Smile.

Photo by Jason Leung on Unsplash

You tell your therapist you’re exhausted and he says you’ve gotta strike while you’re hot. You tell a friend you’re just tired, and they say, isn’t this what you wanted. It takes a minute for it to sink in. You’re not allowed to complain anymore. It’s the first thing you learn. You’re in the bubble now. Your bubble. The bubble. You don’t like bubbles.

You tell a story. One scene. A single sentence. A cute nothing story. Something someone said. They ask for more. They want more. Need it. You owe them more. You told them that much. Why are you being a cunt. You take a niece for ice cream. Someone snaps a picture. Do you tell them to delete it. Will they. Do you ignore them. Is it because of you. You say nothing. She’s just a kid. You’re at a wedding and someone says they love you. You’ve never seen them before. But they know all about you. They ask about your family, in front of your family. They know all the wrong parts. All the wrong names. You’re a liability now. You brought everyone in and tried to draw a line they were already camping inside. What the fuck were you thinking.

An old friend calls and asks if you’re too important now. They haven’t called in five years. A friend sends a message. You’ll get to it when you have time. You haven’t talked to your dad in a month. Your friends haven’t seen you in weeks. They send another message, and you think you don’t have time to deal with this now. They send another asking if you’re too important now. A friend says they need to talk and you think you need to do a lot of things or it’ll all fall apart and it would be fucking nice if people would just say what they want the first time. You need friends. You’re being a dick. You call and they ask if you’re too important now. You explain what your day is like what a week is like, how you wish you had the time. You say you miss them. They ask isn’t this what you wanted. You tell them you’re exhausted and lonely and they say this is what you wanted.

You say the book got cancelled or the show got cancelled or it moved, the interview didn’t post, news happened the day it aired, shit got rearranged, shit didn’t happen, someone backed out, someone moved positions, the contract fucked you, they’re going in a different direction, you can’t write what they want, you’re behind, they haven’t paid, you’re late, they’re late, the cover sucks, that other thing’s sucking up all the air, they didn’t understand the thing, someone scared you, they’re coming after you, they’re going to sue you, you have to give a quote, the interviewer got weird, that guy crossed a line, that one threatened you, you have to fire someone, you have to hire someone, you ran out of money, they ran out of funding, they ghosted, you took on too much, you’re trying to step back, you’re pretty sure they’re lying, you know someone’s full of shit, you don’t know who to trust, it’s going to take longer, it’ll cost more, you have to fly there, they’re trying to come here, schedules are in conflict, you don’t have the equipment. They tell you, but this is what you wanted. Everything you wanted.

You make a friend and they want to meet your other friend. They invite you to lunch and they invite you to see a poet and they say, “introduce me.” You do. And you never see them again. Guess they got what they wanted and it wasn’t you after all. You get an email then a number. You talk and they talk. Then they ask the favor you’d have done if they’d just fucking led with the ask. But they don’t. You get a message and another. You write back. It’s fun to make friends. Then they send you the question. The request. You do it once. Sure, you’ll help a friend. But now they don’t answer. You don’t want to believe everything’s a transaction. But your email’s just waiting there to be opened.

You begin to welcome the bubble. It’s safe in the bubble. You can complain in the bubble and no one tells you this is what you asked for. No one tells you to be grateful. But sometimes the people in the bubble wonder what you’re doing there at all. This is a problem with the bubble. They were born into it. They’ve always been here. They earned it. They did the right things and said the right things and checked the boxes before the next step. They know the rules. You snuck in and they’ll let you stay because you’re interesting, because you haven’t pissed on the carpet. But they’re not sure you won’t. You know they’re not your people. But your people is getting to be a pretty short list. As long as you know that’s your fault. You’re the one who changed. You owe them and you don’t even know it.

You go for drinks and this is the important thing you wanted to say. She touches your leg and your eyes tear and then there’s a guy you don’t know standing behind you. He wants you to introduce him. He wants a selfie. You wipe your eyes and forget what you meant to say. You go to dinner and you want to talk. You want to discuss anything at all. But the person at the next table is listening. You know she’s listening because she’s saying things your date is meant to hear. You bring a friend to the lunch. To the barbecue. Then you see it on instagram. You trusted the wrong one, again. You bring a friend to the talk. You don’t want to go alone. Then you go for coffee and your friend wants your other friend to say that thing from TV. Your friend wants to record it. What’s the point of meeting anyone if not to tell your friends you met them.

You walk down the street and everyone’s holding hands, but you can’t hold hands. Not here. You tell yourself they’re not ashamed of you. But when people back away, when they ask you to not mention their name, don’t tweet this, don’t post that, maybe it’s the same reason you wouldn’t, because you know how it goes. You remember the time you liked a girl. Then she took a picture in your robe. You want to trust and you want someone to trust you. But you’ve learned too many times. Or you should’ve learned by now. You know what it means to be an object. You know what it feels like when they need to tell twitter about you. When you’re something like a trophy, disheveled and wearing the wrong t-shirts and in need of a shower, but a trophy nonetheless, or something like it. A station on a scavenger hunt. A story to tell at parties. You do know how it goes and you know how it feels. But you remember what it feels like to be a secret too and this is what keeps you up some nights. Maybe this time, you’re just being careful, you agreed afterall, but you’re never really sure.

You know you’re not a person anymore. You’re a thing. You’re an object. You’re a make-believe friend. They know everything about you and you have nothing to say. Why even talk when they can read your book. Why are you not what they want you to be. Why are you angry. Why are you sad. Why won’t you take a selfie. It’s your job and you’re on duty, always. You wouldn’t be here otherwise. You’re part of their lives now. You’re an inspiration. You’re a hero. They put you here and you owe them now. All of them. You’re the asshole who said that thing on the internet. They’ll tell you what you think. They’ll tell you what you said. They’ll tell you what you meant. You should’ve known better. You have a responsibility now. A responsibility to take it. To listen and never talk back. If you talk back that’s abuse. That’s violence. Shut up and write. Not here. Not now. Not that. Shut up and dribble, sing, cook, paint, color, act. Play the role. Do the thing. Do nothing unexpected. You’re an image on the screen. You’re their best friend. You’re the enemy. You’re a mascot. You’re a punching bag. Smile. Be funny. Be nice. Be friendly. Bitch.

You draw lines. You say here but not any closer. You say me but not my family. You say me but not my friends. They want more. You feed them a little more. Just enough. You have to keep something that’s yours. Something to hold when you’re alone. Something only those who love you get to see. A piece you hold back. They want more. It’s not enough. It’s never enough. Are you not fucking grateful? This is what you wanted. There are those who’d kill for what you have. You’re not allowed to want more. You’re being greedy now. But they want more. Do you want them to stop wanting? Feed them. Let them feed. They’ll fucking consume you and call it a favor. They’ll mock when you break. When they break you. When it’s too much. When you let them break you. They’ll push you off the ledge and laugh at the way you land. Post a selfie next to your corpse. Smile.