He laughs. “I noticed. Grape?”
“This is not how this conversation is supposed to go.”
“How did you imagine it would go?”
“Tears. Anger. Understanding. Or maybe anger, then tears, then understanding.”
“I guess I’m trying to jump to the understanding. Look, I know I’m a weird dude. The artiness hides some of it, but at heart—I’m pretty weird. But you’ve never seemed to mind that. And it may be presumptuous of me to say, but I’m not getting a sense that you think I’m bad for you. Correct?”
“Correct.”
“So…what this means is there’s something going on with you, something that’s causing you to question your life—and I’m definitely a part of that. I’m not saying I can make it all better—I doubt I can. And I’m not saying that our dating should be top priority over everything else—hopefully that’s never been a message you’ve gotten from me. What I’m saying is: How can I help you? If it’s by going away, okay. If you really think that, sure. But if you’re worried I’m going to be devastated if you’re thinking of things besides me—sorry, but that’s not going to happen. I want you to be thinking of plenty of things besides me.”
“Everyone says that!” I counter. “But when push comes to shove—”
“What pushing?” Alexander interrupts. “What shoving? Look at me, Rhiannon. Look at the person in front of you.”
I tell him, “The pressure isn’t you. But you’re part of the pressure of everything. I know that’s not fair to say, because there’s nothing you can do about it, really. I’m just really confused right now. And trying to be a good girlfriend only adds to the noise. I’m not going to be a good girlfriend right now. You’re right—I’m not thinking about you. Not as much as I should. And the things I’m thinking about instead—they get in the way of me being the person you like. I’m sure of it.”
“And there’s no way for me to help?”
I shake my head.
“I don’t believe that,” he says. “Or at least I don’t want to believe that.”
I am now completely unsure of what I am doing. I am running away from a person who cares about me—and I’m running toward someone who will never be able to be here in the way that Alexander is here.
I’m on the precipice of doing something stupid. And all it will take is one wrong move on Alexander’s part for me to fall from the precipice, into the regret. I want him to push. I want him to shove. Because then I would have at least one answer.
But instead he says, “Let’s go do some homework. Let’s not say yes or no right now, because this is an essay question we’re facing. And we’re not even halfway through. The good news is that there’s plenty of time left.”
He puts the grapes back in the bowl, then picks it up from the counter.
“I’m serious,” he says. “Let’s do this.”
This is the moment to exhale. The moment for the benefit, not the doubt.
But instead I whisper, “I’m so sorry—I can’t.” And then, before he can say anything else to make me want to stay, I leave him behind.
M: My real and your real are not the same.
Someone: I think they are. Even if our perceptions skew us, we all share the same real.
M: I’m not sure I can get there.
Someone: You can. Because we live in the same world. We all live in the same world. Over time we’ve tried to fragment ourselves away from understanding that, and at times it’s very easy to privilege our own perceptions of reality over others’, to ignore the fact that we’re living in the same world. But unless you are writing to me from another dimension, you are as real as I am, and your life is as real as mine is. Even if it doesn’t always feel that way.
M: But you don’t change every day.
Someone: Neither do you.
M: How can you say that?
Someone: If I came on here tomorrow and started chatting with you, would you sound different?
M: No. But only because you can’t see my body.
Someone: I am not talking about your body. I am talking about who you are.
M: Your body IS who you are.
Someone: But you always have a body, don’t you? Even if it’s not the same one.
M: You’re saying that like it makes sense to you. It doesn’t make any sense!
Someone: I am taking you at your word. Because I trust your word. The body has nothing to do with that.
X
Even though I wake up in the body of a young woman, I still feel the need to celebrate. It’s the adrenaline rush of a close call. I could commemorate my survival with something major. Maybe tonight she can get pregnant. Or drive a car into a store window. Or one and then the other. The body is once more at my disposal. Especially since I’ll only be staying in this one for a day. I have no use for anything under 140 pounds. I aim to be more than that.
I am tired of waiting.
I need to force the situation.
A
Day 6107
A,
I think I broke up with Alexander. I say I think I did because I left before it could be confirmed. It just wasn’t fair to him to say we were together when a part of me is still clearly feeling something for you.
R
R,
Are you sure you want to do that?
A
A,
No. But how can you ask that?
R
R,
I knew I would make it worse.
A
A,
I don’t want to keep going back and forth like this. Call me.
R
* * *
—
“Hello.”
It’s her voice. I cannot believe I am hearing her voice.
“Hey.”
Of course, she’s never heard this voice before. Kristen’s voice. Calling from the house’s landline, so hopefully this call will just blend in with the rest of the phone bill.
But still, there’s recognition.