Fiction

Sarapocial

Perhaps the loneliest relationship

When I wake up, my time is not my own. It belongs to my children. I’ve got two toddlers, Amy and Parker, and while I love them, I do not like them. Especially in the mornings.

Parker just passed his “terrible twos” and is now in his “trecherous threes.” I’ve got to keep my possessions out of his reach, otherwise my lipstick gets smeared on the walls or my necklaces get dropped down the sink.

Amy has my eyes and her father’s stubbornness. It’s some intense guesswork to figure out what she wants to eat every day. It’s the death of my eardrums if I get it wrong, though.

Yeah. I should have known this was never going to be easy. But I didn’t know just how brutal this life path would be.

My husband, Joel, feels more like a roommate these days. A friend I got a permanent gig babysitting with. It’s not going well, to say the least.

Work hasn’t let up. They find clever ways to test my patience, too. This afternoon, my boss careened into my office, a vein in his head bulging,

“Sara, we’ve been waiting for you, now come on!”

I think he would have dragged me by my hair into that meeting room if that was remotely acceptable behavior.

My brain had deleted the memo. I was supposed to hold a presentation. I had nothing. Zilch, zero, nada. I fumbled over my words. I probably looked like a popsicle melting before everyone’s laser eyes.

Ugh, it would have been divine to drive myself to the lake afterwards and pass out at a picnic table with a bottle of wine, you know? Instead, I needed to pick up my kids from kindergarten and daycare. Joel has a longer commute, so I always pick them up.

When I arrive at the daycare, Parker promptly demands his afternoon snack.

Through the rearview mirror, I catch him eating the first cracker, then smashing the second cracker. Eat a cracker, smash a cracker. He thinks it’s fucking hilarious.

Apparently, Amy got in trouble with the teacher today. I try to put on my most concerned face when talking to Mrs. Norris and try to hang up a sticky note in my mushy brain that I’ll need to sit Amy down and have a stern talk with her about why she needs to be polite.

Eventually, I pull up into the driveway. The kids glue themselves to the TV. I take a moment to try to shower off the embarrassement of being unprepared earlier. Amy interrupts, of course, wailing that Parker hit her in the face with the remote.

Shower ruined.

I’m making dinner and while the risotto is cooking, I open YouTube on my phone. It’s like wriggling my hand into the cookie jar.

For the past three years, I’ve been following a YouTuber named Mary Spencer. She lives in Canada and makes these beautiful vlogs about her life in the wilderness. Watching her videos lulls me into the calmest state I can currently achieve. She’s single, child-free and is perfectly in-tune with nature. Hiking with toddlers is a struggle, at best. I miss the days when I could just drive up into the mountains and disappear for the weekend. Joel and I loved camping before we were married. He certainly didn’t feel like a roommate when we were getting it on in the tent or in the grass under the stars.

Mary’s videos gives me the little nostalgia cookie I crave when I have days like today. Her new video takes me along rushing streams, into private clearings. She talks to me gently and weaves wildflowers into her hair.

I stir the risotto and sway my hips to the guitar songs she plays.

“The world is on fire, and I wish you were here, with me, with me,” she sings.

Mary ends her video with a request for her audience to write in the comments how their day is going. While I don’t leave a comment on every video she posts, I feel I have a response for this one.

Hi Mary! Thank you so much for your video and song. Your stories speak to me in a way that make me feel seen. I had a shit day at work, trying to juggle the responsibilities of being a mom and failing miserably to keep it all together. Your videos give me hope.

I hear Joel’s car pull up. The risotto is done. I minimize the YouTube tab and Joel skillfully corralls the kids to the dinner table.

The children eat sloppily. Joel and I chew mechanically.

I have my second attempt at a shower. As I lather my sweaty body in soap, I imagine myself kayaking down the river with Mary. That’s one thing she mentioned she’s afraid of, but I’m not. If we were friends, I could take her. Show her how to do it properly. It’d be a nice exchange to calm her instead of her always calming me down.

As I towel off, I see a notification pop up on my phone. No, it can’t be.

Mary Spencer sent a reply to my comment!

Hello, Sara. I’m truly touched by your message. It means the world to me to hear that my videos and songs have resonated with you, especially on days that feel challenging. We all face those moments of struggle, and it’s comforting to know that we’re not alone.

Being a mom is one of the toughest jobs, and the fact that you’re managing it all speaks volumes about your strength and resilience. You’re doing an amazing job, even on the days that may not feel that way.

I’m here for you, and I’m so glad to be a source of hope for you. Sending you love, strength, and a reminder that you’re seen and appreciated.

Wishing you brighter days ahead, Mary

I bite into my towel so that way no one hears my sobs. My legs curl up under me on the bathroom mat.

The days tick slowly on. I listen to Mary’s songs on repeat. I find ways of watching parts of her videos. I watch them with the kids at breakfast.

“Wow! She has a pretty house!” Amy admires. “Can we go there?”

“I wish, Amy, I wish,” I say, jotting some notes down.

Joel’s mom and dad come for a visit. I take a couple vacation days for myself. I feel like taking a road trip up to Alberta, Canada.

In my car, Mary’s voice and mine entwine:

In the hush of the night, under the starry dome, She finds her solace, in the forest, her true home. Through the rustling leaves, and the whispers of the breeze, She dances with the fireflies, beneath the ancient trees.

I have a rough idea of where she lives. It’s not far from Calgary. Sometimes Mary’s vlogs takes her into the nearby city. She doesn’t like it there. I only stop briefly to get gas and carry on my merry way.

I look at my note sheet and screenshots I’ve taken from her videos. I’ve narrowed it down to two towns. The first idea ended up leading me to the stream that Mary likes to film. I thought she lived closer to this area, but I guess not. It was amazing to stand by her stream! I could imagine her voice escalating along with the rush of the water. I kept an eye out for her auburn curls in case she was filming here today.

So then, onto my second idea. It took me about twenty minutes to finally recognize something in this direction, but the streets and buildings eventually became more and more familiar. I felt like I had lived here for years. I rolled down my windows and breathed in the fresh mountain air.

I found the dirt path that led to Mary Spencer’s cabin. The trees greeted me with their fluttering leaves. For a moment, I wondered what I’d do if Mary wasn’t home, but I quickly caught sight of her parked silver truck.

My hands trembled with excitement as I picked up the present I brought for her. I knitted her a scarf in her favorite color, green.

Her house was even more beautiful in person. And I could finally smell all the wonderful smells she had described so poetically.

I used the ornate knocker on her door. Waiting felt like an eternity.

The door opened and there she stood. Mary Spencer. I recognized her outfit — she wore it often — khaki trousers and a green hoodie.

“Hi, how can I help you?” she asked.

“Hello, Mary. I’m Sara, one of your viewers. I was in the neighborhood and I thought I’d stop by to bring you a present. What with your birthday being last week,” I laughed nervously. I just couldn’t believe this was happening.

Mary smiled, but not super genuinely. Maybe I had interrupted her in a project, or while cooking. It took her awhile to open the door.

She took the wrapped scarf from me and said thanks.

“I’m so sorry to ask this, but the drive here was pretty long. Is there any chance I could use your bathroom?”

“Er — yeah, I guess. The place is a mess, sorry for that. Come on in,” she said.

“Thank you,” I breathed a sigh of relief. She started to tell me where to turn, but I instinctively knew where the bathroom was. I had seen it many times before.

My nervousness dissipated as I touched the objects that were so familiar to me. Her lavender hand towels, the bottles of shampoo from a company that had sponsored her videos a few months ago. I laughed at the framed painting of a frog that she had shared with us in one of her earliest videos.

“Would you like something to drink?” Mary asked.

“My God — yes! Tea would be great.”

She was so hospitable. She handed me a cup of peppermint tea. I gushed about her house. What a privilege it was to be here!

Mary seemed distracted, though. Her eyes kept darting towards the door. Did she want me to leave already? I hadn’t finished my tea. She’s an introvert, so I was probably making her nervous.

“I didn’t realize the stream was in the other direction from your house,” I said. “I guess that’s the magic of editing, huh? It’s beautiful there, I see where you get the inspiration for your music.”

Mary brought me my coat. A gentle sign that she did in fact want me to leave. I tried to go in for a hug, but she quickly opened the front door.

In rushed two policemen.

“Ma’am, you’re going to need to come with us,” one said to me.

“What?! W-what’s going on?” My eyes flew to Mary for aid. “Mary, did you call the cops? I just came by to bring you your birthday present! How could you?”

She said nothing. A look of relief and cruel satisfaction came over her face as the cops locked arms with me and dragged me into their car.

Thank you for reading my story! It was sparked from Hank Green’s discussion about parasocial relationships, which I’ll link here:

Also, here’s another short story from me if you’re interested: