was it lonelier with Ben?”
Theo chuckled bitterly.
“It was definitely lonelier then,”
he said. “People treated me like the most important part of me was that Ben and I were together. At least now I’m not defined by another person.”
I smiled.
“You know what might make you feel better?”
I asked softly.
He replied, his voice thick, “What?”
“Pecan pie,”
I said, smiling widely as I stared at the sky. “Pumpkin, too. Or chocolate if you’re picky about your pies.”
Theo laughed. “I think I can fit a slice or two in now.”
Turning together, I laced my arm through his and dragged him towards the house.