Sometimes, one really is faced with the choice of the lesser of two evils. Mine was to be drug to an enormous corporate Christmas party (the other choice was endless whining). The amount of internal self-cursing on the state of my life while driving there cannot be overstated. We pulled up to one of those intimidating, unwelcoming office spectacles downtown meant to make the inferior feel more inferior. Worst part was I had a flashback to my many times passing by this same building in absolute despair while homeless. I'm sure that's a story I can share at the party.
Traveling up the elevator I felt as a condemned prisoner on the way to his execution: no way out. But while the elevator was rising the feeling in my stomach was sinking. We were not alone in there so I'm already feeling as ill-at-ease and out-of-place as I feared. I paused as the doors parted to the sea of people ready to mock the moron among them. I had to think someday someone would make a passion play of this ordeal.
My invite naturally went her own way since it was her corporate masters swilling the night away. I was left like chum in the water, my insides twisting in agony. I wished to cry out for help but (rightly) assumed that would only make matters worse. What was I going to say to anyone? They ask me how I am and I say, "Homeless and suicidal. And you?" Sounds like a real ender to me.
These are the people I very carefully avoid; office creatures, aliens of a bubbled world that rests on the backs of workers like me. People like me horrify them because we see them from underneath, where they can't hide, as we mop their floors and empty their wastebaskets. There are spies wherever you go.
My reeling mind tried to cling to the idea I had some sort of buffer between me and them before my fraudulence could be exposed. I even overheard some inane conversation that made me realize office workers are definitely not rocket scientists. But that was small comfort. For while their need to be self-oblivious provided me some protection, it takes only one pair of piercing eyes to unmask you and leave you hanging out to dry before all the world. It was for those eyes I desperately scanned the room.
In doing so I noticed many types of creatures. I saw the slick and oily, warring witches and sad sycophants, the supremely insulated, diabolical climbers, and other assorted trolls that made my blood run cold. A few did surprise me with their seeming humanness and I wondered how they kept that trait in this inhuman environment. But then I glanced upon a pair of eyes, as if I were prey spotted in the wild. Was only for an instant, a woman's, dark haired, no more. "Shit, hope that's only my imagination."
Regardless, I got rattled and I felt my nerve giving out. The screaming for help idea came back in play. I wondered how much of my misery and confusion was showing on my carefully posed face. At that exact moment there wasn't a single moment of my life above doubt. Let the good Lord take me now. And that's when a woman's voice whispered in my ear: "Don't be an impostor for love."
For a second I was frozen, mesmerized by the thought. Had my life been read? Was this a lifeline of love? It seemed like several minutes but it was only few seconds before I turned my head to see the identity of this whisperer. She slipped away too quickly, like an eel between the reeds. I caught the back of her neck and her stylish outfit. "Emily!" I couldn't resist indulging myself apparently.
The thought of her finding me, rescuing me, forgiving me, and actually not wanting me to die elated me to heaven. The fantasy of at last playing the winner, I felt myself rise above the room on a cloud of bliss, validated and redeemed. I noticed I started breathing. In the blink of an eye my entire life changed. Inside, I was kneeling with tears of joy. This too felt like several minutes but was only several seconds. Then I had to realize: how could that be Emily?
Everyone wants to believe they've drawn the winning ticket. God help me if Emily ever found out about this flashing fantasy. I'm sure I'd get an earful. Who knows? Maybe this woman was going around saying this to every loser she spotted in the room. Had I been singled out? Mulling the possibilities was driving me out of my mind. I cursed myself for yet another fatal hesitation, where if she'd spoken at a moment where I wasn't so weak I could have stopped her and found out what she meant. But it seems these things ONLY happen in a moment of weakness.
So I was left only with considering her words.
Maybe it wasn't just me. Maybe everyone in the room is an impostor for love. Maybe she was really speaking to someone near me and I overheard. Maybe, maybe, maybe. What I did know was I hated the message, like she was reading my mind. Yes, I was faking it. I'm always faking it. How else does one get by when living at the mercy of lunatics and monsters devoid of reason? And what benefit does it do me to reveal my crippled self to those who cannot help? Was she speaking of the here and now or relationships in general? I had to get out of the room.
I stayed down in the lobby dreaming up "Die Hard" sequences to pass the time. My blackmailer to this event rang my cell and chewed me out for my usual "negative" attitude. I did not bother trying to explain the whisper. All I wanted was back under my rock to contemplate those biting words in a safe place.
That night in bed I replayed it over and over. The Emily elation genuinely bothered me, like finding a lottery ticket with the right numbers but then finding it's for the wrong week. For a brief instance I was somebody once more. But my complaint when I had love was that I was an impostor. What's worse, I didn't have the nerve to find out, putting me on the run. A man once said, "You run, you die." And that's dearly proven out so far. Did hearing this advice mean I have another chance coming? How can that be?
And worst of all was my first knee-jerk response to the whisper, the one thing I'd been burying in dejected doubt from the very first: How else is anyone going to love me?
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