Grieving a Friend From the Internet

I’ve experienced one of the most bizarre-feeling 21st-century phenomenons for the first time in my life.

I had a good friend a few years older than me. We met through Twitter. Let’s call him “Anthony”. We talked for nearly two years almost daily until he recently passed away (presumably having overdosed, according to a mutual friend he went to school with).

Anthony was a huge fan of the Mets (and the Knicks). He adored watching movies. By virtue of that, we basically always had something we could talk about; there are new and, oftentimes, great movies that are released every week and even when baseball is in the off-season, the NFL, NHL, and NBA are all in full-swing and we both loved all the major sports. At some point in our friendship, because sports gambling wasn’t legal in the state he lived in but was where I lived, he would occasionally send me $25 to place a bet for him and he’d always say “Yo, if this hits keep 20% since you helped me place it”. A mostly harmless and innocuous friendship, by my estimation.

He was a good dude; he was flawed, as we all are, but his heart was ultimately pure. Early in our friendship, Anthony lied to me. It ultimately wasn’t a big deal in the grand scheme of life, but there was a plan made for when he was in town that we would link up and watch a basketball game (his idea). He told me he was going to be in town for a week later on in the year and gave me specific dates. I took work off one night with the expectation we would get together but we could never make it work. For a week, we kept making plans that continuously “fell through” until I came to discover through the previously mentioned mutual friend that he was not in New York; that that was a lie.

I was baffled? I would never begrudge a friend for coming to town and not having time for me; I’d also never begrudge a friend for not being able to make it up to New York to hang out! I don’t get angry at friends who live in Manhattan that protest coming to Ridgewood for an event. And I certainly wasn’t flying down to Atlanta to hang out with somebody I didn’t ACTUALLY know.

I believed he was in New York because he had family in New York, but it was an odd thing to make up for no real reason! When I pressed him on it, he did finally spill and apologize, confessing that he was an addict and that he was working to improve and be a better person. He was sorry for dicking me around and his apology felt sincere, coated with legitimate pain and shame.

I had a few friends in my life essentially say, “Yeah, that dude’s a freak; probably best to not engage any longer” and looking back… maybe that was fair. A normally apt instinct, you could say. But in my head, it was essentially no sweat off my back to continue talking movies and sports with a guy I didn’t really know who couldn’t harm me and wasn’t in my area at all as our relationship continued. And I did genuinely get a kick out of talking to him!

Based on some personal anecdotes, Anthony had clearly lost a few close friendships and relationships throughout the years, probably when his addiction was more severe and his behavior more unpredictable. If felt easy for me to say, “Hey man, it’s no problem that our fake plans fell through, just please don’t do something like that again. Just work on being better everyday.” Maybe taking this approach is harder when you have a relationship in-person. Deceit and betrayal feel harsher and more severe when happening face-to-face. But personally, grace and forgiveness is always the easiest, most rewarding path to take.

I could kind of always tell how much my forgiveness meant to him; throughout the rest of the course of our friendship he would regularly make a point to thank me for not giving up on him and believing that he could and would be better. He resumed therapy (it was BetterHelp, but it was at least something for somebody who was struggling) and he would keep me posted as he attempted to make amends with people in his day-to-day life that he had wronged in the past. I found the work and effort he was putting in to change truly admirable. I suppose it was impossible to actually know if his work was legitimate, since I wasn’t around him daily, but to me, it felt real; I like to believe it was real.

On at least two or three occasions, Anthony sent me a random $50, like a “Thanks for being a great friend” gesture. I never was quite aware of what he did for work, but I believe it was in tech or finance and he made enough to live by himself and be incredibly comfortable in a metropolitan Atlanta area. He was aware of my relationship with Meredith and would remark on how amazing it was that I found such a wonderful life partner that was always down to watch a movie or go to a ballgame or join a fantasy league with me; he had hoped to one day have a relationship like that, he would say. On mine and Meredith’s anniversary, I remember Anthony Apple paying me and saying “Get a round on me! You guys deserve it, brother.” He was a kind and, to my understanding, extremely generous guy. Perhaps a bit lonely, but a good egg.

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In the fall of 2024, I directed a play at the Flea Theater, PVT. WARS. It was a wonderful and artistically gratifying time but wasn’t cheap; to mount the production, it cost a little over $8,000, which was crowdfunded through various friends and family members. Anthony, a friend that I had made talking about the Mets and Christopher Nolan, donated an incredibly generous amount, close to $1000. He said all he wanted was a thank you in the Playbill (he was promptly billed as an Executive Producer) that he could have his name in, just so he could show it to his family and give them a copy to save. He then said he wanted to thank me for not giving up on him when so many others had. He wanted to support the arts and my dreams, stating that the world needed more good art. I don’t know if my play, being performed in a 45-seat Manhattan black box was exactly what he meant, but I, and our cast and crew, were pretty bowled over from the gesture.

I’m not angry or think less of any friend of mine who didn’t donate, of course. Times are insanely tough, prices everywhere are skyrocketing while the quality of life is diminishing, and, frankly, majority of my friends are broke artists and servers, too! I did find it slightly interesting, though, that the person who donated the most to our project was somebody who I had never once seen in person and had only heard the voice of, at most, on three different phone calls. It was somebody I communicated with very frequently, but it still was sort of gobsmacking! Obviously, money doesn’t define a person or a friendship, but it was hard to get that level of support and steadfast belief and not feel like this, by all accounts, was a dear friend.

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Online, we all live in a transient consumption culture, oftentimes spending hours a week ingesting shit, rarely taking in any real new ideas or substance; of course, there’s the occasional Alphonse Pierre Pitchfork review or Paul Thompson essay about a great new movie and there even are a few “content creators” who put out videos that I find meaningful. But for the most part, society spends a frightening amount of time scrolling, observing nothing necessary.

Even if it’s become a cesspool of right-wing fascistic freaks in the last few years, I genuinely do love Twitter (or, X) and the laughs it provides me, particularly when there’s a wide-spread cultural moment that the entire timeline is experiencing together. I can even find value in TikTok/Instagram at times, but when I stop and think about the “close relationships” I’ve made on any social media app, they’re mostly all similar: people bonded by a common interest (a sports team, loving rap music, watching a lot of movies, etc etc) that most likely wouldn’t have all that much to do or talk about if they met in person, outside of the one or two things that bond them (which gets tired quickly); there is no real history or shared experiences together and in order to usually become a real friendship, those moments have to be worked towards and that relationship nurtured offline.

It’s odd thinking of my friend who passed away, reading his obituary that was likely written by his parents, realizing that just because we exchanged jokes about the Mets or sent each other breaking news about a new movie that maybe that didn’t ACTUALLY make us true friends. Maybe that’s all it takes in 2025, but I’m not sure? I probably lean that it doesn’t. And if it does, it’s impossible to shake the imposter syndrome while having grief. Anthony went to college, had a job, had friends and relationships with people that were certainly more tactile than his relationship with me. But… we also talked almost every day, even if sometimes those were just brief exchanges about why the Clay Holmes signing just might work. He made a hefty contribution towards my first artistic endeavor post-college and post-pandemic. Does that actually mean there was a real relationship or friendship there? Or simply just somebody I knew online with some money? Maybe both, I suppose.

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I’m in a discord with a lot of guys (and a couple gals, for what it’s worth) online; we have fostered a legitimate community online all out of our shared love of the Golden State Warriors. I’ve argued or debated music in there with guys for hours; waxed poetic about my favorite Hitchcock movie, celebrated with legitimate hysterical jubilation when our team triumphed in the face of doubt; on some level, even though we bicker regularly and constantly give each other shit (maybe moreso than most online spaces, to be honest), I genuinely care about a lot of the dudes in that space. But, I don’t know… if I died, would they, if it came across their social media feeds, donate to the GoFundMe my mother or girlfriend would set up to help cover the costs of my funeral service? Maybe.

I passively polled the group and many said they would. But that’s obviously easy to say, also. And that’s no condemnation of any of those dudes or even anybody who wouldn’t donate, either; I just think that’s the way online friendships are? Transient, like the constantly refreshing timeline. Even if there are online communities you love or spaces on the internet that bring you great joy, at the end of the day, it’s just scrolling.

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The 2025 Mets have been a joy to watch this year. Despite having a bullpen that has been severely banged up for most of the season, made it to the All-Star break just a half-game back from their division rival Phillies for the leading record in the NL East. In their conference, they are three games back from the one seed Dodgers, the team currently holding the Championship belt; they are totally within striking distance. Juan Soto is a baseball genius, hitting homeruns and finding himself on base with absurd regularity and Fransisco Lindor remains the most electric shortstop in all of baseball. Their manager, Carlos Mendoza, has done an excellent job pulling levers all season thus far and they’re only about to get healthier.

It’s hard not to see the success these Mets have had halfway through the year and not miss my friend and how much he would’ve loved this team. It would be nice to one more time exchange excitement over a Fransisco Lindor walk-off RBI or a Jalen Brunson 40-point playoff victory or the brilliance of SINNERS.

Anthony was somebody I cared about immensely, I think, despite not truly knowing him. He is missed, but it’ll also never not feel bizarrely chilling to grieve somebody I had never once laid my eyes on.

I hope he is at peace. I hope he knew that his family and friends loved him and were proud of him. I hope his family got that playbill.

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