Anyone Else But Me
“Why would anyone go to see that?” he points at the advertisement for a production of “Wicked”. He mimics that singer in a snide manner every time it comes. It would be annoying enough the repetition of the joke. This is something else. I love musicals. I would go to see that. Somehow I’m anyone else when I’m in front of him. Anyone else but me.
“Those records upstairs. Don’t sell them for a dollar. Make sure you get what they’re worth. For all I know you’ll put them in the trash.” He tosses a crumpled up envelope from a bill he’s just paid and chucks it across the dining room floor. He’ll pick it up later. Your mom’s are different though. We had very different tastes. John Denver.” He shakes his head.
“We wouldn’t have been friends you know.” I look straight at him.
“I don’t listen to the music on your records.”
“Sure you do.”
“Because you do.” And, I like John Denver too. Country roads took me home, after all. Somehow I’m anyone else when I’m in front of him. Anyone else but me.
In the midst of transition and seemingly losing identities: Spanish speaker, teacher, coach, professional, and now bad ass at the gym thanks to my favorite trainer’s recent departure, it’s a bad time to lose another one. Though these constant clashes of perception remind me that I never really had the identity I’m trying to give up ever at all. Somehow I’m anyone else when I’m in front of him. Anyone else but me.
“It’s general knowledge, that roads have weight limits,” he complains opening the door to get rid of excess bacon grease before he cooks his eggs.
“No. It isn’t. I didn’t know that.”
“Why would I know that?”
“It’s general knowledge. I know it.”
“I don’t. There’s hardly such a thing as general knowledge. Why would I need to know that about the roads?”
“Why are you getting so upset?”
“I’m tired of talking about this everyday.”
“Yeah well. You’ll let a lot of things go when I’m gone.”
That’s the heart of the problem there. Or the thumbprint actually. He’s him and I’m me. Somehow I’m anyone else when I’m front of him? No. I’m supposed to be him. Become him. And I’m failing, because I’m me. Unless, I'm anyone else but me.