THE NINE SOULS OF WILDE CUNNINGHAM, PART III

Continued from yesterday...

After wilde and I leave the Field of Dreams, we end up hovering below my property in Shipley. "Here, fly up here," I call down to them. "This is my office." They say OK, and add, "Charlene is joining us now... she says Hi, and what's up." They are, as it happens, so I ask them what the experience of flying is like for the group.

"Flying is like watching TV," wilde replies in mid-air. "It's kewl we can do it, but we are still a lil' removed from it."

"How about just walking around in Second Life? That's something they can't do in real life."

There's a brief offline discussion. "A few were fast to say yes," wilde finally replies. "Most of us thought, while it's nice, it’'s still a little removed from us, as we watch it instead of do it. But it’s nice to be able to do what others can do. (John chimes in loudly here. So does the room. It gives us an equal playing field.)"

In Neal Stephenson's Snowcrash, the hero is helped out at one point by a brutally disabled man without legs or arms, who still manages to run a successful technology company from inside his virtual office in the Metaverse. (In the real world, he also drives an automated van which carries his body, via remote control from his office.) He actually pities Stephenson's hero, still tied as he is to his body and its constant needs-- while lucky him, he's free to explore the possibilities of the mind.

In wilde's case, however, the exploration conducted so far is largely in the social realm.

"Some of our favorite people we've met are Toy LaFollete, Angelique LaFollette, Baccara Rhodes, Mash Mandella," wilde tells me. "They have been helpful, fun, very friendly. And Angelique we found the most interesting."

"The community is so moved by them, Hamlet," lilone tells me earlier. I say I'm not surprised.

She laughs. "I'm stunned, and overwhelmed even. In real life, it would never happen that way. Couldn’t get past the real life aspects. Here people ooze over them. Say how they touch them, make them better people for knowing them. Person after person after person."

"Well," I say, "it does make people uncomfortable, even against their best intentions. Being with a disabled person in real life, I mean."

“Yes,” lilone replies. “They know that, too. That’s been a harsh reality all their days. Having so much to offer, give, and share. And not being able. Who has the time anymore? To go beyond themselves.”

Toy LaFollette seems to agree with that assessment. “In Second Life they are on a equal setting and we don’t see the handicaps,” she tells me afterward. “[T]hey all speak openly, never some hidden agenda to watch for… Just the chats [with them] makes one feel the boundless energy…”

Some of that energy has even allowed some of them to manage an in-world activity that most taken for granted.

“Weeeell,” wilde drawls, when I ask, “Micah’s our group flirter. He flirts as often as he can. His favorite was with Angelique. She was very gracious. But. Due to our time constraints and our day program formatting, forming romantic relationships online is not why we are playing.”

Though I could be wrong, I sense I’m speaking more to lilone Sandgrain at this moment-- the woman at the controls, that is, rather than as an embodiment of her wilde clients.

“Would they like to do so eventually,” I press, in a question meant mainly for her, “when they have a better computer and can be on longer? Have romances, I mean?”

“Hamlet,” comes the answer, “I don’t think we can discuss that more right now. Volatile. While we have real life romantic relationships at will, and some currently are in [some], in-world online relationships are a different matter, and not what we plan on using this avatar for…”

There’s a pause, as heads are evidently tallied offline. “The group all feels the same on this. They are all chiming in. Everyone in the group would love to have their own avatars. Not very realistic right now, but it’s a nice thought. We discussed this at length today and shared our dreams.”

* * *

“I first met them when wilde dropped in on our property, while Toy and I were building,” Angelique LaFollette tells me. “They were quite interested in the process.” Ms. LaFollette’s a dark, regal young woman, perhaps of Creole origin. “I am working on a Victorian house, and I showed them the greenhouse I had made…”

“I hear one of them was flirting with you a bit.”

Angelique laughs, then grins broadly. “Micah. He met his match, I think. I'm a shameless flirt myself. Ah, you know how this works, chere. Innocent comments strategically worded. He's quite nice. Nothing that could seem rude. He said outright he thought I was Pretty.” Angelique seems to shrug. “I don't mind. A girl likes to be admired.”

“I wonder if he's ever been able to say that to a girl in real life, and not have her respond negatively.”

Ms. LaFollette nods. I’m meeting with her on her estate, to get her side of Micah’s flirtation. “It is a sad thing these days, chere. A man of any description cannot say such things without risk of negative reaction. Micah is not alone in this...” I suggest that such risks must be even more fraught for someone like him, but Angelique LaFollette's patience for this line of questioning has neared an end.

“Let us be Blunt,” she tells me evenly. "You refer to Micah being termed ‘Special needs’. [If] many women won't look at such a man, I think it is because they cannot see beyond surfaces. Micah flirted, but he wasn't crude. I was receptive, because I also flirt, and because I judge people by their hearts. His seems quite nice.”

She smiles coquetteishly, perched there on a stone bench bedecked with white feathers. "I know many non-special needs men who could take a lesson in how to Flirt from him. He seems a gentleman.”

To be concluded next entry…