The Characters

Stare out at the void. The crowd. Shuffling and mingling and flowing from room to room, interaction to interaction. I'm sitting with Amy in a dim corner on large and comfortable chairs. She's gone through a rough break up and I'm, well there's always something going on. 

I had asked her to come with me. To this lounge, to an opening where a few of my paintings were being displayed for a couple months. I hate going to these things, and I hate going to these things alone. I am intensly nervous around crowds, but with someone near, some safety net, I can slip a mask on. A costume. A character and pretend.

"I don't think I'm going to be much fun tonight," she says.

"I know. Don't worry, you don't have to be. I just wanted to hang out a bit."

"Okay."

"Thank you for coming with me though. I appreciate it."

"Of course," she says, watching the flow of bodies.

"I hate this type of thing."

"I know. It's funny."

"Why?" I take a sip of the wine I had paid twelve dollars for.

"Because you keep putting yourself in these situations."

I raise an eyebrow. "Well, yeah, that's true, but..."

"But what?" she asks.

"But I have to. Get out there, I mean."

"But you didn't have to come here tonight. You could have just stayed home. You could have just dropped your paintings off and not worried about it."

"I thought about it."

"Don't get me wrong, I'm glad you didn't, It's nice hanging out and doing something and I'm happy you're leaving the house, I just mean that I think there is part of you that likes this sort of thing. Or wants to, anyway."

I think about it for a second. I take my phone out and film some B-Roll for a video I'm putting together. After a few seconds I stop, put my phone away, take another sip, and return.

"Yeah," I say. "That might be true. I do want to be normal. To be... okay with this. Or, comfortable with this. To look forward to these types of things. Mingling. Socializing. Bumping elbows or whatever the hell they say."

"It's okay not to be."

"Of course, for sure. But, I don't know, I do this sort of character when I'm like this, or at shows, or if I go out for whatever reason. You know? Social me."

"I know. I'm well aware of the character. Characters."

"Yeah," I say. "But, I guess I just hope that one day I become it? Does that make sense? Like, one day the person that everyone meets in places like this is the person I just... am."

Amy drinks her beer. A good amount of it. I think she forgot she had it.

"Do you want my opinion?" she asks.

"Of course."

"I'm not a huge fan of the social character. I prefer the regular you."

I laugh. "Depression me?"

"That's not all you are, and you know it. You know what I mean."

"I know. Well... No. I don't know, it's difficult. Most people that I let meet me, I mean in that way, run. Or resent me for it. For, like, lying to them about who I was before I let them in. I don't know. Social me is either really well liked, or really disliked and I'm okay with that because none of that is actually me. It's not me that those feelings are directed at."

"It is to them, though."

I look at her for the first time in a few minutes, questioning.

"To them," she says, "That's you. That's why when you let people in it disappoints them. I'm sorry, that sucks, I get it, but to them the actual you is the person they met." She takes another drink. A couple walk by and briefly glance at one of my paintings, nodding. "When people meet you out in places like this, and I've seen it happen over and over, you light them up. You can be really charming and funny and nice. That isn't to say the real you isn't those things also, but the social you is all there on the surface. You seem wide open and people feel like they instantly connect. So when you eventually show people that 'hey that was all an act, and here is quieter, more serious, depressed me', as you put it, it's kind of whiplash for some folks."

"Yeah, I get it."

"But, on the other hand, there are a lot of people, and I've seen this a bunch too, who meet you, can't stand that social you, and never even get the opportunity to learn that it's this character you do. I mean, I know why you do it, I get it. I love you and I get it. I just mean, those folks don't ever actually meet you at all. But they think they have, and that's enough for them to only think of you as that person."

"I can't disappoint them, then."

"You disappoint them from the beginning. At least with the folks that do like social you, they might get the opportunity. I mean, will it guarantee you to be universally liked? No, of course not, but... I don't know. I love you. I really like the you I know. The not-character you. I wish that that was what you wanted everyone to see. In these situations or not."

I sip my wine. 

"Did you see who's here?" she asks.

"Yeah."

"What are you gonna do?"

"Nothing? Drink my wine and walk around."

"Okay. Is there anything I should do?"

"No. I don't care."

"Okay." She finishes her beer. "I'm getting another one. And I've gotta pee. Watch my purse?"

"Sure."

"Do you want another wine?" she asks.

"Yeah, please."

She nods, stands and disappears around the corner.

The lounge is dim and I wished the paintings had better lighting around them, but they were displayed and out and that was enough. I can see one of Grace's paintings across the room, near one of mine. She had done it in under a week and it was fantastic. Really put mine to shame. Unsurprisingly. 

I finish my wine, set my glass down and pull out my phone. Not keeping up the character. Not mingling. Not socializing. Yet. The nerves had hold of me and it would take a little more time and wine before I could handle it. 

I hadn't eaten all day and I was considering leaving. Heading down the street and getting a veggie burger from the restaurant I like, where I knew the staff and had slowly begun to let a few of them in. Where I could relax a little.

I could see Amy now at the bar, waiting for the bartenders attention. It was busy and after a few minutes she came back with a beer and handed me a glass of wine.

"They didn't have caberet," she says.

"Well, no this isn't that kind of place."

"Wait... what did I say?"

"Caberet."

She laughed. "I said that to the bartender too. She was like 'what?'"

"If you came back with a glass of caberet I'd be so fucking happy." I smiled.

"Well, for now it's just house red. No show at all."

"Absolute bullshit."

"I said I had no idea what she was talking about, by the way."

"About?"

"The fire thing."

I processed what that meant and when I got there laughed. "Okay. I mean, it doesn't matter. But, that's cool."

"Also, I saw Joseph and Ally."

"Where?"

"Back in the other room."

"Should we hang?" I asked.

"Yeah, if you want, let's go."

We stood and went to the other room, where Joseph, Ally, and a few others had gathered around a corner of the bar. More wine. Friends. Art. The Character came and went with the flow of people I did or didn't know. 

I don't even notice it anymore. The change just happens. Over and over and in the morning I will wake and I will be exhausted and socially unavailable for days or weeks and it's only recently that I've figured out why. 

The Characters. The one-person play. The show. 

It's exhausting.

Dude, Your Shit's So Dark

"You know, I saw your post. About hiding in a corner and pretending to be on your phone?" En handed my card back to me and I tapped 25% on the tip screen. "And that's exactly what you're doing."

I laughed. "Yeah. I guess it is." Put my card in my wallet, wallet in my pocket. "I wasn't lying. I don't do well at these things."

"You are though. You're doing well."

"Thanks," I said and smiled. Took the red blend back to the table in the corner where I had been hiding, took my phone out and sat down. 

I had been there for an hour or so and was still nervous. 

Grace had put it together. A couple dozen area artists in a gallery downtown. A few friends of mine, a few strangers, all fantastic. I didn't belong there. Kept glancing over at the pillars where a few of my paintings were hung. People would walk by. Stop for a moment. Move along. I was trying to give the pillars a wide berth. I didn't want to overhear people talking about it. I already knew what they were, but I didn't need to hear it from anyone else. I didn't belong. 

I was late to the opening. Left my house an hour early but sat at a restaurant and had a couple drinks to kill my nerves. Didn't work, but I was late all the same. 

My mother and her partner came and I walked and spoke with them for a while. Nervously clutching a wine glass and trying to avoid eye contact with anyone. Trying to not let my hands shake so much I spill the wine over my white tee shirt. Introduced them to Grace. Introduced them to Lee. A few others. Pointed out my friend's work and some work I admired otherwise. The tour ended quickly, a half hour or so, and I was still nervous. I didn't know what else to say or show but I did know that I had to mingle or talk if I wanted to do something with any of this. I said my goodbyes to them and saw Paul and his girlfriend in a corner and spoke to them for a minute.

Moved along. Wine glass mostly empty. Nerves like television static.

Spoke to Lee. Spoke to Grace. Spoke to Dani. A few others. Around and around the room. Over and over. 

I heard my name and saw someone standing near my paintings and Grace pointing at me. Avoided eye contact. 

Amy came with Farrah and I followed them around for a bit while I began to loosen up. Joseph came and there was a thought somewhere under the surface but I buried it wih the rest of them. I also thought about killing myself again and how I could and how I should and how I probably would, then buried that with the rest of them too. Another day another ideation. 

The fire alarm went off. We all stood outside and I thought that if the building caught fire and the paintings were destroyed it'd be my best sale of the night. The insurance. Casually, maybe a little more than casually, I liked the idea. 

In a crowd I stood on the sidewalk, clutching another red blend in a small wine glass and smiled with friends I had known for years and people I had just met and I wasn't nervous anymore. The blue and red lights from the fire truck danced through the summer night downtown, a band somewhere in the street played steadily nearby. A crowd of folks laughing at the absurdity of it all. 

Stood on the sidewalk, clutching another red blend in a small wine glass and smiled with friends. Happy I came. Happy to be invited. Happy to be a part of something. 

Happy to be loved.

When I got home Michael texted me.

"Dude, your shit's so dark."

"I didn't see you there," I said.

"I came late. They let me in to look. Come out."

I sat for a minute. I didn't like being out. I didn't like being around people anymore. I wasn't comfortable or wanted in those places, but I hadn't spent time with Michael in a few years.

"Okay."

I got dressed again.

A Bath

 "Do you wanna take a bath?"

It was dark now and the air was cooling. I was sitting with Sage on Baby Bed, a slowly collapsing and rotting old toddlers bed, pulled from the side of the road at some point. She had affectionately named it and now it served as her outdoor loveseat. Dim garden string lights draped above us (and above the also-scavenged bath tub not far from us in a patch of lillies), a rusted out firepit as a table, and a number of cats wandering here and there throughout the yard.

"Yes."

She nodded and looked down. I felt like she held back something close to a smile and I often noticed her avoiding eye contact. Starting a sentence, looking away and pulling it back in. I understood. 

Safety.

I wanted to know her, and I knew she was afraid of being known, or, maybe, known again. I saw it from the first moment. Her standing on the small porch outside of a bar, waiting for me. Beautiful and armored and trying. I saw a lot about her in that moment. I saw a lot about me in that moment. I understood, but I also understood it was going to make this, whatever this was, challenging.

She stood and set her cigarettes down on Baby Bed. "Do you think it's too cold?"

"The air?"

"Mmhmm."

"I don't know. Maybe."

"I don't know if the water is going to be hot enough," she said.

"Let's find out."

"Okay."

We walked across the small yard to the tub. A layer of dirt and nature smeared across the bottom. 

"I'll have to get a sponge. Clean it out."

I looked it over and ran a finger through it. "Absolutley."

"I'll be right back," she said and walked into the darkness to the house.

I took in the moment. The surreality of it. The lights seemed to light only a small circle in the garden. The tub, surrounded by lillies, as if being offered to us. I took a picture of it, and Sage came back out with an armload of things.

"Okay, let me turn on the water," she said, setting down a few bottles of... I don't know, and a sponge. I picked up the hose dangling on the side of the tub. She walked around the lillies and to the house, bent over into the garden and the spigot squeaked as she turned it. I could feel the pressure of it in the hose before it reached the tub. "Is that too much?" she asked.

"No, perfect." I pulled the cork out of the tub, creating a hole directly to the ground, and began washing the grime away. Running the water over it, wiping with the sponge, cleaning the sponge with the hose. It didn't take long. It was mostly new. One of the bottles Sage had brought out was soap and I poured it onto the sponge and began cleaning the tub, now that it was empty. Soaped it up, washed it off, repeat a couple of times. 

Plug over the drain and began to let it fill. 

Sage stood next to me and watched the water. "Do you think we should add bubbles?"

"Sure."

"I mean... I don't know if it's too early or if this stuff," she reached down and picked up a bottle, "will even make bubbles with the hose."

"It will. We just have to mix it around a bunch." 

"Oh, there's one thing I forgot. I have to go look." She walked into the house and I took my shirt off, watching the water slowly rise. The air was cool but not cold and the water was warm. Sage returned with an open can. "Coconut milk," she said, walking across the dark lawn. "It's good for your skin." The can was open and she poured it into the bath. "Bubbles?" she asked.

"Oh, right." I squirted some of whatever was in the bottle into the water, near the hose, and began using my hand to swirl it around. Soon bubbles appeared and grew and by the time the water was high enough there was a good and thick layer of them across the surface.

Sage took off her shirt and pants and underwear and set them aside. I took off the last of my clothes, wiped the bottoms of my feet and climbed in, leaving room. Sage climbed in slowly in front of me and sat back against my chest. I put my arms around her and set my head back, looking up at the garden lights.

"This is beautiful," I said. "This moment."

"I should have lit a cigarette before I got in." Sage sat forward and leaned out of the tub, rifling through her clothes, eventually pulling out a pack of American Spirits and a lighter. She opened the pack and looked inside. "I thought I had a clip in here," she said. "Guess not." She pulled out a fresh cigarette, lit it, and laid back against me. "Yeah, it is. I love taking baths out here."

I ran my hand along her side and around her breast and she leaned her head back into the crook of my neck and head, with an arm out of the tub holding the cigarette.

Tell myself to keep my fucking mouth shut and enjoy the moment as it was. 

Don't say anything. Don't overthink. Just enjoy it.

I sat in that bathtub in Sage's backyard at night. The warm water on my skin, the cool air on my face, Sage pressed against me. I sat in that bathtub and smelled her hair and kissed the top of her head and I kept my fucking mouth shut.

The moment.