Callouts At Dawn

12 Feb

I’d been warned about these people. We’d been fighting them for months now, and now that we’d become partially disabled due to a not entirely unexpected betrayal, they’d come after us.

I got to the closed Facebook page first. I wasn’t prepared for what happened next.

“We know who you are!” proclaimed the first vanguard. “You are her!”

I said “Huh?” I typed “What?”

“You are Wisteria,” they answered. “We figured it out awhile ago. You’re her sock puppet. ‘Fess up.”

I will admit that my first reaction to this turn of events was dismay at my apparent complete lack of originality. I adored Wisteria, but to be mistaken for her creation was a bit more than I could correctly handle.

“You’re never both around during the same hours.”

Well, yeah. Wisteria lives a ways north and is trying to run some kind of elderly hippie ranch so she can’t pull these all-nighters I do.

So then Wisteria pulls in and she posts some video of “76 Trombones” as in 76 names, because she has perused all this previous web-based content and thinks it is funny as fuck.

“O.K.?” I say. “See? We’re different people.”

“Hmmm. It takes a certain bit of time for her to sign out of the one account and into another.”

“Why? Why don’t you believe me?”

“Well, you just showed up all of a sudden.” True. My previous account had turned into a Gordian knot, as they do. So I’d started a new one and here was Wisteria with all these people on her ass, so I took on her battles. As one does.

Wisteria and I kicked their asses amongst much amusement. But I never quite shook that sense of Internet humbledness, that there are likely no end of people out there who might think me a sock puppet, or worse. And that I could stumble across them like so many hidden time bombs in my path, and that this, too, is part of the bargain of living in these times, these Internet times of confusion.

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