Death by Facebook (6 page)

Taylor
Secontat:
“
Yo
Jimmy. I still don't believe you. How can anyone that had as much
fun as you call it quits so soon? I mean, don't you remember the
time we almost got arrested in Chicago at the Sears Tower, running
sprints up the stairwells for $20?”

Other
comments were pouring in, all telling tales of how much fun they had
had with me over the years. I had actually not quite forgotten, but
had not thought of many of those adventures in years. Hunting
Grizzlies in Alaska, white water rafting the Colorado and camping in
tents across the southwestern deserts with that old VW bus. Even
taking a stab at rodeo in New Mexico for beer money and having to
spend more than we had won on a broken arm.

I
watched Janet read these over and over, sometimes stopping to cry a
bit, or grab two more beers. Always two. Pop. Pop. Always
planning ahead, that girl.

After
a little while she fell asleep on the table, her red hair flowing
over her arms, her face and my laptop.

A
chat window opened, the little beep unable to rouse Janet. It was my
Sergeant.

9

Funny
how being dead has so many advantages. I didn't get tired, or cold,
or hungry. I didn't feel a need to drink beers or boast or make rude
comments about bad drivers. I think I was actually a nicer person,
except that I wasn't really a person anymore.

Moving
outside while Janet slept I looked up at the enticing river of stars
in the black sky. I could see, but I wasn't doing it with eyes, I
guess. I could hear, but not with any ears I might have. I could
sense things in people that could tell me stories about them, their
dreams and fears and hopes. It was all pretty cool.

I
could also sense something completely new as well. For want of a
better word I had to call it “nature”. I felt like I was
actually a piece of it now. In school, science class I believe it
was, the teacher told us that people were animals as well, a part of
nature, etc. etc. No one ever bought that, though. We were Humans.
And Nature was a place we lived in, or exploited, or avoided. Two
different worlds.

But
now, I felt like I was actually integrated right into the fabric of
this thing. It was very much alive. As I quit moving, several
hundred feet from the cabin, I listened, like a hunter might in the
woods. Something was going on, everywhere. It was not just a silent
stand of trees, or a few moss covered rocks some poet might write
about. It wasn't just a volcano, a tourist attraction, or a place
Rangers and scientists make a living trying to monitor.

It
was something like I was standing outside of a window of the Lava
Lounge on free beer night. Lots of activity going on, like people
talking excitedly, singing karaoke. You might not understand any of
the many conversations going on inside, but you could tell they were
all having a big time.

The
river of stars above was humming, billions of Lava Lounges, all full
of voices and songs and storytelling. It was almost too much to
focus on, so I followed the trees to the overlook of Halema'uma'u
crater and it's steaming lava pools. The glow was immense, lighting
the plume from below like a Hollywood spotlight turned red.

Deep
inside the canopy of Ohia trees and impossibly prehistoric ferns
towering everywhere I stopped. Just beyond, a few feet actually,
were the cliffs and the march of devastation leading to the pit.
Here the jungle was teaming with sounds, the sounds of souls. Sounds
from things that were never human though, things that were quiet
different from me. Sounds from the sort of things you would expect
from a world without people. It reminded me of a time I was alone in
the forests of Montana, hunting deer. I must have been the only
person for a hundred miles. I was young then, and a bit afraid, and
as I clutched my rifle I felt vastly outnumbered. It was then that I
first experienced what I know knew to be true: the world, the
universe, is not human centric.

As
I listened to the cacophony of sounds flowing around me, through me,
rising and falling with some sort of pulse I heard something above
the din. A voice. It was clear and distinct, easily rising slowly
above the chatter all around. It was getting louder, and, I assumed,
closer.

“
Jimmy!
Jimmy Turner!”

I
turned all around, trying to find the source, but it seemed embedded
in the flow, like a flower floating in a mountain stream.

“
Yo
Jimmy, it's Tommy! You must be close by dude!”

He
sounded very close now and he sounded familiar.

“
Tommy?”
I mumbled. I tried to look around, but I didn't see anything but
the jungle and the glow of the lava some distance away.

Suddenly,
I felt him next to me. But I saw no one there.

“
Hey
Jimmy, good to catch up with you again,” Tommy said, his voice
gentle and confident.

I
couldn't figure out why I couldn't see him. I knew I could see Janet
and the tourists, and the wild bunch at the Lava Lounge. Why
couldn't I see him?

“
Tommy,
help me out here,” I said to him, wherever he was. “Why
can't I see you?”

He
laughed a little at that, making me feel a little foolish.

“
Well,
Jimmy, I can't see you either dude, but there you are, yes?”

I
gave up for an instant on that mystery and moved on to trying to
figure out which Tommy this was that apparently knew me, and I him.

“
Tommy,
I'm sorry. But, Tommy who?”

“
No
problem. I get that a lot. Tommy after all is a popular name.
Private First Class Thomas J. Jacoba ring any bells?”

It
did indeed. Tommy, my high school buddy. A friend on Facebook as
well.

“
Hey,”
I said excitedly. “Why aren't you in Afghan anymore?”

Just
asking the question answered it for me, and before I could apologize
or explain myself, he started talking.

“
It
seems like only a moment ago, Jimmy. You know about that, I think.
I was on patrol, like every day, on patrol. The guys were all moving
along this wall, trying to reach a building where we heard bad guys
were stashing weapons.

“
I
was just turning to ask the guy behind me for some gum when it
happened. Real fast. Real fast, buddy.”

I
listened to him, fascinated to have someone else talk about it with
as well.

“
One
moment,” he continued. “I'm thinking about you over here
checking out the lava, and it made me thirsty you know? I turn to
ask Horas for gum and boom!”

I
felt that hit me hard. “Damn Tommy, I'm sorry.”

We
were both silent for several moments. The flow wasn't, though, and
it pulsed around both of us, like rocks in a stream.

“
Yeah,
sucks right? Soldiers getting blown up with dynamite. I mean, we
have nukes, right, and we are getting blown up with frickin'
dynamite?”

I
had wondered that too, a long time ago.

“
But,
I'm real sorry,” he continued. “Sorry that I had that
post timed for 10 P.M.”

“
Post?
What are you talking about?” I asked, still a bit amazed that
I was talking to someone at all.

“
I
gotta go, Jimmy,” Tommy said, sounding a bit distracted. “Take
care.” He seemed to move away a bit, in the stream of sounds.
“I'm real sorry, Jimmy.” He seemed to speak louder now
as the distance between us increased. “I'm sorry that my Dad
is gonna read about me dying on Facebook.”

10

I
remained where Tommy had left me, in the jungle, near the cliffs,
staring at the glow of the lava in the distance. He had long since
moved on to wherever it was he was going. Those last words of his
were still bouncing around in my mind. Sorry. Sorry that his Dad
would read about his death on Facebook. Oh my god, my own Mom must
have read that post Janet had made on my behalf by now! It had been
almost a week.

The
sky seemed to quickly grow lighter, washing away the river of stars
and the blackness they bathed in. The sounds I had heard much
earlier were quieting and soon I didn't notice them anymore. Perhaps
the sun overwhelmed them with its own song.

There
were no lights on in Cabin #94 as I approached the front porch and
then moved inside. My laptop was still plugged in, and Facebook was
still up. Janet, I soon discovered, was asleep still on the bed,
fully clothed and on top of the covers, snoring loudly. A dozen beer
cans littered the room, one spilling on the floor.

I
looked more closely at the laptop, and the chat window was still
open. The little box off to the right tried real hard to squeeze as
much text as it could into a small space.

Joyce
Johannson:

“
Jimmy,
haven't heard from you.

Hope
all is well.

You
need to report to Ft. Bragg in 3 days.”

Joyce
is offline

My
Sergeant was looking out for me no doubt. She always found her
troops one way or the other
before
we were scheduled to show up after leave. It kept everyone out of
trouble. Her especially. Someone didn't show up once, and she
cursed the guy for weeks for all the heat she got from the Lieutenant
and for all the paperwork.

Well,
there wasn't much I could do. So I waited. Waited for Janet, waited
for Ms. Debbie and my trip to the light. Tommy sure didn't have to
hang around long. I wondered what the deal with me was.

Something
was keeping me here, and the more I thought about it, the more it
pointed to Janet. Why still mystified me. At this point I could
move on easily. Sure I loved her, but the part of her I loved seemed
to no longer be there. At least not on the surface.

~~~

Sometime
around what must have been high noon, she pulled herself up off the
bed to find the cabin all cleaned up. The maid had been a saint,
keeping her work silent. Plus she was making a small fortune cashing
in all the beer cans.

Janet
immediately went to the refrigerator and fished out her last two
beers cans. Pop. Pop. No Snap Crackle here, just beer. The first
one went down like water and she took the second one into the
bathroom setting it down on the counter.

Staring
at herself for a few minutes, studying her eyes and running her hands
through her long red curls she abruptly started crying. But, she
didn't drop her head, or reach up with her hands to cover her eyes.
She just moved in closer to the mirror and watched the tears roll
down her cheeks, sobbing.