Perks

"My sister said Mary Elizabeth is suffering from low self-esteem, but I told her that she said the same thing about Sam back in November when she started dating Craig, and Sam is completely different. Everything can't be low self-esteem, can it?

My sister tried to clarify things. She said that by introducing me to all these great things, Mary Elizabeth gained a 'superior position' that she wouldn't need if she was confident about herself. She also said that people who try to control situations all the time are afraid that if they don't, nothing will work out the way they want.

I don't know if this is right or not, but it made me sad regardless. Not for Mary Elizabeth. Or for me. Just in general. Because I started to think that I don't know who Mary Elizabeth was at all. I'm not saying she was lying to me, but she just acted so different before I got to know her, and if she really isn't like what she was at the beginning, I wish she could have just said so. But maybe she is like she was at the beginning, and I just didn't realize it. I just don't want to be another thing that Mary Elizabeth is in charge of."

-- Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower


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Sometimes, books smack you in the face.

I read that passage less than an hour ago, back on the plane. I had a window seat in a very small plane. I think there were only about 30 people on board. On the left side of the aisle there was only one seat in each row, but on the right there were a pair of seats. Next to me sat a very attractive blond girl. She was 16-26 years old. I'm serious. She could have been any of those ages. Usually you can be more specific than that, but her appearance defied such estimation.

When I read the above passage, we hit major turbulence. This will seem like it's straight out of a romantic novel, but it's not. There's a major storm north of Indianapolis right now, and we flew right through it from Milwaukee. I had to close the book because the vibrating words were making me nauseated. Also because the behavior of Mary Elizabeth (who is dating the main character in the book) reminds me of how I behaved during my last long-term relationship.

It's shaming.

--

The blond girl was reading Eclipse, a book in the Twilight series. She wasn't assigned that seat originally, but she swapped with her friend.

I always feel awkward when someone sits beside me on an airplane. It's even more awkward for me if the person who was supposed to sit beside me decided not to and I can't figure out why. I don't feel so awkward if the other person is already seated and I come down the aisle and sit down beside them, because I am the visitor, in a way, and I introduce myself and strike up a conversation and sort of go through the obligatory smalltalk airlines have thrust upon modern travelers. But when it's the other way around, when I'm already seated and the person moving down the aisle realizes the number on their ticket matches the number of the seat beside me, I feel like the host, and I sort of wait for the other person to introduce him/herself.

But. They. Never. Do.

I don't generally have social anxiety (not the kind that makes me sweat or my heart race) but there are times when I recognize that I am dwelling on something that other people probably think it's weird or creepy to dwell on. This was one of those times.

They switched, and the blond girl (why did she have to be cute?) sat and acted like there was no one where I was, and she opened her book and started reading. Because I was reading, too, I had two thoughts in rapid succession:

1.) Hey! We're both reading books!


2.) Who cares, weirdo? Don't you dare say anything.


So I didn't. It was probably a good decision, but I had to stop myself from imagining what we might have talked about if she had had the (un)common courtesy to introduce herself and make smalltalk.

--

"Hi, I'm Brook."

"Chris."

"Nice to meet you."

"You, too."

"What are you reading?"

"The Perks of Being a Wallflower. My sister gave it to me."

"Sounds good. This is my third time reading Eclipse. I'm kind of obsessed."


"I respect that. You a fan of the movies?"

Maybe she would be, or maybe she wouldn't be. Or maybe she wouldn't really know. Definitely, she would think that the books were better.

"Fair enough. You know, I was just there."

"Where?"

"Forks, Washington."

"Really? What were you doing in Milwaukee?"

I'd give her a brief summary of the last two weeks.

"Wow. You've been busy."

"Yup. Well, enjoy your book."

"You, too."

--

But instead, it was like this:

Forty-five minutes of silence pass in a 55-minute flight. She sneezes.

"Bless you," I say.

She sneezes twice. I stop myself from saying, "Times two," and just give a stupid smile.

"Thank you," she says.

We go back to reading our books. I read the part where the main character talks about hating it when the girl he's dating keeps recommending stuff to him and then talking about herself more than him or the stuff she just recommended, and then the main character's sister offers an explanation. Then the plane lurches down and my stomach becomes my throat and then sinks into my butt, and I have to close the book.

--

Now I'm blogging and self-consciously wondering whether this blog is another form of my recommending complex or this is just the result of a lot of caffeine and not much sleep. I'm sitting in the Indianapolis Airport's baggage claim area on a very comfortable padded bench. A Mexican gentleman approached me a few minutes ago and asked to use my phone. He looked desperate and he had a bunch of folded, printed-off papers in his hands. Numbers are circled and highlighted all over. I made the instant decision to trust a stranger. His side of the conversation makes it sound like he was supposed to have been met by a driver by now.

I stopped listening to my iPod, which was playing Bob Dylan's "Girl from the North Country," which is a very good song if you have never listened to it. Not my favorite Dylan, but better than anything on Modern Times.


Chbosky's book is also very good, if you have never read it. Up until this point I've been pretty happy every time the main character reads a new book, because I've read all the books he's reading for the first time. I can't articulate exactly why it made me happy each time, but it did.

--

I should call a taxi.

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