Maybe we're all only children now

Photo by Ilyuza Mingazova on Unsplash

I’m the person who always thinks, “man, I should subscribe to this one” and then I don’t because I don’t know where my wallet is, and then I forget again until next time when I think “man I should subscribe to this.” Because of my aversion to social media, I rely entirely on y’all sharing posts you like. And I truly appreciate it when you do. Anyway if you’re like me, I thought I’d help out and put this at the top so if you’re considering becoming a paid subscriber, it’s right there. And thank you.

How do you close a door, an interior door in your home? Do you just pull it shut, so the latch slaps the strike plate, keep on pulling so the jarring sound of the door hitting the frame reverberates through the walls and jolts or wakes your sleeping spouse or roommate or dog, or do you use the handle to turn the latch because it’s a goddamn handle that was meant to turn a latch, and you weren’t an only child.

I’ve become a little obsessed with the idea of only children. And to be clear, I love some only children. I’m not talking about them, certainly not you. I’m talking about them, the only children I’ve lived with or dated. The only children that no one should be forced to live with or date.

I was talking shit about only children recently, those mutants who didn’t grow up with a sibling or three. There’s a lot of material. And because I’m insane or because I’m a writer, I can’t stop thinking about them, as a concept. This is how it works, apologies to anyone who knows a writer. This isn’t the only reason we’re insufferable but it’s on the list. We get obsessed. I know this isn’t the norm because if we start talking about a thing, won’t shut up about it, researching it, posting about it, when we do this, several emotionally stable people will tell us we should write about that thing. No shit. We’re way ahead of you. Writing it down is the only way to understand and maybe, if we’re lucky, move on from our weird obsessions. We learned that at some point in middle school. It’s like, our whole thing.

Back to only children. I did the math. If we only count relationships, and who’s to say what’s a relationship but I’m drawing the line where I draw it, I’ve been in seven. This is because I’m either a serial monogamist or kind of a whore. I’m fine with either and no one should take me seriously or take advice from me on anything. But among those seven, four were only children. Four. Among roommates, including Air Force roommates, though the numbers are a little fuzzier here, I can name fourteen of them and four were only children. What I’m saying is I’m something of an expert on only children. And what I can say with absolute certainty is they’re not fully formed humans and no one should have to live with or date them.

It’s not their fault that they’re a little underdone, but they’re a little underdone. There were things they never learned and probably never will. They don’t know how to share a bathroom, a room, a kitchen, a fridge, a space. They don’t know how to fucking share at all. I don’t think they understand the concept. They’ve never had a sibling wake them up in the middle of the night screaming at them until they get up to change the toilet paper roll or flush the toilet or put the seat down. They’ve never had a sibling hold them down and force them to spit out the cookie the sibling was saving for later. They’ve never had to cut the apple in half because there’s only one left. They’ve never been told “the other one may never come in. Some girls just get one boob.” Never been forced to swallow a worm in penance for breaking the tape player. Never spent a Saturday pulling weeds, not because they’re in trouble, but their brother is and weed the whole yard seemed excessive. They’ve never been told they have Cedar Root Rust. Never had someone drop legos in their mouth because they were snoring. Never had a sibling paint their feet pink with nail polish for the sin of uncovering those disgusting things. Never shared a bed with someone who peed theirs and still smells a little like pee. Never heard someone start giggling on the other line when talking to a boyfriend. Never got a dart stuck in their ass then lied for their brother because he already said sorry and you don’t want to both get grounded. Never sat across someone every fucking morning wanting to murder them for the way they eat cereal.

More importantly, they’ve never learned to love their worst enemy, who eats cereal wrong, who does everything wrong. They never learned to take the blame to save someone who doesn’t need any more trouble. They don’t know how to end a fight just by sitting down in the same room and watching a show. They don’t know you can. They don’t know it’s over now. No one has to apologize. You were both being dicks. They never learned to put aside a fight that doesn’t matter because something else, like mom’s gonna be home soon and if we don’t clean the kitchen.., is more important. Never learned someone’s worst secrets and kept them. Never watched someone’s weakest moment and wiped it from their memory out of respect, because they watched yours too, and forgot. Never fought someone bigger than them because that’s your brother getting pounded and you’ll fucking die for him. Never covered for another human being no matter how much it put their own freedom, like the entire summer, at risk.

It’s important I think, to learn this shit. You can make up for some of it working in the service industry or military. But you’ll still leave the kitchen trashed after your midnight snack. And you will still do that fucking thing with the door. You never truly understand that the sounds you make might fucking disturb someone else. You never understand that others can see and hear and smell you. You never learn that someone telling you, hey motherfucker I can see and hear and smell you and could you not do that fucking thing with the door or open a goddamn window is a favor. You should be fucking grateful. We’ve all had to be told. And we’re fucking grateful. Maybe there are only children who’ve learned to co-exist with humans. But it took humans who grew up with siblings to teach them and my god at what cost.

Have you lived with an only child? Those special little creatures who think it’s their bathroom? Who never consider that someone might need the pan they’ve left to “soak.” Who think the guacamole ordered for the table is theirs and theirs alone?Who clack around in heels when their roommate’s on the night shift? Who blast music when you’re on a work call? Who clip their nails on the coffee table? Who watch videos on their phones at full volume? Who pull doors shut at three am, over and over and over again until you wonder if a jury might forgive you?

Maybe that’s what the last few years have done to us. We’re all only children now. We no longer know how to sit in a waiting room together or be in an airport, let alone a plane. We’ve forgotten the noise we make and the space we take affects those around us. We don’t know how to butt out of a conversation we aren’t a part of. We forgot our feet fucking stink and others can smell them. We don’t know how to see someone have their weakest moment and look away, extend a little grace, not film it, not humiliate them. We forgot they don’t owe us an apology. We can just move on.

We don’t know that our isolation is fucking killing us. It’s not funny that we’re all avoiding each other. It’s not a thing we should be bragging about or excusing with the results of a poll saying we’re an introvert. It’s a thing we need to fix. You’re not supposed to just announce you have anxiety without fucking working on it. We all have anxiety. We’re not fucking special. Look around. We’re supposed to do something about it. Try.

We don’t know how to share this space anymore. We’ve forgotten we share it at all. And it’s a little fucking scary. Because we need each other more than ever.