And so in frustration the dispossessed person would retreat to her room and telephone former friends late in the night and some would answer the phone groggy and say, “What, who is this? Call me back tomorrow.” But by the next day she would feel ashamed and not want to call them back so she would cry alone in her room and get desperate enough to make yet another effort with the new people on her Floor in the common lounge, but there was a very clear indication that her Floormates most certainly did not get her in the least and did not want her particular latticework of irony applied to the reality television they were trying to enjoy non-ironically and so she would try to message one of the old, and truly good friends on web messenger and sometimes they wouldn’t answer or they would answer only in brief, which became unbearable to the dispossessed person as she sat desperately in front of her computer hoping for some affirmation that things would be fine if only she could see her friends in person again.
Then came the various holiday breaks, into which the dispossessed person had put a disturbing amount of thought into friendship-affirming activities involving her hometown friends. But undermining this effort was the stark reality that they (i.e., the former friends) had, even within the limited hometown population, formed new connections with previous non-friends attending the same schools as the dispossessed person’s former friends. In short, new social groups had evolved. There should have been room for the dispossessed person within these groups, but it was like she gave off some kind of subliminal stink now, or that she, like an adolescent William S. Burroughs before her, now gave the impression of a sheep-killing dog. Her need was pervasive and ever-apparent, causing her former friends to recoil in unspoken horror. The dispossessed person was convinced that when they spoke of her they said things like, “She’s gotten weird now.” And “What happened to her anyway?”
As time passed her parents would telephone to ask what Friend A or Friend B was up to, and years later, whether she (i.e., the dispossessed person) had been invited to Friend A’s wedding or the baptism of Friend B’s child, which the dispossessed person’s parents had read of in their geographically-isolated community’s four page newspaper. When the dispossessed person only mumbled a sad reply in the negative, still not having made new friends all these years later, her parents said, “Whatever happened with you guys? You used to be such good friends.” Since this was the lone question that tormented the dispossessed person’s nights and the dispossessed person’s days she found it extremely galling that her parents would pose this question in their typically oblivious fashion.
Nearly every night she dreamt of her former friends, which caused her to wake up each day with an immense sadness. In the dreams she’d be playing Mario Kart, emotionally-sharing under the rolling thunder, or mocking a recent national tragedy with the former friends, but it always led to the inevitable conflict of her having “gotten weird.”
If dreams were merely a representation of parallel realities in something she’d heard referred to as the multiverse, then the dispossessed person still seemed to be for-real friends with her former friends in every single other alternate reality. She was given over to occult and pseudo-scientific1 thinking of this nature and began to believe this was the root cause of her feeling of dispossession, that somehow this existence was an anomaly, that something had gone awry.
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