Efficient communication does not mean effective communication. Our perception of efficacy is dependent on our desired outcome. We communicate for many different reasons: sometimes merely to make plans, sometimes out of boredom or duty, and other times because we are struggling and need compassion and empathy. Most worrisome are the ways social media complicates or reduces our ability to reach one another when we’re in distress.
Consider this passage from Mind Change: “Teenagers who spoke with their parents over the phone or in person released similar amounts of oxytocin [an indication of bonding and well-being] and showed similar low levels of cortisol [a marker of stress], indicative of a reduction in stress. In comparison, those who instant-messaged their parents released no oxytocin and had salivary cortisol levels as high as those who did not interact with their parents at all. Thus while the younger generation may favor non-oral modes of communication, when it comes to providing emotional support, messaging appears comparable to not speaking with anyone at all.”
Finally, after searching every crevice of Madison’s computer, I slowly moved the mouse to the dashboard and hovered over the blue iMessage icon. If someone accessed my iMessage file, they would find a blow-by-blow account of my days, as there are numerous people with whom I keep in pretty much constant contact. I’m also relatively forthcoming—at least with my close friends—about how I’m feeling. So while certain details are of course omitted (everyone has their secrets), the texts would provide a transparent view of my thinking, my mental state. I wondered whether Madison’s would provide the same.
I launched the application. Months and months of messages popped onto the screen. Suddenly I felt overwhelmed, as if I were staring into a cluttered garage with no idea where to find what I was looking for. Perhaps Maddy sent something meaningful a month ago to a friend she never texted again, an exchange buried beneath more recent interactions. I pictured a block of blue text, the words capturing everything going through Madison’s mind. Meticulous work would reveal this long-buried clue.
I started reading the conversations with her closest friends, those whose names I knew, because their communication happened to be more recent. Only a few minutes passed before I realized that I would not find anything insightful within Madison’s iMessage account. In fact, the most important realization I would arrive at was how superficial the medium could be. She sent thousands of messages, perhaps ten thousand words—and yet little was actually said.
We have this idea that someone’s phone will reveal their life, that if you found an iPhone on the street you’d have access to photos, e-mail, notes, texts, videos, apps. Each of these would project an angle of light that would gradually illuminate a whole person. But the truth is nothing like that. The truth is that a phone will help you build something like a hologram, and if you tried to touch it, your hand would breeze right through the image.
Still, I looked through every last one of Madison’s messages. After about an hour of clicking on names, reading, then clicking out, I launched an exchange with another friend, and my hands froze over the keyboard. My heart banged inside my chest. There, in the text box, were five words Maddy had typed but never sent—hey, what are you doing—followed by a blinking cursor. It was the cursor that caused my heart to race. The thin line seemed to be alive, waiting for Madison’s next move, like a blinking red traffic light at which she was idling, looking both ways, considering where to go next.
I thought, Wow, this is like having Madison, right here in front of me.
But is it really?
CHAPTER 6
Size Nothing
This isn’t a goodbye letter/Even if Emma wanted to say bye I wouldn’t let her/Because she is a friend forever, that I can bet her/I could say that ever since the day I met her/She doesn’t only remember me as the bed wetter./
Realistically, at this point in my life, there aren’t a whole lot of people who I consider lifelong friends, who I want to remain close with until the day I die, who I can trust with all my heart; but you are one of the few. Ever since the second grade I have considered you one of my best friends, and year after year our friendship gradually strengthened. I can include several other people in that last sentence, but there is a distinct difference between you and the rest. You and I have been through EVERYTHING together. Even though we’ve only had one class together in ALL of high school, we’ve still become closer than I could have imagined. We’ve relied on each other, cried with each other, yelled at each other (blame it on the alc…), helped each other, and grown into the people we are today because we’ve had each other along the way. Whether it’s on the soccer field, on the track, or in life outside of sports, I can always count on you. My favorite part about our friendship is that I’ve seen you change more than almost any other person since the day I met you, yet you’ve always remained the same Emma. You’ve always stayed true to yourself and lived by your own morals, not anyone else’s. But even though I know you and your morals, LET LOOSE AND GO CRAY IN COLLEGE!! Whose a single lady? Eeemmmmmmmmaaaaaaa.
Emma,