B.F.F.T.R.O.M.L

Syphilis brought my best friend and me together.

During health class in 9th grade, we were assigned a group project during the STD unit.

Our group had syphilis.

We met up at her house and the three of us went up to the loft, pushed the couch to the computer and researched syphilis while drinking blue Gatorade.

I don’t know what happened to the third girl but that day the stars aligned to bond me with my BFF.

Not long after that, we became so close we were kind of annoying. We just got really hyper around each other.

The terrible thing was that she was kind of cool without me. I brought her down several pegs. When she got her first boyfriend I used to walk awkwardly behind them down the hall while they held hands. She thought I was dumb and he hated me. Thankfully they broke up and everything was fine.

After High School, she moved to New York for college. (Did I mention she was cooler than me?)

We didn’t talk much.

She didn’t come to my wedding.

I didn’t go to her graduation.

It was perfect.

Eventually, she moved back and we jumped back into things.

Life is about 50% more awkward with her and 150% more awesome.

This is getting too sappy for me.

I like my best friend.

The end.

1/4 Deaf

I think I was around 5 or 6 when I got the chicken pox. For those of you who don’t know what that is like, I’ll tell you.

It was itchy.

It was ugly.

It was wonderful.

My mom is an amazing pamperer. There is nothing in this world quite like being treated like you’re sick when you feel fine. I got delicious food brought to me in bed. I got kisses on the forehead and was asked, “Do you want anything?” I got surprise gifts I could play with atop my fluffy comforter. I got the pick of television shows. Then there was the endless supply of on-demand baths. (Baths are kinda my thing.)

It is possibly my fondest childhood memory.

But, as all good storytellers know, a content story is a boring story. I think we can all agree that God is a seasoned storyteller.

A couple years later I realized that the muffled hearing I’d been experiencing for 2 years was probably unusual. I didn’t really feel like talking about it. It wasn’t affecting my life too much as a 7 or 8-year-old so I just ignored it.

I don’t know how much time passed before I decided to mention it but one day I brought it up to my mom.

Here’s a truth about me: I like to stand out in peculiar ways.

My thinking was, Being deaf will make me interesting.

Call it middle child syndrome but my little sister was as adorable as an impish, silken-blonde doll and my older sister had a long list of problems that my parents attended to including, but not limited to, glasses which I was enormously jealous of.

So when I brought up my handicap I was pretty excited. My mom reacted just beautifully. We sat down, just the two of us, at the table. She asked me questions and wrote down my responses in her notebook. Soon I was released and I felt satisfied with the encounter.

Some weeks later my days became so fun. My dad took me with him to the university in the small college town we lived in to get some hearing tests. I loved hanging out with my dad by myself and I had never been to his school so it was all very exciting.

I tested and failed.

On another day I went to another building. I tested and failed.

Then I tested and failed again.

Finally, we sat down with a wise looking old man who had a peppery beard and wore a mustard-colored sweater. He said I was 50% deaf in my left ear. He then theorized that this may be due to my chicken pox scabbing over the hairs in my ear which could not be repaired. My dad asked about hearing aids.

Then the coldhearted expert said, “Sorry for ya. A hearing aid will do nothing. This will be a lifelong struggle and there isn't anything anyone can do, little girl. Haha, Just don’t listen to loud music and be sure to wear earplugs when you go to concerts.” He may have said it in a more sophisticated way, though.

I thought he was crazy. Why would I ever listen to loud music and who would even have fun at a concert?

I get it now. Loud music is amazing. I have broken that man’s rules many a time.

I wasn’t concerned with what that man said or what any of the others have said since then. The thing is that I don’t know what I’ve been missing for 20 years. I don’t know any different from hearing everything in one ear and in the other hearing sounds as if someone is trying to talk to me underwater. A lot of people in my life never knew about it or simply forgot. It really hasn’t been a big deal.

Sure, if I were ever in a “Saw”-like situation in which I was thrown into a dark room and had to hear my way out or catch a lurker based on the sounds around me, I would die.

If someone whispered into my left ear, “Follow me if you want to live,” I would die.

But on the other hand, loud and obnoxious sounds are slightly less loud and obnoxious.

If someone around me is saying something unsavory I can subtly place my hand to my right cheek, lift my finger and cock my head as if I am listening, then plug up my good ear. From there I just plaster on a smile, throw out an experienced, well-timed social laugh and let my mind wander to wherever it likes.

Yeah, I’d like to have my senses at full capacity, and maybe I will someday. I hear (in one-half of my head, of course) that there are some ear-type advances. I’ll get there but for now being 1/4 deaf has made me interesting.

Sitcom Survival

You should never be a caricature; however, when you find yourself in an uncomfortable social situation with strangers or acquaintances you can be a sitcom.

For some, it takes years of courage-building and self-discovery to be comfortable being their entire self in front of people they hardly know. If this sounds like you, you should know there are a few options open to you.

You can panic.

That’s fine except it makes you the weirdo. From then on people will always wonder if you went crazy and shot up a mall.

You can try to be yourself.

This is great but if you are anything like me you will lose confidence halfway through and end up making jokes that don’t quite make sense or are so boring people stop listening.

Or you can be the favorite.

Be a sitcom.

People love sitcoms.

People want to think their life is like a sitcom. People over complicate their lives for the sake of the plot. People don’t realize that the other people around them are real humans and not just side characters that don’t get sad when you throw a sarcastic quip their way.

To be a sitcom is easy. You have an inherent knowledge deep down inside you that will spark and you will flow naturally into your chosen character.

The first thing to do is perceive who is missing in the group. The sassy one. The dumb one. The crude one. The sweet one. Who is missing?

If there is no one missing just play to your strengths. Take in the atmosphere and grasp the character that calls to you.

Second, there is no sarcastic one. Everyone in a sitcom is sarcastic. There is a misconception that Chandler was the sarcastic one from “Friends.” If you watch that show in one-week long sitting you will notice that the writers just wrote down a bunch of sarcastic jokes then threw them in the air for anyone to grab. Don’t make the mistake of being the sarcastic one because you will just look like a jerk. The sarcasm suited to your chosen character will come naturally. Don’t force it.

The third rule is to be fun-loving. Characters in sitcoms don’t get alienated. Everyone has an important role to play and you have to pay attention to their presence and include everyone. Even if you are being the grumpy one. Remember, a sitcom is not complicated. All characters are shallow and bend to the will of the audience.

The fourth rule is to never listen and never sympathize. When someone else is speaking you should wait patiently for sound to cease coming from their mouth then quickly chip in with a quirky remark that will make everyone laugh. If someone says something serious find a way to transition back to a joke.

The fifth and most important rule: never ever date someone who thinks you are a sitcom. Being a sitcom practically guarantees that someone in the group will fall in love with you. They have built up an idea of their ideal type which is subconsciously based on one or two sitcom characters. They’ll think they found this in you. They are wrong and you don’t want to be around when they figure it out. Nor do you want to drag them through some kind of love fantasy you know you can’t fulfill.

If you keep this all up and follow all the rules then you’ll be able to look back on your life and realize you did it all wrong. You should have just been yourself.

Durst Commend a Secret to your Ear

I had only been a technical adult for maybe a year when I was entrusted with a large, serious secret.

I was on the phone, listening to a sad, traumatizing story through someone else's tears. I stared at the ceiling. I felt surprised but mostly I wondered why it was a secret. I would not have kept it a secret if it were my story so I didn’t know how to relate.

Silence came next.

I guessed the story must have been over.

My brain said, Are you crazy? Who would judge you for that? I certainly would never hold it against you. You are an amazingly strong person and I look up to you. I agonize at the mere thought of your disapproval. Your secret changes nothing. I love you.

“Ok,” said my mouth.

More silence happened. My brain rolled its figurative eyes at me.

I was asked to not tell a soul.

“Ok.”

My brain took a backseat until the call was eventually over.

The secret was never mentioned again; never even alluded to for years. Some nights I would stay up in bed thinking about how I had botched up the whole situation. I had never said what I was thinking. I never reassured.

I decided I would have to do it. I was going to say, “I don’t care! You are nothing less to me. Don’t feel so low. Look at all the wonderful things about yourself.” I was so proud of myself for thinking about being such a noble person. I cried.

We were alone. It was a sunshiny day; very pleasant.

It was a day of action. A day to be an emotionally responsible adult.

I felt the knot of words being mushed together as they moved from my brain down to my lips. They squished themselves through filters and funnels.

They stopped for a while to verify that I was sure. Do you really want to put yourself out there? Caution! Someone might give you a hug!

Then I remembered about being noble.

When the words finally came out it was something like this, “Well, so, you know that thing you told me that time? About the thing? I mean it’s fine or whatever. It’s no big deal. Well, it is but it’s not really to me. So if you want to ever talk about it, you can but, like, it’s fine.”

Then they said, “Oh that? Everybody knows about that.”

“What?”

“Yeah I told everybody. I’m doing good now. But thank you.”

Then they gave me a hug.