This Person
Someone is getting excited. Somebody somewhere is shaking with excitement
because something tremendous is about to happen to this person. This
person has dressed for the occasion. This person has hoped and dreamed and
now it is really happening and this person can hardly believe it. But
believing is not an issue here, the time for faith and fantasy is over, it
is really really happening. It involves stepping forward and bowing.
Possibly there is some kneeling, such as when one is knighted. One is
almost never knighted. But this person may kneel and receive a tap on each
shoulder with a sword. Or, more likely, this person will be in a car or a
store or under a vinyl canopy when it happens. Or online or on the phone.
It could be an e-mail re: your knighthood. Or a long, laughing, rambling
phone message in which every person this person has ever known is talking
on a speakerphone and they are all saying, You have passed the test, it was
all just a test, we were only kidding, real life is so much better than
that. This person is laughing out loud with relief and playing the message
back to get the address of the place where every person this person has
ever known is waiting to hug this person and bring her into the fold of
life. It is really exciting, and it’s not just a dream, it’s real.
They are all waiting by a picnic table in a park this person has driven
past many times before. There they are, it’s everyone. There are balloons
taped to the benches, and the girl this person used to stand next to at
the bus stop is waving a streamer. Everyone is smiling. For a moment this
person is almost creeped out by the scene, but it would be so like this
person to become depressed on the happiest day ever, and so this person
bucks up and joins the crowd.
Teachers of subjects that this person wasn’t even good at are kissing this
person and renouncing the very subjects they taught. Math teachers are
saying that math was just a funny way of saying “I love you.” But now they
are simply saying it, I love you, and the chemistry and PE teachers are
also saying it and this person can tell they really mean it. It’s totally
amazing. Certain jerks and idiots and assholes appear from time to time,
and it is as if they have had plastic surgery, their faces are disfigured
with love. The handsome assholes are plain and kind, and the ugly jerks
are sweet, and they are folding this person’s sweater and putting it
somewhere where it won’t get dirty. Best of all, every person this person
has ever loved is there. Even the ones who got away. They hold this
person’s hand and tell this person how hard it was to pretend to get mad
and drive off and never come back. This person almost can’t believe it, it
seemed so real, this person’s heart was broken and has healed and now this
person hardly knows what to think. This person is almost mad. But everyone
soothes this person. Everyone explains that it was absolutely necessary to
know how strong this person was. Oh, look, there’s the doctor who
prescribed the medicine that made this person temporarily blind. And the
man who paid this person two thousand dollars to have sex with him three
times when this person was very broke. Both of these men are in
attendance, they seem to know each other. They both have little medals
that they are pinning on this person; they are badges of great honor and
strength. The badges sparkle in the sunlight, and everyone cheers.
This person suddenly feels the need to check her post office box. It is an
old habit, and even if everything is going to be terrific from now on,
this person still wants mail. This person says she will be right back and
everyone this person has ever known says, Fine, take your time. This
person gets in her car and drives to the post office and opens the box and
there is nothing. Even though it is a Tuesday, which is famously a good
day for mail. This person is so disappointed, this person gets back in the
car and, having completely forgotten about the picnic, drives home and
checks the voice mail and there are no new messages, just the old one
about “passing the test” and “life being better.” There are no e-mails,
either, probably because everyone is at the picnic. This person can’t seem
to go back to the picnic. This person realizes that staying home means
blowing off everyone this person has ever known. But the desire to stay in
is very strong. This person wants to run a bath and then read in bed.
In the bathtub this person pushes the bubbles around and listens to the
sound of millions of them popping at once. It almost makes one smooth
sound instead of many tiny sounds. This person’s breasts barely jut out of
the water. This person pushes the bubbles onto the breasts and makes weird
shapes with the foam. By now everyone must have realized that this person
is not coming back to the picnic. Everyone was wrong; this person is not
who they thought this person was. This person plunges underwater and moves
her hair around like a sea anemone. This person can stay underwater for an
impressively long time but only in a bathtub. This person wonders if there
will ever be an Olympic contest for holding your breath under bathwater.
If there were such a contest, this person would surely win it. An Olympic
medal might redeem this person in the eyes of everyone this person has
ever known. But no such contest exists, so there will be no redeeming.
This person mourns the fact that she has ruined her one chance to be loved
by everyone; as this person climbs into bed, the weight of this tragedy
seems to bear down upon this person’s chest. And it is a comforting
weight, almost human in heft. This person sighs. This person’s eyes begin
to close, this person sleeps.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from No One Belongs Here More Than You
by Miranda July
Copyright © 2007 by Miranda July.
Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Scribner
Copyright © 2007
Miranda July
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-7432-9939-8
