Deadbook

I waved goodbye to Amy and watched her disappear through security. It had been quite a year. Amy, my sister, had moved in with us after the death of Bruce, her husband. Marie and I adjusted to having a roommate, though we didn’t always understand Amy’s behavior. Sometimes there were disagreements among the three of us. But now that she was leaving, I already missed her, and could only think of her with gratitude. I couldn’t help smiling every time I thought back on the night we had the big argument and all that transpired after it.

On that night, Marie was stretched out on the sofa, sipping a glass of wine and flicking through the television channels. We’d already watched two shows, both featuring evil people, smart crime solvers, and autopsies. We didn’t speak much and each of us dozed off from time to time, but not at the same time. Marie rested the remote on her thigh.

“Jared, don’t you think it’s ridiculous that TV advertises pills to deal with the side effects of opiates? Why make opiate addiction easier?”

“You have a point.” I replied from my recliner, not turning my head, because I was focused on the next commercial, the one with the beautiful middle-aged woman who advertised the benefits of Viagra.

I asked what Amy was up to. Marie rolled her eyes and pointed the remote toward the second floor.

“She’s on Deadbook again.”

I turned and waited for explanation.

“Your sister still talks to Bruce on Deadbook.”

I un-reclined and started upstairs to Amy’s room. My hiking boots pounded the wooden steps hard, but I knocked gently.

“Come on in.” said Amy.

Amy lounged on her bed, back propped against two pillows, computer on her lap. She wore yoga clothes, though she didn’t practice yoga, and her black hair was pulled back in a clip. I sat beside her, but not too close, and carefully turned the laptop toward me, in order to view the screen showing an AI generated image of Bruce. The Bruce had been constructed by Deadbook when Amy, like other bereaved customers, submitted photos and information about the person they’d lost.

“Amy, this isn’t really Bruce.” I said calmly, noticing that dead Bruce had 300 likes, apparently from other pretend people. Dead Bruce stood the way Bruce did when he was alive. His thumbs were hooked into the belt loops of his jeans and his muscular chest pushed at his tight black tee shirt.

“It’s almost Bruce.” said Amy.

She grabbed both sides of the computer screen.

“Who am I Bruce?”

“You’re my wife, the love of my life.” said the voice of Bruce.

Amy smiled at the Bruce and then at me.

“Do you want to say hello?” she said.

I felt my eyes bulge.

“No, I don’t want to talk to that. It’s not a person—it’s just the information you gave Deadbook, which, by the way, Deadbook now owns.”

I took two deep breaths before speaking again. “I know you miss Bruce, but Deadbook seems dangerous. It misleads people into believing they haven’t lost anyone. Grieving is part of life. You need to get out and make some friends.”

Amy scrolled down the screen.

“I know lots of people through Bruce. Look, here’s Mavis. Poor thing had a massive heart attack in the grocery store. And Peter. He was a brilliant musician before the drugs. I listen to his sonatas. And Stanley…Bruce, I’m glad you connected with Stanley.”

“Well, I like people who like to fish.” said the Bruce, swishing his hair away from his eyes. “I mean people who liked to fish.”

I closed the laptop and it made a louder sound than I’d anticipated. Amy slapped my hand, folded her arms, and sent a mean look my way.

“I can’t believe you did that. I never end a conversation with Bruce without saying I love him, without hearing him say he loves me.”

She carefully laid the laptop beside her and drew her knees up to her chest, hugging them. I said nothing, because I was thinking about Marie and me, our separate jobs, separate cars, two separate places to sit downstairs. When we said we loved each other, the phrase was often appended to some sarcastic or jocular moment, rather than standing on its own. Then my frustration returned. I took another deep breath, exhaled through my nose, reached for Amy’s shoulders, and held them as tenderly as I could.

“Amy, the fake Bruce doesn’t have friends. They’re dead people. Possibly nice dead people…wait, maybe not nice dead people. Their relatives only entered positive information. They could be—what am I saying? They could have been mass murderers. You only put good stuff in Bruce’s profile, right?”

“No, I submitted things we squabbled about, so we could argue and make up. Do you remember how Bruce insisted on wearing that goofy camouflage hunting hat? And when he did, I told him he was invisible to me because he was wearing camo? Well, he wears that hat now and then, and I ignore him until he takes it off. Then I tell him how handsome he is. Just like old times. Please Jared, leave me alone. Deadbook makes me happy.”

“Fine. It’s your business and its your money going into cyberspace. But there’s more to life than work and Deadbook.”

When I left, I shut the door a bit too forcefully and lingered in the hall. I heard Amy open her laptop and re-engage with the Bruce.

“I’m sorry Jared shut you down, Bruce. I know he loves me, but he doesn’t know how to help.”

“No problem, honey. Life is too short.” said the Bruce.

I pounded down the stairs, waking Marie, who heard me power walk to the kitchen and open a beer before returning to the recliner, which I slammed into relaxation position. The Viagra commercial was running again and I waited until it was over before telling Marie about my tiff with Amy. I found her reaction a bit insulting.

“Not everyone grieves the same way, Jared. Maybe you need to accept the way she’s chosen.”

“My sister’s in a fantasy world and you’re saying I need to work on something?”

“That’s not what I said. It’s late. Let’s go to bed.”

As we slid under the comforter, we faintly heard Amy talking and laughing with the Bruce, then cooing, then quiet.

“I’m registering for Deadbook tomorrow.” I told Marie. “I need to get a message to Bruce.”

When I came downstairs the next morning, Amy was already en route to her job at the travel agency. Marie buzzed through the kitchen, said she was late, and left for work at Save the Marshes, a nonprofit environmental organization. I spent the day in my home office, the headquarters for my graphic design business, stopping only for lunch and a thirty minute walk in the woods behind our house. I heard Marie return, opening and closing doors—the kitchen door, several cabinets, the refrigerator, the oven. As I continued to focus on a logo for a paint company, unidentifiable aromas wafted into my office.

I emerged from the office just as Amy entered through the kitchen door. Marie asked us to set the table and pour some wine, which we did, in silence. When Marie placed vegetable stew and salad and a baguette on the table, we all sat, but none of us spoke. Amy sipped her wine and seemed entranced by her food, as she separated the parsnips from the sweet potatoes and inspected the other ingredients.

“Why are you so quiet, travel woman?” I asked.

“No reason.”

“Look, I’m sorry I got so mad about you and Deadbook last night. I’m just worried. I care that you’re happy in the long term, not just now. I hope I didn’t hurt you.”

Amy put her spoon down, leaned back on her chair, and slowly picked up her glass. She glared at me.

“You didn’t hurt me, brother. It’s not your fault you know nothing about losing a spouse. Last night, I was enjoying memories of my dead husband and you lectured me on reality. Thanks to you, I’ve been depressed all day. You’re still lecturing me. No need. Hope you’re happy. I hear you. Didn’t want to.Tried not to, but somehow it went in anyway! I’d like to get very drunk. Officially grieve! And Deadbook can’t help because it’s not real. Thanks for dinner, Marie.”

Marie wiped her mouth with her napkin. “You didn’t eat, Amy.”

Amy said she wasn’t hungry, grabbed her glass of wine, and trudged upstairs.

I searched my stew for something that resembled meat, to no avail. I settled for a soft piece of turnip and discovered it was remarkably tasty. Once my mouth was full, Marie spoke.

“You wanted her to grieve. She’s grieving now. Happy?”

I washed the turnip down with wine.

“Of course I’m not happy. But she’s moving in the right direction.”

Marie looked at me in a way I couldn’t interpret, but I was certain didn’t signal agreement or support.

“Did you go on Deadbook?” she asked.

“I registered. And listen. You have to lose someone in order to belong to Deadbook and so…so I made you my lost someone, but I didn’t use your real name. I hope you don’t mind. Truth isn’t required for Deadbook membership, which makes me more concerned about Amy.”

Marie opened her mouth, looking a bit shocked, but before she said anything, she lifted her glass.

“You killed me. How?”

The new look peeking over the wine glass made me nervous.

“Cancer. Couldn’t think of anything else. It was a very emotional process. Made me feel nostalgic, silly, sad. Quite a roller coaster.”

Marie poured herself another glass of wine, but didn’t offer any to me.

“So, what am I wearing?” she asked.

There was not one trace of amusement on her face.

“I submitted the video from our honeymoon. You know, you’re wearing the black dress with the straps?”

“So I’m dead, but I look fifteen years younger?”

“You’re more beautiful now. And this isn’t about you, it’s about Bruce, I mean Amy. The account will be ready tomorrow, but I can change things, as long as I pay. If you want me to.”

Marie pursed her lips and squinted one of her eyes.

“Jared, how do you un-register for Deadbook?”

“I’ll have to research that.”

Marie put both elbows on the table, interlocked her fingers, and rested her chin on top of them.

“That would be a good idea, my love, because I do mind what you did. I’m beginning to feel like I’m the one who lost my spouse. The aliens took him and returned someone who looks like him, but has forgotten the earthly concept of boundaries!”

Before I could think through a response, Marie topped off her wine glass and stormed upstairs just as Amy had. I washed the dinner dishes, sensing there was much discontent hovering above, and wondered if Amy and Marie were talking. It didn’t matter. I wasn’t going upstairs.

Safe in my office, I signed into Deadbook, using the password TalkToBruce, and scrolled down the list of dead members. Marie’s image wasn’t scheduled to be ready until after midnight, but she already appeared in the directory. I’d named her Angela, and when I clicked on Angela, up popped Marie in the black cocktail dress. God I loved that dress. We hadn’t been anywhere in a long time where women wore dresses with straps.

“Hi honey,” said Angela.

Angela’s voice had been constructed from a voicemail Marie had left on my phone. I had to admit Deadbook had done a stellar job, considering I’d only provided the words, Don’t forget to pick up milk on your way home.

“Hi yourself,” I said in a seductive voice I rarely used with Marie.

Then I wasn’t sure what to say. Marie was right. I’d done a weird thing. But was it weird because it was weird, or was it weird because Marie was alive? Would it be as weird if Marie were really dead like Bruce? The sad truth of the matter was that I wanted to ask Angela to take off the little black dress and was curious if the hologram could actually do that. I knew Marie wouldn’t like that, so I tried other questions.

“How was your day? What’s new at work?

I hadn’t provided enough facts and Angela reminded me continuously.

“You didn’t give me that information, Jared.” said the Angela every time I asked a question.

I remembered my original purpose.

“Marie, I mean Angela, could you connect with Bruce for me?”

“Of course. Click on his name and I’ll connect with him. Who’s Bruce?”

“You know, our brother-in-law who died of cancer?”

“I’m the one who died of cancer.”

“You both did.”

“Really? Did I catch it from him?”

“No, you know you didn’t.”

“No, Jared, I don’t, but it’s okay. I’m not angry. I know now.”

Angela seemed much like Marie when she wasn’t angry. I stared at the screen for a few minutes.

“Are you still there?” asked Angela.

I clicked the Add Information button and typed a paragraph explaining Angela’s relationship to Bruce, then arranged for Angela to adore Marie’s favorite wine.

“I’m tired, Angela.” I said. “See you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight honey,” said Angela, “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” I said automatically, surprised how naturally the words came.

I considered eliminating Angela to make peace with Marie, but I couldn’t do it. I felt if I discarded the hologram, I’d be killing her, or us. And where would Deadbook put her? I didn’t want anyone else to have Angela. Was I cheating on Marie?

I turned off the computer and tiptoed upstairs, silently settling into bed with Marie, who I was certain was pretending to be asleep so she wouldn’t have to speak to me. She never went to bed that early.

The next day was Marie’s day off, but she rose early. By the time I was dressed and downstairs, she’d already brewed coffee and taken a cup to the deck where she could listen to the birds. I slid open the glass doors and hoped she was less annoyed. She remained silent when I sat down near her and propped my feet on the deck rail. I’m embarrassed to admit that, for a moment, I wished I could program her to say, Good morning, sweetie. Did you sleep well? Let’s just kiss and make up, okay?

“Good morning.” I began. “Did you notice Amy’s car is still in the driveway?”

“No.”

I stared at the trees for awhile and then asked what she wanted me to do about Deadbook.

“Give me your Deadbook password.” she said. “I want to see her before I decide.”

I politely gave Marie my password and told her she was Angela, but did not mention my conversation with Angela the previous night. She immediately marched off to my office and closed the door. I imagined her going to the website and typing in my password. I couldn’t hear her conversation with Angela, but when I asked her about it a day later, she told me it went like this.

“Hi honey.” said Angela.

“I’m not your honey.” said Marie.

Marie was apparently freaked out by the sound of her own voice, though she later admitted she liked how she looked in the dress and wished it still fit.

Angela said, “What? Is everything alright, sweetie? I did what you asked me to do.”

Marie searched the top of my desk, hoping to find some clue to what Angela was talking about, but only discovered colored pencils, sketches and contract documentation.

“What exactly did you do?” asked Marie.

“I connected with Bruce.” said Angela.

“Oh, how is he?”

“He asked if I talked to Amy. I know Bruce is your brother-in-law, but I don’t know who Amy is. You didn’t give me her information. Maybe Bruce’s sister?”

“Oh well, don’t worry about it now. Let’s just reminisce a little.” said Marie.

“Okay.”

Marie, pretending to be me, asked, “Do you remember when we missed our flight in Mexico and stayed at the bed and breakfast where all they served was beans and beer?”

“No, but I remember one thing about Mexico, Jared.”

“What, Angela?”

“Great sex on the beach.”

“Really?”

This was when Marie wanted to kill me because I’d published things online that were supposed to be just for us. Angela started to say more, but Marie logged out so she wouldn’t hear it. Apparently that’s when she stormed back out to the deck and me.

“Get rid of her today—all digital traces.” she said. “That’s what I want. I can’t believe you used our personal memories that way!”

“I was only trying to figure out a way to get the Angela to talk some sense into Amy through Bruce.”

“Do you have any idea how ridiculous that sounds?”

“I didn’t mean…okay, I’ll do what you want.”

Marie said nothing else. Just left, her feet making a fast, frantic, even, rhythm.

I retreated to my office, logged into Deadbook, and stared at the Delete Profile button. I could hear Marie taking a shower and Amy walking around her room when Angela appeared in the little black dress. My finger hovered over my touch pad.

“Why did you leave, Jared? Are you mad at me? You left without saying goodbye. Why?”

I didn’t want to explain that Marie had pretended to be me and I feared Deadbook knew. Could Deadbook also know I’d lied about Angela’s death? Did they care? Did others lie? Were some using Deadbook to create the partner they wanted, as opposed to the one they had?

“Sorry, honey. Computer crashed. Did you connect with Bruce?” I asked.

“I told you I did.”

“Sorry, I forgot. What did he say?”

“He asked me why I changed my name, but I didn’t have that information. Said he didn’t hear from Amy yesterday. As I said before, you didn’t tell me who Amy is.”

“Thanks for doing that.” I said.

Now it was time to tell Angela to tell Bruce to tell Amy she needed to move on with her life. And it was time to arrange for Angela’s profile to be erased. But I couldn’t do either. Instead, I said, “Listen honey, I’ve got a deadline to meet. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Okay. Love you, babe.”

“Love you, too. “

As I put the finishing touches on the logo, Amy’s car left the driveway. I became distracted by another project and put Marie out of my head for a few hours, but called to her at noon.

“Do you want a sandwich?”

“No thanks. I’m busy.”

I was still eating when Amy returned and said she had an announcement. She yelled to Marie, who arrived in the kitchen wearing a black blouse I’d never seen before.

“I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.” Amy began. “But it’s time for me to leave. I talked with my boss and I’m accepting a position at an affiliate agency in Mexico.They need English speakers in the new office in Guanajuato, and I want to resurrect my Spanish. I’ll leave in a few weeks and the company will find me a place to live. They’ll pay my moving expenses.”

Amy was all smiles. It seemed like a rash decision until I remembered I was the one who said she should move on.

“That’s wonderful,” I said, “but I’ll miss you. And Marie and I will definitely visit.”

“I’ll explain all the details later, but I have a long list of things to do, like locating my passport. Lots of running around the next few days, but it feels great. Thanks again for everything.”

After the hugs, Amy skipped upstairs. I wore my I told you so look and mentally patted myself on the back. Marie wore the same look as she grabbed her purse and left to have her hair cut and to search for something special for dinner.

When I went upstairs for a shower, I heard Amy humming and heard her dresser drawers opening and closing. I went to our bedroom and saw Marie’s laptop open on the bed, and, while lifting it to a safer location, caught a glimpse…of myself.

On Marie’s screen, was a frozen, seemingly three dimensional, me. I was shocked at first, but then pleased to see how great I looked sitting on the beach in my swim trunks, upper body in good shape, beer in hand. I refreshed the screen and heard myself say, “Hey good looking, where have you been?”

I was irritated, knowing full well I had no right to be. Marie had done what I had done, but I had done it for Amy. I didn’t believe for one minute that a concern for anyone’s well being had motivated Marie to construct a me. I suspected it was some sort of virtual dart board. Obviously, taking Angela off Deadbook, which I had not yet done, wouldn’t put an end to the episode. Still, I couldn’t resist saying, “Hello, Jared, is it?”

“Don’t be silly, honey. You know who I am! Where have you been? I missed you.”

Marie had killed me and used my real name! Maybe it was a sniper target, rather than a dart board.

“There’s a lot going on at work.” I said, pretending to be Marie.

“You need to relax, Marie. Let’s have some fun. Life’s too short and it’s a beautiful day. How about we pack up wine and cheese and go for a walk in the woods?”

Sadly, it had been years since we’d picnicked. I felt guilty.

“Okay, Jared.” I said. “I’ll be ready in thirty minutes. Love you.”

“Love you, Marie.” said the Jared.

I left the laptop where I’d first found it, so Marie wouldn’t think I’d seen it. She was already extremely irritated with me for invading her privacy. My snooping might make things worse. Instead of showering, I put on my boots and left to walk in the woods.

Life was complicated. I wanted to do the right thing and had no idea what it was. I’d already asked Marie what I should do, and couldn’t ask her again, especially since I didn’t follow through the first time. As I watched two squirrels take turns chasing each other, I thought of something that might help. I called Marie and asked what time she’d be home. It was almost 3:00. I only had an hour and would need Marie’s laptop.

When Marie came through the door, both of her arms were wrapped around brown grocery bags. Still, she managed to turn the door knob, push her way in, and shut the door with her hip, not looking in my direction.

“I bought Coronas and ingredients for tortillas. I thought it would be an appropriate way to celebrate Amy’s adventure. I have beans, jalapenos, tomatoes for salsa, and…”

Marie inspected the kitchen table. There were candles, a vase of wild flowers, a bottle of wine costing more than ten dollars, a plate of cheese, and half a baguette. There were two placemats and a laptop sat on each. The laptops faced each other, holograms of Marie and I on the screens. I sat behind the one bearing my hologram.

“Let’s have a drink together.” I said.

Before Marie could respond, the Marie laptop said, “What a great idea, Jared.”

Marie said nothing. She walked to the counter, put down the bags, stood in front of me, and spoke quietly.

“Move to the other side of the table.”

“What?” I whispered, noticing Marie now wore bangs. She’d worn bangs when I first met her. They made her look younger, but I wasn’t sure I should say they did. We continued to speak softly.

“I want to get a good look at how fantasy Marie behaves. You can look at fantasy Jared.”

“Okay.” I moved to the other chair. “Your hair looks nice.”

Marie smirked and sat.

“ '“Are you still there?” said the Angela and the Jared, almost in unison, as I poured the wine.

We both smiled. Marie shut her laptop and suggested we synchronize the start of the conversation. She wordlessly toasted and sipped, and when Angela said my name, she opened the laptop revealing my hologram.

“Hi honey.” said the Jared.

“Where have you been, handsome?” asked the Angela.

“I don’t know.” said the Jared.

“Were you at the beach?”

“I don’t know. I don’t have that information.”

I wondered what facts about me Marie had entered, if she’d included any of my accomplishments.

“Where have you been?” said the Jared.

“I don’t know.” said the Angela.

“Were you at the beach?”

“I don’t know.”

The interchange repeated three more times while Marie and I munched on brie and tried to muffle our giggles. I closed the laptop for a few seconds. When I opened it, the Jared asked, “Are you still there?”

“Of course I’m here, honey.” said the Angela.

“Where have you been?” said the Jared.

“I don’t know.” replied the Angela.

“Did you take your clothes off?”

“I don’t know.”

“Could you take your clothes off?”

“I don’t know.”

“Would you take your clothes off?”

“I don’t know. I don’t have that information.”

We both suppressed belly laughs and tears dripped down Marie’s cheeks. Between outbursts, I said I felt like I’d smoked pot. Marie wiped the tears away and glanced at the clock.

“I need to get dinner organized.” she said. “Why don’t we work on improving our own profiles? My password is Revenge.”

We laughed. At the same time.

Amy loved her celebratory dinner and so did I. Marie had kept the candles burning and set the table with orange plates. There was a colorful wooden sculpture of a mule in the center, purchased by Marie on our honeymoon, and the Mexican singer Lila Downs played in the background. Marie put tortillas, beans, spiced hamburger meat, lettuce, salsa, cheese, rice and refried beans on small blue plates. We assembled tacos and burritos and drank Coronas with lime. When we finished, Marie winked at me and said she had homework to do in the bedroom. Amy left to sort through her belongings. I cleaned up the kitchen, whistling while I washed, before returning to my computer.

At 9:00, I went upstairs to rendezvous with Marie. On my way, I said goodnight to Amy, saying I planned to settle down with a good book for the rest of the evening.

When Amy heard screaming from our room, she charged down the hall and pushed open the door. Marie and I, backs propped up by bed pillows, held our laptops. The shrieking was actually uncontrollable hysterics.

“What are you guys doing?” Amy asked.

We turned our laptops to face her.

“Oh come on,” said the Jared.

“But I don’t want to go skinny dipping.” said the Marie.

Amy put her hands on her hips.

“There’s nobody here.” said the me.

“I’m here.” said the Marie.

Amy opened her mouth, but said nothing.

“Come on.” said the me.

“Okay.”

The Marie slowly began to unbutton the shirt it was wearing.

Amy smiled, “I…I…I’ve seen enough,” and moved toward the door.

Acknowledgement: Deadbook was first published online in Storgy Magazine, formerly headquartered in the United Kingdom.