EDITOR’S NOTE: Each spring, the LaPorte High School English Department presents the Iselman Writing Awards to four LPHS students. The English Department has awarded
Chris Iselman
these honors every year since 1974. Christopher Iselman was a member of the LPHS Class of 1970. After Chris died during his senior year, his parents and teachers decided to honor his love of writing by establishing this contest.
Students submit their works in four categories — essay, personal narrative, poetry, and short story. Students’ submissions are judged anonymously by LPHS English teachers. This year’s awardees are: Essay, Julia Jongkind; Personal Narrative, Taylor Jump; Poetry, Emily Richardson; Short Story, Geovanny Tapia.
Each winner receives a certificate and a plaque, and his/her name is added to a large permanent plaque displayed in the LPHS English Office. WNLP is proud to present these students’ works, today with Taylor Jump’s personal narrative on forming relationships via the Internet.
Introduction:
“Don’t talk to strangers on the Internet.” The sermon was preached to any infantile mind in a one hundred foot radius. I followed the command that resonated from every adult I encountered until one day ascending to the age of thinking for myself. Their holy message was laid to waste in the abandoned recesses of my mind as I entered my thirteenth year, where every word they recited deflated to near nonexistence. I became as much as a rebel as someone who still called her mom “best friend” could.
Author Taylor Jump
Though looking back I now see their attempt at preserving my innocence, it was a lost cause. The gossamer veil that shrouded my eyes had to be torn eventually. Considering I didn’t understand the humor of the number 69 until a lengthy explanation in seventh grade, I felt that the moment was long overdue. Thirteen was the year of my first cell phone.
Thirteen was not, however, where it all began. Thirteen was a toe dip in the oasis of the unknown. Though “oasis” is a rather flimsy term when referring to the outside world, I was considerably more sheltered when compared to children my age, and this little taste of independence was a treasure I relished greatly in. Unfortunately, I was not the best equipped for anything fragile; two phones later, my parents deemed me a lost cause. A laptop was sturdier, and this became the epicenter to which I spent most of my time. It also became the place I found that I could converse with others from around the world. For a young girl who had rarely traveled out of Indiana, this new technology enthralled me.
Another phone came and went; all the while my laptop remained. I was beginning to see a pattern of my inability to handle cell phones. Foolishly, perhaps, my parents handed me a fourth phone, a hand-me-down, as two of the four phones had been. I used it infrequently, because I enjoyed my laptop and didn’t see the point of having both.
Then one day, I met him. (I do hope you will pardon the cliché.)
Day One:
As the winter of my sixteenth year began, the number of people I had met via the Internet was nearly insurmountable. Whether cultivating friendships or a “flirtationship” as to remain entertained, my conversations with these people either ended quickly or heartbreakingly. Though I will not expound on these experiences, know that the relationships that ended heartbreakingly were poisonous from the beginning. I had always been told I trusted and forgave people too easily, and these instances were prime examples.
Never considering the past, I continued to talk to new people each day. This became my addiction. Some had alcohol, some had drugs, some had sex, but my kick came from intangible people I would likely never meet. A strange addiction, perhaps, but as I said, I didn’t get out much, and this was one of the greatest adrenaline rushes I had come to know. Those days I used my phone more frequently, and that day did not break consistency. I had become accustomed to talking to strangers on a site where one remained anonymous, and, being paired in a random chat, I met a boy my age from England.
I could not tell you the date, because it has long been wiped from my mind. As previously stated, many of the relationships I cultivated died away quickly. Seeing as he was a guy, and I had known the type of guy one usually meets on the Internet, I estimated about five minutes before he would be blocked. Plot twists are beautiful things, though. “Friendship” was not the “F” word I assumed he wanted, but it was the word I got. This intrigued me, but became only the first on a long list of items that left me puzzled about this strange boy.
As we delved deeper into our personal lives, coincidences piled up. We both had eight siblings, and while that may not be impressive on its own, we also both had brothers named Sammy and Danny. Our interests lined up in a parallel fashion, and something in my heart shifted. Smiling from ear to ear, this boy immediately became someone I felt at home with.
“Oh, and I finally got the confidence to tell the girl I like that I like her.”
In that moment, I didn’t know why a hollow pain resonated in my chest, but I responded cheerily that I was happy for him. I was.
Week One:
Seven days of pure bliss followed my encounter with this English boy, and my feelings became a roar in the pit of my stomach I tried unceasingly to digest. Except some days, I didn’t want to. There were moments that I talked to this strange boy where I wanted to lay each thought my mind formulated on the table and point out to him how many included his name. I knew in the way we talked that he felt the same way, but the remnants of his crush left him dangling in the middle. Often confessing to me that he knew she didn’t like him, I wondered why he hung on. I asked myself that same question each time she was brought up. For the sake of our friendship, in those days, I said nothing of my feelings.
The New Year inched toward us, a chance to forsake all we had left in the previous year to start anew. The last two or three nights we had become accustomed to Skyping each other, eventually falling asleep to the other’s voice. Consciousness slipped as time ran its course, and as the clock struck eleven on the New Year, my words became slurred. The filter I clung to grew thinner as the minutes passed. He and I had spent the last couple days flirting with the idea of “us” and what “us” even meant.
I laid on my back, speaking of nothing in particular. The manner with which I responded to him held qualities of someone who had just drank a large quantity of liquor, and he questioned if I had been drinking. Of course I hadn’t, but I felt the sudden urge to say something. He had recently confided in me that the feelings he held for his previous crush had grown to nothingness. Seeing as it already appeared to him that I was drunk, I disregarded all logical thinking, blurting out the thoughts that ran through my half-conscious mind.
“You’re really cute…didju know that??” I demanded.
“Yes, I think you’ve said that at least ten times now.” I didn’t recall that happening, but my sleep-deprived mind was not to be trusted. “I think you’re really cute, too.”
“W-what? You do? Well I think…that uh…we should…hey…lezz date.”
“You want to be my girlfriend?”
“Uhhhh…I don’t know. Maaaaaaybe.” I drew out the final word, any lingering logic thrown out the window. My mind grew dark, and sleep soon took me away.
The next morning I awoke with an elated flutter traveling through my stomach. I dimly remembered the previous night, but knew that I felt one step closer to being “with him,” whatever that meant. Never having any form of relationship beyond a loosely bound and quickly disbanded “flirtationship,” I knew nothing of how to go about asking him what we were. He awoke shortly after me, and the previous night was not mentioned. This left me in limbo, because although I wanted to reminisce in what had been said that night, my ability to express my feelings while entirely conscious was not excellent. The day continued, and it appeared that every second that passed only added to my already insurmountable affection.
The afternoon wore on, and I made the trip downstairs to change laundry. The conversation we were engaged in does not hold clarity in my mind anymore. A single solitary sentence he spoke remains lodged in my memory, holding such intensity that anything else he could have said was overshadowed.
“Well, I mean, you kind of already are my girlfriend,” he typed. My mind spun, and I threw questions at him rapidly, knowing that he was enjoying this. He continued. “You don’t remember? Last night, right before you fell asleep? I asked you if you wanted to be my girlfriend again. You said yes.”
I was happy that I remained alone downstairs, because in that moment I am sure my eyes looked as if they were about to pop out of my skull. I didn’t recall this event. My only memory of an occurrence similar to this was when I responded with “maybe” to that question. I searched my brain, coming to the conclusion that the moment he was referring to must have been when my mind blanked out.
“Well,” I typed, “you should know that I am not to be trusted when I am half asleep. And shame on you for asking me when I was loopy! It seems you’ll just have to ask me again if you want a clear answer.”
“Oh, okay then,” he responded. “Will you be my girlfriend?” I hung on to that moment infinitesimally, letting him sit in anticipation as I thought of a response for him.
“Hmm,” I pondered, though my heart beat rapidly, sending signals throughout my body to answer him. “Well yes, I suppose I will.”
Conclusion:
I am not one to publicly advocate that fate is real; my beliefs in such matters vary daily. I know only this: on a site where tens of thousands of people go each day, I came into contact with him. The coincidences that line the path he and I travel could be simply that: coincidences.
I am not one to publicly advocate for soul mates; I spent my entire life adamantly denying the idea of such a concept. I know only this: if soul mates knew from the moment of first encounter that they were linked in a way that surpasses logic, the elation flowing through my veins when he and I speak is justified.
I am, however, one to publicly advocate this: talking to strangers on the Internet is not a cardinal sin. The span of the earth is far too great. Technology has given us an opportunity: to meet people who live millions of miles away while sitting in the comfort of our own homes.
Because of talking to strangers on the Internet, a tale such as this can occur. Because of the coincidence of meeting the right person, eternity can be contained in a single moment. Because of ‘fate’ or ‘soul mates’ or the coincidences life creates, a heart left frozen by past transgressions can be flawed. Because of a boy residing across the Atlantic Ocean, I am left inspired by the complexity of love, life, and the people one meets on the Internet.