this is a creative writing exercise that I wrote in 2008 when i was an angsty 20-year-old. not to be confused with the present, 2011, when i am an angsty 23-year-old. i think it was while i was reading Nietzsche and Camus for the first time and obsessed with my then-recent realization that nobody in the world can ever authentically and 100% know anybody else. i’ve since realized that this is a fairly popular concept, and believe it or not 20-year-old fran, you weren’t actually the first genius to discover it. anyway, it’s pretty dang cheesy, and i totally rip off some Incubus lyrics, but i thought maybe my tumblr could use some actual content…
Someone That You See
Three weeks ago we went to that nice restaurant downtown that serves the lobster already cracked, just the way you like it, so you don’t have to do any work. You don’t like to work for your food when you go out, you always say. When you went to the bathroom I wondered about loving the waiter and thought about what it would be like to feed him lobster in the nude. I can see the definition of his biceps underneath his shirt, and thoughts of him make me squirm. You are a good man, but caring for you is a challenge, and I want my romance to come like the lobster- easy, requiring little to no effort. I had that once, and I never should have let it go. You will never mean as much to me as that other, that love of my past, but I don’t think that I will ever tell you this. You care about me too much for your own good, and you have no idea that I feel this way. That night after the lobster when we made love, I kept my eyes shut the entire time. I was thinking of my first, and then I was thinking of the other, and then I was thinking of the waiter. We will break-up, and you will not understand why for a very long time. I am your wife, but I am no one that you know.
I woke you in time for school and helped you start your day with scrambled eggs and Eskimo kisses. They’re my favorite part of the morning, those Eskimo kisses. I helped you pick out your outfit for school pictures- a pink jumper with brown leggings and orange sandals. It’s November, but you don’t care about chilly toes and I don’t care about being right. I braided your hair in pigtails and you told me it looked like “doody” but I didn’t have the energy to fix it so I gave you a hat instead. I drove you to school, and you told me about Katherine L’s new pet hamster. It’s brown and fat with long whiskers and shiny black eyes. I promised you I would consider getting one for us, but only if we could take it back and exchange it for some goldfish if it seemed like too much work for you. Sometimes, I wish I could take you back because you’re too much work for me. You hugged me goodbye before shutting the door and I felt something north of warmth for a minute, but when you doubled back to grab the forgotten lunchbox on the front seat, I wanted to lock the doors and drive away. How refreshing it might be, to step out of my life, and float. I am your mother, but I am no one that you know.
You were tapping your foot while I was searching for two dimes. I heard your audible sighs and the swoosh of your windbreaker as you shifted your weight back and forth, growing more impatient by the second. I am one of those people who uses exact change if she can help it, even when there are eight people behind me at the coffee shop on a Monday morning. I felt your breath on my neck and it bothered me, so I looked for four nickels instead. I am your reason for being late, but I am no one that you know.
I have been sitting in this chair for exactly fifty-two minutes, and you’ve had your hands inside my mouth for at least forty-five of them. With your surgery cap covering your hair and your sanitary muzzle swallowing most of your face, I have to put the puzzle pieces of your smile together in my mind, from an upside-down position. I start to think about how interesting it would be to have an affair with you, the first Indian man I’d ever been with. Would my friends believe me if I told them that you asked me out? Maybe we wouldn’t even go on a date, maybe you’d just take me into exam room #3 and we’d have it out. In, and then out. Afterwards, I’d start scheduling appointments every week, telling the secretaries that I had to get this smile perfect before the holidays. I wonder if you have a pretty wife at home, and three young children with cute little voices that say “show” when they’re trying to say “sure.” I wonder if you will take them to the circus next month, and if they still believe in Santa Claus. I wonder if you notice me at all before or after you examine my gums and nerve endings, or if you can even pronounce my name. I am your 10 a.m. root canal, but I am no one that you know.
Your car was sitting in a no-park zone and I was in a rush to pick up my daughter from kindergarten when it happened. Maybe I was a little distracted, but there’s a reason that you aren’t supposed to park in that spot- it’s in the fucking way. The new dent in the drivers’ side door of your new white Beemer should help express how I feel about your inability to adhere to this city’s parking ordinances. And I don’t feel bad for what I did, in fact, I am proud. I will pat myself on the back all day for teaching you a lesson. I am your hit-and-run culprit, but I am no one that you know.
I saw you walking across the intersection this afternoon right at the corner of 21st and Farrowhill. You carried a tray of coffees, and I wished one of them was for me. I wonder where you were going- who you were going to. You glanced in my direction, and I felt alive for the first time in years. Jolts of uneasy excitement yanked my stomach into the worst/best type of knots. I watched you until you turned the corner, and you turned back for me three separate times. I am your missed connection, but I am no one that you know.
I come back to visit you in that place where I grew up at almost every holiday. Every time that I show up at the front door, you smile one of those big smiles where your cheeks stretch out like arms, wanting nothing more than to show me that I am welcome there. That smile makes me cringe sometimes, because I wonder how we got to this place where you miss me but I can’t even remember your birthday. Last Christmas you asked me what my most vivid childhood memory was, and I told you that it had to be summers spent at the Jersey shore as a family. I think that’s got to be true, too, because that’s the only time from when I was a kid that I can remember feeling close to you. We spent days on the beach, reading stories, playing cards, and taking walks. After that, as soon as I was out of grade school, I lost you, and I have never figured out why you never came looking for me. I am your daughter, but I am no one that you know.
I resent the turn that our relationship has taken, and I wish you were more attentive. I would do anything for you to just look my way and respond to my beckoning call, but you’re just too busy. I don’t like to be needy, but I asked for romaine and you gave me arugula, then I asked for provolone and you gave me Muenster. I ordinarily wouldn’t make such a fuss over greens and cheese, but the last time I had arugula lettuce, my throat swelled up and I almost suffocated. I want to throw this fork across the room at you, and then draw an obscene picture on my check where the tip belongs. When you look at me uncomfortably on my way out, I will crinkle my forehead and try as hard as I can to hurt your feelings. I am your customer at table 26, but I am no one that you know.
You gave me intelligent conversation atop a rickety barstool, and I was drunk off of your intellect by happy hour. It might have been a certain look in your eyes, or something I noticed when the light was just right- or maybe you reminded me of a dream I’ve been chasing for years. You spoke in that profound way about suffering that only someone who’s suffered profoundly can pull off. You didn’t ask me a single thing about myself, and I am glad to have kept my secrets. I slept in your strange arms last night, but I should have been tangled up inside of someone else’s limbs, familiar and dull. I am your one-night stand, but I am no one that you know.
I spy on your 16-year-old son through my upstairs window because I am pretty sure he deals drugs. One afternoon, I saw a boy come into your house when you weren’t home, and leave shortly afterwards with a bundle under his jacket after giving your son a handful of cash. Another time, I caught him smoking pot at the end of your driveway, but promised not to tell you in exchange for at least four hits. On Thursday nights around 3 a.m., I run my garbage out to your can so that I can get away with not paying a county fee for trash pick-up on Friday mornings. I wave to you on my way to work and even toss you your paper sometimes, but I hate your front hedges and I think the geraniums by your swing set are almost as ugly as your miniature Chihuahua, yeah, the one that I promised to take care of when you leave for Rome on Tuesday. Speaking of dogs, I once let mine poop on your front lawn without cleaning it up, even though I had a bag right in my pocket. I am your next-door neighbor, but I am no one that you know.
When we were kids, I thought that I would hate you forever. I’m sure I told you this many times, when really, I didn’t hate you at all. I used to sit outside of your bedroom door when you had friends over, trying to soak up every little detail of your lives like a little tag-along sponge. I even gave a presentation about you in the fourth grade explaining why you were my hero and I think my teacher cried. Now, you are the only person I know that I really think is worth a damn, even though we only speak three times a year. I have your picture framed on my nightstand, and I wish I had married a man just like you: intelligent and inspired. I am your little sister, but I am no one that you know.
Each time that you talk to me about your sister’s addictions, I offer the best advice, because I live the same life as her, and deep down, I wish you would notice. Sometimes my acting is so flawless I even scare myself. Whenever you talk to me about a man, I secretly wish he hated you and desired me instead. If I could tell you about my nightmares, I would, and if I could be you, I think I would too. I want to be an interior decorator instead of the attorney I’ve always told you about, and six months ago, I left that nasty note on your dash that you thought your ex-boyfriend wrote. I am your best friend, but I am no one that you know.
You could sleep with me at night, or look to me for guidance in the morning. Sometimes I ruin your day, or maybe I make it better. We might talk, or maybe we just smile, or maybe you don’t even notice when I’m around. You might love me, or hate me, or think something about me that is ridiculously far from the truth. Maybe we used to be connected but now we aren’t, or maybe we have yet to meet. I live my life day to day, and you are only a small part of it, because I am someone that you see, but I am no one that you know.
