“Character Sketch of Self”

01-24-2008

I hate beginnings. Beginnings mean awkward eye contact that flees and hides without ever properly meeting, maybe a brief handshake that quickly retreats to the safety of an allied pocket rather than cross enemy lines, and a mumble of “I’m such and so, pleased to meet you” before running out of things to day. Beginnings mean a time of nerves and awkward shufflings, and that pivotal moment where Who You Really Are chickens out and locks itself in a closet. Beginnings mean the eventuality of an ending. I prefer to do things in the comfortable, never-ending middle, a place where pointless handshakes are replaced with hugs and high-fives, and “hey” can be used in place of any other word in the English language (and four in Spanish).

Even more than this, I hate introductions. Some people, myself possibly included, believe that the giving of one’s true name gives power over the true self. While this is probably not the reason, I do know that I hate giving my name. It’s said that a lot can be told about a person based on their name... all that my name tells about me if that my parents are about as creative as a brick, or at least 98 percent of all the other parents with daughters my age. Every time I meet someone new, I am tempted to fabricate a new and increasingly fantastical name, just so that for once in my life someone might comment that they’ve never met someone of that name before, or at least ask me how to spell it. “Hi, nice to meet you. I’m Zanzibar Marie Xzulia. Lovely weather we’re having.” Or at least that my name had any sort of recognizable diminuative. I suppose the most shortening that can be done with ‘Sarah’ is just to drop all the vestigial letters and cavort about calling yourself ‘Ssss.’

I am my own favorite character to write stories about. Somehow, I never cease to amaze myself with all I can rewrite myself as having done.

(WIP)