Anyone who actually knows me, knows that I am an extremely introverted person. I don’t eschew the term “wallflower,” as it sounds like a lovely thing to be. Lovelier than one of the dense weeds that grows in the middle of a room at least.
But I know that supposedly it’s not the best thing to live inside my own head, to spend so much of my time observing, rather than interacting, with other people. Absorbing, but not seeping out my own personality. A series of trite comedies would have you believe that inside every quiet, observant, often perceived to be snobby individual, lies a dynamic social butterfly waiting to flutter its wings manically and eventually fly right into the ranch dip. It usually involves a love interest, but it doesn’t have to.
I’ve done just this with a handful of people in my life. I don’t count my parents and sister, as they celebrate me out of a sense of obligation as much as a sense of delighted bewilderment. I count some, but not all, of the many boys I have dated and if the relationship lasted long enough, exposed to my plethora of quirks. (If we ever dated and you didn’t hear me refer to legs as “yegs” or make up a parody, you meant nothing to me).
So. The handful of people. They made me feel me-er. I felt comfortable enough to be myself in all the awkward glory. Then I felt comfortable enough to speak a little louder, smile a little wider, and do things that now make me look back and shake my head with some degree of pride. Can you believe I once turned on a karaoke machine at Best Buy and had an impromptu karaoke show with audience participation? Or that my friends and I were kicked out of J.C. Penney for pretending to sleep in the bedding and have a group therapy session at the couch and armchair display? Or that I used to convince the guy at Subway to give my friend and I free samples of everything? I couldn’t have done it without the friends who put me at ease, who didn’t condemn me to wallflowerdom, because they’d already painted me in a corner.
Last weekend, I reunited with Dead Bohemian Society co-founder and my junior year of high school partner in crime, Aaron. Michael, Aaron’s adorable, NYC Marathon running boyfriend, also came along. I’ve never seen Aaron in a relationship, and it was so gratifying to see him happy and know that’s he still almost the same guy I loved hanging out with back when we lived in the culturally oppressed town of Odem, Texas. Michael allows Aaron to have the limelight when he needs it, but Aaron seems calmer and more balanced than he was years ago. We’re growing up, I guess. And in each other’s presence, we feel just a little bit taller, our blossoms a little more colorful. And I’m not going to totally launch into an abridged Jill Scott song here, but know how I feel when I say some people that I like to surround myself with make me feel, “easy…and free…and lovely…and me.”
We didn’t set off any alarms at state buildings and have to flee the cops this time, but we did hang out and dine in Little Italy, Murray Hill, and Morningside Heights. I’m ready for those guys to visit again.
Who needs to be the center of attention when you can just sit on the sidelines and make snide comments?
-April
no mention of the bf. did he exit the picture?
We can’t wait to visit again. Hopefully, I will have money to visit in January for the APAP convention. I also want to meet you infamous lesbian lover…what his name?
Aaron