A thousand (virtual) friends

She is seated by the window, but doesn't see the landscape. Her gaze remains down as she stares intently at her iPhone—the latest version, enclosed in a metallic rose-gold case with sparkles. For protection, of course.

She browses Facebook. On autopilot, she mindlessly scrolls through the screen, inundated with photos of her thousand Facebook friends in a virtual world. Their make-up, their bling, make the photos resemble each other. The stars of the photos resemble each other, too. It is hard, at times, to tell them apart. But her thumb knows the drill: Photo, after photo, after photo. "Like," after "like," after "like."

Her long, straightened brown hair is held up in a neat bun at the top of her head—too far

forward, on the verge of adorning her forehead. Gold diamond earrings embellish her earlobes. Her neck is lined with a golden necklace from which hangs a golden pendant with delicate, rounded edges. A golden metal watch embraces her wrist. A gold diamond ring envelopes one of the long fingers on her right hand, the tips of which reveal perfectly manicured nails, pitter-pattering rhythmically against the glass screen of her device.

Suddenly, she stops scrolling: A thought.

In an instant, she turns off her phone screen and stows the device in the black-and-gold Kate Spade purse obediently sitting on her lap. Perhaps, she is finally ready. Ready to look up, look outside. See the grass, see the clouds, see the trees that pass her by, which seem to move fast as they blend their shades of green together, though they are really standing still.

No. Not yet.

She looks in her purse. From it, she removes a pink pouch; from the pouch, a tissue and

travel-sized mirror.

She gracefully opens the mirror and meticulously folds the tissue paper into a conical shape. As she gazes intently at the truth-revealing, reflective tool, she dabs the folded paper on the corners of her rose-glossed lips, ensuring that the artificial shade of pink remains even. Once satisfied with this area of her face, she proceeds to fold the tissue paper once more, using it now to dab the inner corner of her eyes, aiming right at their lacrimal sacs. She is attempting to remove any traces of the black mascara that envelopes her long, extended, curled eyelashes from corners where it should not be found. Everything must be in its place.

She places the folded tissue back in her purse, and proceeds to remove a pink lip balm from the pink pouch. Her forty-three facial muscles spring into a well-rehearsed dance, and begin to contort as she parts her lips, though only minimally so. Proceeding to stare once again at her reflection on the truth-revealing tool, she carefully begins to apply the balm on her lips, making sure to mask them with even lines, lest she fail to maintain their symmetry. Once this form of art is over, her lips finally meet—as if to produce a kiss, but with the sole purpose of adding one final touch to her work—to mix the paint coats of pink, ensuring a detailed, even end product.

She replaces the cap on the balm. She looks in the mirror and smiles with her lips, though not with her eyes. Never with her eyes. Once satisfied with the self-reciprocation of her inorganic smile, she swiftly snaps the mirror shut.

The ritual has ended.

Carefully, she places the lip balm and mirror back in the pouch—the pouch back in the purse. Proudly wearing her new face, she regains possession of her sparkle-encased mobile device. The scrolling must resume. The show must go on.

She is beginning to look more and more like the stars in the photos she admires. Photo, after photo, after photo. "Like," after "like," after “like." Like the photos. Like the stars. Of course she likes them. After all, they are her friends. Aren't they? And she has one thousand of them.

Perhaps one day she will look up, and see the landscape. ⬛

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I wrote this brevity piece on the train, entranced by the rehearsed movements of the woman sitting diagonal to me. The view from that train, which made its way across multiple towns in Ontario, Canada, was captivating... Yet she missed it all. I wonder, if social media were not a part of our world, would she have looked out the window?