Authors: Kate Thompson
…topping out at a hundred, I have more Facebook friends than real life ones. Sad, or what?…
some ‘friendships’ should never be resurrected, not even in a virtual sense…
Even tho I hate this person, I guess I’d better add them as my friend. I’ll take ANYONE now…
Fleur had helped Bethany recover a little of her self-esteem. She didn’t want to see that self-esteem plummet. Until Bethany was ready to take wing, Fleur would be there for her. She returned her attention to her Facebook application, typed 23/7/88 into the box marked ‘Birthday’, and pressed Save.
Flirty O’Farrell was just twenty-one, and she was going to make a new friend.
Poppet was flying over Shakespeare Island, wishing that somebody interesting would come out and play. Mitzy hadn’t turned up this evening in their usual meeting place, and
when she’d texted Tara, the word back was that her broadband was malfunctioning.
Bethany had been visiting Second Life for a week now. Working on the movie kept her busy every day, and in the evening, living vicariously in front of her laptop was proving to be a good way of winding down.
Although ‘busy’ might be a bit of a misnomer. Hanging around the film set was as dull as ever. It was lucky that she was fed by the caterers, because come seven o’clock when she arrived home to Díseart, the last thing she felt like doing was feeding herself. Her parents had gone back to Dublin, her mother exhorting her not to hold any wild parties in their cottage. As if! Who would she invite?
It was the first time she had stayed in the cottage on her own. She had thought it might feel spooky, but tucked up in bed as she was now with the full moon shining through the window and the wash of waves within yards of the garden gate, she felt peculiarly tranquil. The lullaby lapping of waves had always had this effect on her. She remembered falling asleep to the sound when, on holiday as a child, her mother had finished telling her her bedtime story, before backing out of the room with a ‘Night, night, sleep tight.’ And Bethany had gone to sleep dreaming of princesses and dragons and unicorns and wizards. It was funny that now, in another century, the princesses and dragons and unicorns and wizards still existed for her, not in the fairy stories of her imagination, but in the virtual world on the screen in front of her.
Bethany had always had a vivid imagination. Shortly after her sixth birthday she had terrified her mother by readying herself to jump off an upstairs windowsill because she believed she could fly like Peter Pan. She’d queued with her father outside book shops at midnight, waiting for the new
Harry Potter, which she would devour in a single sitting. She’d discovered a computer game called Final Fantasy, in which, for her, the characters lived and breathed. She supposed that her imagination, her facility for transforming herself into different people and transporting herself to different worlds, was responsible for her all-consuming desire to become an actress. But as an extra on
The O’Hara Affair
, so far the only emotion she’d been required to register had been one of resigned stoicism.
But then, acting – proper acting – bore no relation to extra work, where you were just a piece of furniture, really. A mobile prop. Acting allowed your imagination to soar: an actress could be starry-eyed Juliet one day, tragic Ophelia the next. If she was in belligerent mode, she could be Katherina the shrew; if she was in good form, she could be vivacious Beatrice. All those fabulous heroines who had trodden the boards of the real live Globe Theatre, four hundred years ago! Rosalind, Viola, Portia, Cleopatra…
What would Shakespeare have made of this virtual world, where the theatre in which his plays had been performed was now displayed digitally, on an LCD screen? Would he applaud it, be excited by it? Or would he—
Oh! A green dot told her that someone else had arrived onto the island via Teleport. With a click of the mouse, Bethany sent Poppet off in search of the new arrival.
A youth was standing on a street corner, looking lost. He had floppy hair and Johnny Depp eyes. He was wearing something vaguely piratical: a bandanna, leather jerkin and boots. His name was Hero, and he was a cutie. Poppet moved over to him.
Hi,
she said.
Hi,
Hero said back.
This place is a bit empty.
I know. Shakespeare Island’s always empty. Nobody seems to know about it. Is this your first time here?
Yes.
Bethany decided to be proactive.
Shall I show you around?
she asked.
I’d like that
, he told her.
I’ll show you the Blackfriars Theatre if you like?
she said.
It’s this way. Or the Globe?
I’d like to see the Globe. I’ve been there in real life. Cool!
she said.
Bethany felt a little fizz of excitement in her tummy. None of the other avatars she’d engaged with on Second Life had ever displayed an interest in anything to do with theatre. It was all gross-out movies and soap opera and sex.
I saw a production of
Romeo and Juliet
there in April,
Hero told her.
It was awesome.
The one with Ellie Kendrick?
Yes.
Wow.
She
was
impressed.
Bethany walked Poppet around the corner and along a street constructed of Tudor-style, half-timbered buildings, pointing things out and chatting as she went. The entrance to the Globe was across a bridge.
This is awesome,
said Hero.
They’ve done a great job. It looks just like the real thing.
Wanna sit down?
Poppet suggested.
Sure.
The pair of avatars sat themselves down on a wooden bench, and there was a slightly awkward pause as they looked at each other. In Bethany’s experience, conversations on Second Life tended to peter out and residents would often disappear without warning. On numerous occasions Bethany had felt
tempted to teleport in the middle of a conversation that was less than riveting, but her good manners always got the better of her.
Have you been a Second Life resident for long?
she asked Hero, then cursed herself for sounding so formal.
No. I’m a newbie.
Me too. Met anyone interesting?
Not really. You’re the first person I’ve had a proper conversation with. There are some real weirdos on here.
I know. And some real weird places too. I got stuck in a horrible building last week and had to teleport my way out of it.
What was it like?
Bethany didn’t want to tell Hero that the building had been a gallery, the walls of which had been lined with pornographic photographs. She’d tried to escape, flying past image after disturbing image, urgently searching for a way out, but she had just kept banging into walls. It had unsettled her deeply, and she’d been wary about the locations she visited since.
It was just a spooky old house,
she lied.
Were you scared?
A bit.
You should take care of yourself on here.
Don’t worry. I’m a grown-up.
Over eighteen?
Yes. You?
I’m legal.
Hero stood up, and started to move around the theatre. As he explored, Bethany checked on his profile. Hero had created his avatar just two days after Bethany had created Poppet. He was interested in film and theatre, and his favourite actor was Johnny Depp. He lived in Dublin!
Hey,
said Poppet.
You’re Irish! So am I! No shit! What part? Dublin. But I’m in the west right now, in Coolnamara. My parents have a cottage here.
I know Coolnamara. Aren’t they making a film there?
Yes.
The O’Hara Affair
. I’m actually in it!
Hey! Are you an actress?
Sadly, no,
she confessed.
Just an extra. But acting’s what I’d love to do more than anything. I’ve applied to the Gaiety School.
I hear that’s a great course. I have a friend who’s a casting director. She says the Gaiety students get the most work.
He had contacts! This was amazing!
You have a friend in casting? she asked.
Yeah. I even help out sometimes.
How
?
She has a small baby. That means she can’t get to all the shows she needs to see. I go on her behalf, and make recommendations.
What a cool job! Being paid to go to the theatre!
Bethany was so excited that she was typing too fast.
Beats being on the dole
, observed Hero.
Maybe you’ll get to see me in something some day!
Let me know.
How?
A box opened on the top right-hand corner of her screen.
Hero is offering friendship,
Bethany read.
Accept me as a friend,
Hero continued.
Then we’ll know any time we’re online simultaneously. We can meet up here and talk. Maybe we’ll meet other actors. That’s why I came to Shakespeare Island
in the first place. I thought it would be full of actors all wanting to chat about things thespian.
Me too! You’d better not tell them that you work in casting! Then they’ll all be after you to try and get a job!
Good point. You won’t mention it to anyone, will you?
Not if you don’t want me to.
It’s bad enough having to cope with wannabe actors in real life. I don’t want to have to do it in Second Life too!
LOL!
A silence fell. But Hero didn’t look twitchy. He didn’t tap his foot, or look away, or scratch his head, as if thinking of something banal to say. Bethany knew he was only an avatar, but she could swear that there was something meaningful about the way he was looking at Poppet.
I have to go now,
he said, finally.
When are you likely to be here again?
I come most evenings.
Yikes! Bethany hoped she didn’t sound like too much of a loser.
There’s nothing else to do in Lissamore
, she added hastily.
Why don’t you come back to Dublin?
Because of
The O’Hara Affair
. I would have gone back with Mum & Dad, but I want to get as much work as I can before I’m a full-time student and broke again.
Do you live with your parents in Dublin?
Yes. It’s great to have the place here to myself. There’s no one to nag me about the state of the bathroom.
LOL. Aren’t you lonely in Lissamore? No. Not with Second Life. I usually hang out with my mate Mitzy here.
There was another pause, then:
Well, Poppet, here’s to many more conversations,
said Hero.
Yeah.
Slainte
! Hey – there’s an Irish pub here you know.
Cool! Maybe we should visit it together next time?
I’d like that!
It’s a date. Bye for now.
Bye.
Take care.
I will.
Bethany watched as Hero disappeared. She wondered where he was off to next. Back to real life? Or maybe he’d teleported to somewhere more interesting in Second Life. Maybe he’d found her boring, and had just made up an excuse to leave. Maybe he wouldn’t contact her again. But he was special – she knew he was! He had been the first person to offer her friendship on Second Life, and it had been the first time Bethany had had a half decent conversation with anyone apart from Tara. And he loved theatre! The only way to find out that he was genuine, she supposed, would be to come back tomorrow and see if he showed up.
Moving Poppet towards the stage, she wondered what it would be like to have someone watch her from the balcony. If she used her microphone rather than instant messenger, she could perform a soliloquy for her spectator, do a virtual audition! She could recite her favourite speech of Juliet’s:
Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-brow’d night, Give me my Romeo; and, when I shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars…
Little stars. For some reason the words of the fortune-teller she’d visited last week came back to her.
That special boy is out there somewhere, Bethany, waiting for you
.
But you must be patient…
That special boy. Her Romeo! Her Hero!
Oh – don’t be so stupid! she scolded herself. Don’t be such a dreamer! One offer of friendship on Second Life hardly constituted a romance. But if – just
if
– she and Hero met up again and got on – well, why shouldn’t things develop further? She’d heard loads of stories about people meeting up in cyberspace and then afterwards in real life: she’d even read a magazine article recently that had related the stories of three couples who’d met online and gone on to get married. She’d heard the horror stories, too, of course, about the paedophiles who preyed on young kids and groomed them over the internet, but she was a grown-up. She was, as Hero had said earlier, ‘legal’. And she wasn’t stupid.
Moving her cursor, Bethany selected an action, and Poppet started to dance. She lay back against her pillows, watching her avatar through half-closed eyelids. She’d seen couples dancing together on Second Life, locked in a tender embrace. It would be nice to think that one day she and Hero might dance together like that…
Ten minutes later, a cloud had obscured the face of the moon, the stars were washed out, the waves had worked their lullaby, and Bethany was fast asleep. But Poppet was still in motion, swaying all by herself on the stage of the timberframed, cavernous theatre on Second Life’s Shakespeare Island.