This is an unrelated companion piece to Virtual Soulmates, a previously published piece of fiction on Texas T-Bone.
VIRTUAL STRANGERS
[Fiction by Texas T-Bone]
“How many people do you expect to attend, Mrs. Roberts?”
“Pardon?”
“The service? How many people?”
“Oh, right. Sorry.” She blew her nose into a Kleenex. “Not many, I’d say. Harold hadn’t kept up with his old friends. We have only one child, and she’s not married. I’m not even sure she’ll make it to the funeral.” She paused, wadding up the spent tissue and reaching for another one. “Maybe a dozen at the most.” She figured maybe their neighbors and some church friends would show. But there was no one else.
“Fine. Now we’ve got just a few more quick things to wrap up, then that will be that.”
A tear started rolling down Linda Roberts’ face, which she caught with the clean tissue. She didn’t know why she was crying over the old salt. She and her husband had not gotten along well the past 10 years, sleeping in separate bedrooms, taking meals at different times, making their own trips to the grocery store, driving separate cars to church on Sunday. Besides the convenience of neither one having to move out of their house, and lacking the officialness of a divorce, the two lived in virtually two different worlds. Miles apart, mere feet away.
Linda woke up two days ago in her own world, as usual. Harold was usually out and about by then, having driven his car to the Dairy Queen for his morning cup of coffee. Linda knew this was his routine, because two years ago she followed him there to see what he was up to. When he left, she approached the girl working the counter.
“That old man who just left ... did he ever meet anyone here, or talk to anybody?” Linda asked.
“No. He usually sat alone, sometimes with a book, sometimes with a laptop computer.” The girl smiled. “He always left a good tip, but he’d never tell me his name.”
“It’s Harold,” Linda had hissed back. It bugged her to no end how reluctant he was to give out his name. She smiled to herself as she strolled back to her car, knowing she had taken his ridiculous anonymity from him. “Rat bastard! Looking at dirty pictures all day on that damned computer!”
Two days ago, Harold was still in bed at 8. She almost checked on him at noon, when he had not yet emerged from his room. Linda knew something was wrong about 2 p.m. She’d returned from her errands, threw her keys onto the kitchen table, and realized nothing had been moved since she’d left.
“Harold? Harold?” She gently pressed on his door, hinges creaking sharply. “Harold? Are you there?”
He looked asleep, but she walked slowly to his bedside and watched him. There was no detectable life stirring within him. His chest did not rise and fall with the ins and outs of breathing. She knew he was gone. She sighed. This would mean she’d have to cancel her card game that night. And then she’d have to plan a funeral. “Harold, you annoy me even after you die,” she muttered. Then, matter-of-factly, she picked up the phone on his bedside table and called for an ambulance.
On her way out of his room, she eyed his laptop computer. He had saved for a year to buy the stupid thing, and it immediately became his mistress. The horrible thing was still on. She yanked the plug from the wall and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.
Now she was planning the idiot's funeral, crying for no real reason. Secretly, she was glad he was gone.
After choosing the cheapest casket the director would sell her, and deciding against any flowers whatsoever for the service, Linda went back to her empty house. She had spent all of yesterday boxing up Harold’s clothes, books and assorted flotsam of his 78 years on the planet. She would call Goodwill to come pick it all up in a few days. Everything except for Harold’s computer, which she figured their daughter Susan could use.
The next day, an hour before the funeral, Linda was wearing a black dress that only saw daylight upon someone’s death. As the years passed, the dress got more and more use. She studied herself in the mirror and noted that maybe her husband’s funeral would be the last time it was worn. Time to get a new one. Maybe a really expensive one.
Someone knocked at her door about 10:30. It was her best friend Chancey McDougal, who had agreed to drive her to the funeral home.
“Ready to go?”
“Yes. Let’s get this over with.”
They chit-chatted about Linda’s plans for her house, about friends who had died over the last decade, about how sad and yet cathartic it is to bury a husband. Chancey’s Billy died five years ago, and while theirs was a good marraige until the end, Chancey was freed to live her own life on her own terms for the first time in her life. Linda was looking forward to the same rebirth.
As they neared the funeral home, they noticed cars being parked along both sides of the street. People wearing somber faces and black clothing were strolling briskly toward the chapel.
“Maybe there is another funeral before Harold’s,” Chancey offered.
“I don’t know, it’s already 10:45. The service starts at 11. Why are all these people here?” Linda was sure it wasn’t for Harold. “He doesn't have any friends anymore. Look at these people. Most of them are young, some have children. Must be something else going on.”
Chancey parked the car near the chapel door. The old ladies got in line behind what appeared to be about a hundred people.
“What’s going on here?” Linda asked a young man in a black suit.
“I’m here for the funeral.”
“Whose funeral?”
“Harold Roberts. Did you know him?”
“He was my husband.”
“Linda? You’re Linda? Wow, his description did not do you justice. Nice to meet you, Mrs. Roberts. I am so sorry about your loss.” He grasped her hand sympathetically.
“Um, yeah.” She was too flustered to ask how he knew Harold. She just nodded.
“Hey, you shouldn’t have to wait in line. Go in and sit down.” The young man smiled.
Linda kept nodding, grabbed Chancey by the arm and weaved their way to the door. The funeral director greeted them and showed them their seats up front. The rest of the chapel was nearly full, and one of the assistants was putting out more chairs.
“What the hell is going on here?” Linda whispered hoarsely. “Who are all these people?”
Chancey shook her head. “I have no idea. Maybe it’s a different Harold Roberts these people know, and they’re here by mistake.”
“Excuse me, Mrs. Roberts?” It was another young man, in a gray suit, with a woman beside him. “My name is Tom Davis and this is my wife, Stacey. I’ve known your husband for a few years and was wondering –” he nervously swallowed. “I was wondering if you’d let me say a few words during the service?”
“If you’ve got something to say, go right ahead,” Linda said, still fazed by the growing horde. The humanity was heating up the chapel and making her nervous.
“Thank you so much! I am honored.” He and his wife walked away to find seats across the room.
“Mom!”
Linda turned to see Susan walking up the aisle. “Susan!” She stood and hugged her daughter. “I didn’t think you could come.”
“I couldn’t miss Dad’s funeral.”
“Sit down with me,” Linda said. “Susan, do you know why these people are here? Who they are?”
“Of course, Mom. They’re here to say goodbye to Dad.”
“But why? How does he know so many people? He wouldn’t even tell most people his name!”
“It’s all because of this,” Susan said, reaching into her coat pocket and pulling out a piece of paper. She unfolded it and handed it to her mother. “It was his blog.”
Linda looked up suddenly, eyes narrowed. “What’s a blog?”
“It’s like a diary, but it’s on the Internet for others to read. ‘Blog’ stands for brain-log or web-log, depending on who you ask. Daddy has had a blog for a few years now.”
“What? And you knew about it and didn’t tell me?”
“He didn’t want you to know. Besides, I didn’t find out until last year, when I visited him after he broke his foot.”
“I still don’t understand.”
“Just read it. I printed this out last night. It’s from Dad’s blog.”
Linda began to read the printed computer page.
“Harry’s Corner” was the title across the top in big red letters. Smaller, it said "Tales of a cranky old man." A single entry followed:
“Greetings and goodbye, fellow bloggers.
If you are reading this message, it means I am dead. You all know very little could keep me from blogging, so I figured I’d set up an automatic post in the event I was gone for more than three days. Guess I croaked three days ago! :-P
Don’t cry for me, though. I’ve lived a full life of ups and downs. The last few years have been wonderful. I have gotten to know you through your blogs, and through comments you’ve left for me here. You have made what was left of my life worth living. I thank you from the bottom of my no-longer-beating heart.
Please don’t fault me for my silly, morbid jokes. Know that I am in a better place, where Internet service never fails, comments never disappear and there’s nothing to be sorry for anymore. I will miss you and save each of you a seat in Heaven’s Internet Cafe. :-)
You have enriched my spirit beyond what I thought was possible. You helped turn an old cranky man into something of a World Wide Web wizard. I smiled a lot. I cried some. We shared so much. The self-imposed lonliness I was living in was broken through by your kindness.
To my daughter Susan, an e-mail should have been sent to your home account with, among other things, my login and password to this blog. You may close it down or start using it yourself, whatever you like.
To my wife Linda, if you ever read this, please understand I never stopped loving you. It just seems we grew apart like two trees seeking the sun. I am forever hoping you continue to seek the light. Sorry for being a lousy husband for the past several years. I love you, babe.
Oh, and I never was looking at dirty pictures on my computer! You were the only woman I ever needed.
To everyone else, keep blogging. It will help keep you young. Be good to each other. I’ll see you on the other side.
With much love,
H.”
Linda handed the page back to Susan. “I don’t understand. All this time, he was telling everyone about his thoughts? Strangers who never met him? And he never shared them with me?”
“No, Mom. That’s not true. In most of the things he posted to his blog, he began them with ‘Dear Linda’ and ended them with ‘Love, H.’ Mom, he still needed you but you weren’t there for him.”
“Well, that’s easy for you to say. You moved halfway across the country. You don’t know what it’s like to .. to ... Oh, just forget it. I have to go.” Linda stood frowining, gathered her purse and walked quickly out the door, not looking back. Chancey gave Susan a hug and followed Linda outside.
The funeral service did not miss them. Bloggers from around the world had flown in on short notice to attend Harry’s “Goodbye Party” as he would have called it. Several people gave their own eulogies about how Harold’s advice had helped through tough times, or how some of his posts had brightened their days in the most simple ways. He was a father to many whose real-life fathers didn't live up to the role.
About a week later, Susan signed on to her Dad’s former blog. She left the title “Harry’s Corner” but changed the subtitle to “With guest-blogger Susan, his daughter.” Here is an except of her first post, in case you missed it:
“Hello, sweet sweet Blogging World! It’s me, Susan. I know Dad wrote about me from time to time. I will be subbing for him at this same blog address. Please keep coming, as I know my father was a comment whore and obsessive about his site meter. He would have been pleased that more than 400 comments were left on his final post.
Thank you to those who came to his funeral, and equal thanks to those who could not, but sent condolences. Both were appreciated. You guys rock!”
You can see the whole post, along with the others she has written almost daily since then, on Harold’s blog.
He will be missed.
