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“I hope that’s not how you think of me,” he says.
“Well, you have to admit you have more mystery to you than the usual guy. I mean, person.”
“Like what?”
“Like why you are the way you are? Like where you come from? Like why you do the things you do?”
“Yeah,” he says, “but don’t we all have those same mysteries? Maybe not where you came from—but do you really know why you are the way you are? Or why you do the things you do? I don’t know why I was born this way—but you don’t know why you were born your way, either. We’re all in the dark. It’s just that my dark is a little more unusual than yours. For all we know.”
“But there’s more about me that’s explainable. You have to admit that.”
“You can drive yourself crazy looking for explanations for every single thing. I can’t do that. I’m happy to let things just be what they are. I don’t need to know why.”
“But you have to be curious! I’m curious.”
“Well, I’m not. And if this is going to work, I need you to take it at face value.”
“Face value? Really?”
“Okay. Bad choice of words. Inside value. Soul value. Self value. Whatever you want to call it.”
“What do you call it? What do you think you are?”
“I’m a person, Rhiannon. I’m a person who happens to go into other people for a day. But I’m still a person.”
Chastised. I feel like I’ve disappointed him. I’ve fallen into the same trap as everyone else. I haven’t understood.
We stop talking to eat. But I can’t help watching him. Searching.
“What is it?” A asks, catching me looking.
“It’s just that…I can’t see you inside. Usually I can. Some glimmer of you in the eyes. But not tonight.”
I’m not sure if this is his fault or mine. The connection needs to be plugged in on both ends, and maybe it’s loose in me tonight.
“I promise I’m in here,” he says.
“I know. But I can’t help it. I just don’t feel anything. When I see you like this, I don’t. I can’t.”
“That’s okay. The reason you’re not seeing it is because he’s so unlike me. You’re not feeling it because I’m not like this. So in a way, it’s consistent.”
“I guess,” I say. But it’s not what I want to hear. I’ve never heard him disown one of the bodies before. I’ve never heard him say, This isn’t me. Is it because he feels that way, or is it because I’m making him self-conscious? He knows I’m uncomfortable, and it’s making him uncomfortable. He, who can adapt to everything, and has been doing it for as long as he’s been alive, is seeing himself through my eyes, and because of that, he’s finding himself lacking.
I need to stop. But what am I supposed to do? Try to not see him as this huge guy? How can I ignore that? How can I not feel different relative to that?
All of these thoughts, and I can’t say any of them aloud. Because that will only make it worse.
So instead we talk about the movie. The food. The weather.
This is disturbing. Disturbing because we’re not talking about us. And also disturbing because I realize that when you’re sixteen and in love, there isn’t much to talk about besides yourselves.
—
This isn’t about the body you’re in, I want to tell A. It’s about where we are.
He doesn’t call me on it until we’re walking to get our cars.
“What’s going on?” he asks me.
