I was responding to this random stimuli that was coming in my head. I was imagining Brandon saying things. I thought that Erik had said before that the internet couldn't mess up. That there couldn't be messages that didn't get sent. I imagined Brandon talking about this, saying that Erik was stupid for thinking this.
Rachel:
Erik, it's weird that you don't think the internet could mess up.
Erik:
I never said it couldn't mess up...
My thoughts were rapidly darting from one subject to another. I heard Brandon talking. “She attempted suicide twice because of me. That is so horrible. I feel so horrible.”
Rachel:
Brandon shouldn't worry about things. Things are fine.
Then I had this amazing moment of deja vu.
Rachel:
I remember, at Bernard. I used to wear this orange shirt. Now, there's a story behind the orange shirt.
The thing about the orange shirt is that it really emphasized my boobs. So I went to the school store, and bought two Oregon state shirts. I came back to the dorm, and put on the orange one. 'Woah!! This shirt emphasizes my boobs!” It was bright orange, and said “OREGON STATE” in big letters that clinged to my boobs. So I took off that shirt, and put on the second one. “WOAH!!! HOLY FUCKING CRAP!! THIS SHIRT EMPHASIZES MY BOOBS EVEN MORE THAN THE ORANGE ONE!!” So I took that shirt off, and put the orange one back on. “Compared to that other shirt, this shirt is fine!” So I just wore it.
I listened as Chance and Brandon talked about the story.
“WOOAHHH!!! That was a really good story Rachel! Wasn't that a good story?”
“Yeah, that was a good story! That was a really good story!”
Their expression wasn't at all sarcastic. They really thought this was an awesome story.
Rachel:
That was a good story.
Wow, I just told a really good story, didn't I?
I flopped around my bed, moving my arms around. Wasn't that a really good story? Wasn't that a really good story?
Rachel:
Isn't there something you do when you are a kid where you tell a story, and then say, 'wasn't that a really good story?'
Erik:
Not that I did.
I googled “wasn't that a really good story.” No results.
Rachel:
No, it was, 'wasn't that a really good secret?' You say, 'Wanna hear a secret?' They say sure, so you whisper in their ear, 'it's a secret!' Then you say, 'wasn't that a really good secret?'
I started thinking about Brandon and Crystal. Brandon liked me? Well, maybe the reason Brandon removed me as a friend when I wrote to him was just to get me to stop writing on his wall. The subject of me had come up, and he knew Crystal hated me. He didn't want Crystal to see what had happened to me.
I had always just assumed that if the whole semen conversation never happened, the subject of me had never come up.
I started complaining again about how bad I felt for Chance. Did other people know he liked me, back in the eighth grade?
Erik started complaining about these rapidly changing conversation topics, where I didn't explain what I was even trying to say to him. I kept urging him, just roll with this, the chat window was probably bugged. But it was okay. We didn't want security.
Rachel:
I think maybe, the funny messages disappeared. Or something.
Erik:
The ones you sent me?
Rachel:
No weirdo. Because you think when I said, the other messages disappeared, that I was sending you messages, but they disappeared.
Oooh... disappearing messages. What did the disappearing messages say?
I wish there was some sort of clarification.
Let's pray for clarification!
Erik:
I'm going to need it after tonight...
Rachel:
Come on let's pray.
Oh father God... Ahh I don't know how to pray. Can you pray?
Erik:
Father and Creator, who art in heaven, kingdom come, thy will be done. I beseech thee, bring forth thy divine clarity to mine own mind and my beloved Rachel's mind, let us see within the dark corners, let the unseen be seen, and let us revel in the gained knowledge.
Amen.
Rachel:
That was excellent! I couldn't be more proud of you Erik!
Amen.
I'm going to leave for a few minutes.
I grabbed my headphones and headed out for a walk around my regular loop. There was a new, even higher energy. I felt like we were progressing in the spiritual plan, because praying for clarification was part of it. I heard my own voice echoing in my head, words I never spoke out loud: “Let's pray for... clarification!” My voice sounded really high pitch and squeaky. It was springtime now, there were beautiful flowers blooming. This noise I heard in my head, my voice talking all high-pitched and squeaky, triggered and awakened something deep inside my soul. I was on track now, we were making progress.
I returned to my room. No more mysterious messages had appeared while I was gone.
How was Brandon accessing my account? Did he hack my password? Or did he do something else to my computer? Could he access it when I had my laptop closed?
I started talking to Erik again, and waited for Brandon's divine insight. Nothing. I started losing my confidence.
Rachel:
Let's pray again. In the name of the father, the son, and the holy ghost, let's have some clarity.
Erik:
Amen
I heard stuff in my head. “Rachel learned that Jewish people go to hell. Not because they are bad people, but because you have to accept Jesus to get into heaven.” Brandon said.
Rachel:
What does it say on South Park? The Jewish people's home is the lake of fire.
Something really scary happens after you die.
I had gotten a friend request by a fake robot account. Jennifer Smallen. She wasn't a real person. I denied. It had her as one of my followers, so I blocked her.
I began imagining that Jennifer Smallen was Brandon. It wouldn't let him unblock me, so he was trying to follow me from another account so he could see all my updates. I was absolutely sure of this, so I went and unblocked Jennifer Smallen.
I was looking at her profile. She was friends with tons of people that I didn't know. Brandon wouldn't have done that, if he had just made this profile to look at mine. He wouldn't have gone an added a whole bunch of people. That meant what I was receiving was incorrect.
Rachel:
Okay that was wrong.
I'm off balance.
“She goes and unblocks Jennifer Smallen,” Chance and Brandon laughed about this.
I realized something from this. They weren't hacking my facebook, they were tracking my keystrokes.
I realized something else. Brandon had been reading my chat history with Erik. Erik had done something pretty fucked up. I had told him that I don't really feel the same way about him as he feels about me. He told me I was wrong, he knows how I feel about him. He mentioned something I said back in January, which I didn't even remember saying. That when I was with him, I felt like this was home. I had believed Erik. Maybe Erik knew how I felt about him and I didn't. I wrote Erik some messages.
Rachel:
Erik, you don't tell me how I feel about you. I tell you how I feel about you. If I tell you I don't feel the same way about you, I mean it. Feelings CAN change. You have these really romantic expectations about love, like, WOOAH... She likes me. THIS IS TRUE LOVE!
I sat on my bed. I heard words inside my head, over and over again. Lasagna pan. Lasagna pan?! Why did I hear that in my head?
Rachel:
Why do I hear the word lasagna pan in my head all the time?
Brandon must not have much of a life, if he was tracking me like this.
Rachel:
I remember Brandon telling me something in a dream. He said, 'the best job I can get right now is at Red Robin.'
Brandon must be unemployed. I had looked up his residence online and saw that he lived in a house. I had thought he owned a house. I checked again. Around the same value as my house, in Lake Oswego. This was his parent's house.
But he had a picture of himself in Venice as his profile picture. So apparently he had money to travel.
Rachel:
However, he went to Venice. Which reminds me of when I went to Venice... A song popped into my head one morning. The lyrics of the song were:
You can't go back and change the way you've treated me
You can't go back and change the way things go
You say you wish to change the way you've treated me
But in reality, you can't change the past
I remember back in 6th grade. I was playing Diablo, on the battle net. My character was a mage, which was a male character. But I wanted people to know I was a girl, so I called the character... Flame Goddess.
I rode a wave of laughter from this name.
Rachel:
That was funny. Then someone told me, 'That name makes you sound really gay!' So anyway, I was playing this character one day, when another little melody popped into my head. The words didn't make any sense, but I still sing it to myself because I liked it.
She sold everything she had, everything she owned
For the sweat and the blood of the one she loved
She sold ah-ooh...
Then it transitions through several notes.
I listened as Brandon and Chance sang this little melody to themselves.
Rachel:
One day in the library, I walked up to a bookshelf and pulled a random book off the shelf and turned to a random page. It said... “For the grease and the fat of a black tom cat.”
I listened as they sang this to themselves also.
“It went along with Rachel's little melody!” Brandon said.
Erik:
Rachel, what's going on?
Rachel:
I told you, the window's bugged.
Erik:
Did you sleep last night?
Rachel:
Oh yeah.
Erik:
Through the night?
Rachel:
I am fine, just roll with me.
I heard Brandon talking. “I read Rachel's emails. She talked to this guy about me. She said that she thought I was the kind of guy that a lot of girls like but don't want to date. I was surprised she picked up on that. Another thing about Rachel, we both know that when someone acts like they hate someone, but they are really weird about it, that's a sign that they actually like them but are uncomfortable about the fact that they like them. That's how I was towards Rachel.”
I realized what was going on. Back when I had sent Brandon messages, I sent him a bunch of them that made him think I was stupid. Offering to give him head, talking about talking to psychics online, and the whole Matthew the third thing. Brandon didn't think that was funny, he thought it was ridiculous that I was so ignorant and lacked street smarts. He thought it was ridiculous that I believed it.
I thought it was funny! Chance assured him that it actually was funny.
I had also sent him a bunch of messages that indicated that I was intelligent. However, those messages never got to him. Those were the other messages that disappeared.
Brandon realized when I sent him the message back in January, that I had to be smart, because I was worried that the internet had messed up and sent a message that I had never actually sent. And only smart people believe that the internet could mess up like that. This was one of my ideas. So he hacked my facebook, and found the smart messages.
Then, Brandon read my blog, and realized that I was smart after all.
“I know a lot about street drugs. Rachel knows a lot about the kind of drugs they prescribe at treatment centers.”
Erik:
I'll read your messages later, since you want to talk at me, not with me. I've got stuff to do.
Rachel:
You feel used or something? I'm trying to feel what you feel.
Erik:
I just dropped all defenses. Tell me what you feel from me.
Rachel:
Tired.
Erik:
Go on.
Rachel:
Say something. I need to read the energy off what you say.
Erik:
I just said something verbally.
Rachel:
Type, not out loud. I need to read the energy off the text.
Erik:
Rolls eyes lol
Rachel:
You are getting tired of this. Let me chat with Bob.
I switched from talking to Erik to talking to Bob, the one friend on my friend's list who was actually me.
Hi Bob. Can you read this? I don't know exactly what's happening. Twenty-three people online again. The reason I named this profile Bob Bobbit was because of my grandpa. He would walk around saying, “Bob Bobbit, Bob Bobbit” to himself.
“One thing I found out about Rachel from watching her computer use. She looks up the definition of really common, easy words on the internet. Like, 'toggle.' Like come on, you are a computer science major, how can you not know what toggle means?”
They called me a wordsmith at Innercept. I actually don't have a very big vocabulary. Or maybe I do. I just forget. Or something. Or like... I know words in context. But not out of context.
Brandon was tracking my keystrokes. How could he do that?
A memory came back to me. One day, my parents were gone. I headed out for a walk. Almost every time I go for a walk, the walk is identical. I take the same path, takes the same amount of time. And I don't lock the door. I remember coming back from the walk. It occurred to me that someone could just go in the house, run up to my room, and steal my laptop. But my laptop was still there. However, what if someone had entered and done something else? What if they had installed tracking software on my computer. My computer didn't even require a password to unlock the screen.
Lasagna pan. I kept hearing those words in my head. I went through my Innercept stuff, searching and searching to find my lasagna pan. Maybe there was something right next to the lasagna pan, like a notebook, that had something important written in it. I figured that must be it. But I searched, and I searched, and I couldn't find it.
Where the fuck is my lasagna pan?
Lasagna pan. I heard Brandon saying these words. There was something about the way they sounded in my head, something that indicated that these words were going to turn into something very important.
Finally I asked my mom to help me locate it. We found it in one of the boxes in the garage. There was nothing of any significance around the lasagna pan. I didn't know what to do with it, so I left it on the island.
I wrote to Bob:
Lasagna pan
I might have been dropped on my head as a baby.
I should make lasagna. YES!!! Lasagna!!
I had begun treatment with a procedure called neurofeedback. It is meant to correct brain damage. My naturopath did it, we went in, he put electrodes on my head, then administered light frequencies that were supposed to correct my brain waves. The first time it happened, I felt music after it. Life was deeper and more meaningful. The naturopath said my ADD may have been caused by a head injury early in life. That's why I said I might have been dropped on my head as a baby.
I started thinking about my parent's parenting. They weren't very good parents. Then, they get a guardianship over me so they can continue parenting even though their time was up.
“Beev.”
“Back when I was at Innercept, I remember you saying something. I was talking about how they would feed us macaroni and cheese and Wheat Thins for lunch. You said, 'they're not little kids, they need real food.' What did you mean by that? Do little kids not need real food?”
“Oh, I don't think I ever said that.”
But she did say that. I remembered back to kindergarten. Every day after school, my mom fed us hot dogs and Cheetos. That was it. A lunch of pretty much zero nutritional value. Every single day. But of course we were little kids, we didn't need real food.
Something else had started to haunt me, ever since late last year. I wasn't normal sexually. I wondered if my parents had done something to screw with my sexual development, when I was really young.
I had to make lasagna. I told my mother this. But my sister was coming over, and she had just made lasagna. I was not allowed to make lasagna. I had to do it another night.
Meanwhile, something wonderful was happening to me. I was experiencing an absolutely harmonious vibration. I began listening to the song “Annie You Save Me” by Graffiti6 and dancing all over the house. This was the only song that complimented the vibration I was experiencing, that didn't slow it down.
When I listened to this song, in my mind, I imagined a girl dancing, and dancing, and dancing.
Lasagna pan.
I wrote to Bob:
So I've been sitting here thinking that the lasagna pan thing was you guys. My parents wouldn't let me make lasagna yesterday. But I ate all the lasagna. No more lasagna. So now, I can make more!
Brandon and Chance had been telepathically pinging me with the words lasagna pan. We had a telepathic connection.
I imagined that Brandon had also hacked Nick's account. When Nick and I had lived together at one part of the program, I used to make lasagna. Nick said that his lamb dish was the best meal, but my lasagna really was better. I imagined that Brandon had read what Nick had written to someone, and he had talked about me, saying my lasagna was to die for. So now, Brandon and Chance wanted me to make them some lasagna.
I didn't really believe that Brandon had hacked Nick's account. It was just a thought that crossed my mind, I dismissed, but ideas from the thought entered my misconstrued ideas, like the belief that Brandon knew I made good lasagna.
I would get off track, I would get lost in thought about various things. I would start writing to Bob about them. Every time, I would hear it inside my head: lasagna pan! Let's talk about that in person. Make lasagna and we'll come over.
Come mid-afternoon, I started throwing together a lasagna. I was way too out of it to cook. I got out the Italian sausage, and started cooking it over the stove.
“Drain the meat,” my mom told me.
“Yeah... Yeah! I should drain the meat!”
I heard Brandon and Chance laughing. “She wasn't draining the meat! That's why it was so good!”
Huh? How did they hear that?
I was mixing up the cheese mixture, when suddenly, I started questioning everything. Did Chance really like me? Were my statuses really any good? Maybe my thinking was so complex and far above everyone else's, no one could understand it. This was the mind of God we were talking about. Maybe no one liked me. Maybe I should GO TO HELL.
Then something really scary happened. God was talking to me, through telepathic communication. I had fucked up this planet majorly, with so many people going to hell after they died. Because of this, God wanted Jesus, AKA me, to go to hell, for real.
I felt the happiness drain from me, and I started to fade away. I started to fade into an abyss of pain and despair. I was drowning in it, I came up for air, and with my last breath I began to plead with God, out loud, “Oh God! Don't make me go to hell!”
I didn't care that my mom was standing right there. It didn't matter. I was about to disappear and enter the lake of fire and be immersed in hot magma currents forever.
“Please God, please! Don't let me go to hell! I do have free will! I do have free will!” I started to come out of it, when I decided that the choice was mine. It was such a relief to get out of hell, I felt amazing suddenly.
I ran upstairs and started explaining to Bob what had just happened.
Rachel:
For a second, I was going to hell. That's a thought process that makes sense to God.
I heard Brandon say, “Yeah it makes sense to God, it makes sense to us too. You stopped believing in yourself, you started to go to hell. Even Jesus has to believe in Himself.”
HOW DID BRANDON KNOW THIS? Could he read my mind?
“Well, if you can read my mind, that means you know that when I was pleading with God just now, I heard myself talking in a Mickey Mouse voice.”
But I couldn't go to hell. Because I was Jesus. And if Jesus goes to hell, everyone goes to hell. That's one of the rules of human souls and human existence that no one else knew. Jesus can't go to hell permanently, without taking everyone else with him.
I continued putting together the lasagna. I was mixing up the cheese mixture, when I realized they could see me as well. There were hidden cameras in my house as well.
I continued making the lasagna. Part of the way through it, I realized I had forgotten to put in mozzarella cheese. So I dumped a whole bunch in the center. Then I popped it in the oven, set the timer, and sauntered back upstairs. Which was silly of me, because upstairs I wouldn't be able to hear the timer when it rang.
Upstairs, I was thinking about one of Chance's friends, a guy named Adam, who I had also gone to school with. Adam was in the same math and science classes I was in.
Rachel:
I remember Adam. In seventh grade, we were studying chromosomes. Adam made up a chromosome song. It went, “Pick a number from one to one, then add twenty-two. That's the number of chromosomes that make up me and you.” I remember thinking, if that song had a second verse, it would be, “Pick a number from zero to zero, then add twenty-three, that's the number of chromosomes that make up you and me!” Woah.... Good chromosome song!
I lay there and thought about how twenty-three was my special number, because I was born on the twenty-third of the month. I wondered what day Adam was born. Was he born on the twenty-second? I thought about looking it up, since I had him as a friend on facebook, but decided against it.
I spaced out for a long time. I was lying there with my mind completely blank, when suddenly... lasagna pan. Huh? Lasagna pan! I heard these words strongly and forcefully inside my head.
I jumped up. “Lasagna pan?” I ran downstairs.
By the time I got there, my mom had already taken the lasagna out of the oven, and was standing in the kitchen holding it. I had gotten there a little bit late. Brandon had put a camera where he could see the time on the oven. I remembered how six years ago, when I had been writing Brandon, I always talked about psychic lag. This was the reason I did that. So we could better time the lasagna pan game, with Brandon pinging me far enough in advance that I would get downstairs in time.
The lasagna wasn't nearly finished. I popped it back in the oven, set the timer again and headed back upstairs.
Rachel:
I remember Sarah. She said to me: 'Woah! We both listen to Coldplay!' I thought to myself, 'doesn't everyone listen to Coldplay?' I thought everyone listened to Coldplay!
I wondered if this was one of the truths of the universe that only I knew about. Secretly, everyone listens to Coldplay.
I lay on the bed some more. Lasagna pan. Lasagna pan. Lasagna pan, lasagna pan, lasagna pan. Lasagna pan!
I heard it quite a few times in my head before it consciously registered. I jumped up, exclaiming:
“las-agna pan!”
I ran downstairs. I was feeling really funny, I opened my eyes really wide and got a weird smile on my face, like I was a Sim, or some character in a computer game, a computer game that Brandon was playing.
I arrived downstairs at the oven, a few seconds before the alarm went off. Completely believable that that had been timed like that purposely.
I checked the lasagna. Still not done. I put it back in the oven, and set the alarm again.
“Woah.... This is like playing the Sims!” I said. But these were Brandon's words, channeled through me. I went back upstairs, and lay on the bed some more, before again I began feeling the telepathic ping of lasagna pan, I jumped up and exclaimed lasagna pan again, and arrived in front of the oven again, right before the timer went off.
This time it was done. I took the lasagna out of the oven and set it on the counter to cool. I went back upstairs, and lay on my bed yet again.
Lasagna pan. Lasagna pan! When I heard it now, those words had more force behind them, something in the way they were spoken indicated to me that it was time to get up and move. I ran downstairs, and when I arrived in the kitchen, I discovered that my mom had put the lasagna back in the oven. But it was done, so I took it out.
All these years I had been playing the Sims, and now, I had become a character in the Sims, and someone else was playing me.
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