#196

"you told me to think about my early twenties. all the places that my life revolved around; the people. and my memories feel like i'm reading a book, like it's far away and the writer is searching for a way to draw me in, so i can identify."
he scrawled a few notes. "do you? can you feel a personal connection?"
"i'm skeptical at first. will this character turn on me, break my heart? maybe she's not trustworthy, or she's waiting for the right moment to pounce."
"she is you. you can know her motives."
she shifted. "no. i can't. it's like watching a movie, and she looks like me. i can see her from any angle i put the camera. but cameras don't go inside. not in here." she placed a finger to her temple. a palm across her chest. "but those familiar lpaces. every detail makes them feel closer to home, closer to now. there she is, in my mind, the first week of classes, crying alone on campus after hearing of her old schoolteacher's death. months later, overwhelmed by the brashness of overstimulated delta sigs."
"is that how you feel now? is this where you identify with her?"
"beyond all that, all those scenes, i see a girl who handled it all with grace and clarity and maturity. i look at where i am now and it still feels like a book. but now? it's like a first draft written by a first year, middle-aged ESL student. i am choppy and hazy and on the second read-though, the author herself can't remember the meaning behind the third paragraph."