The Innocence of a Book [FRANKIE SAYS…]

Frankie says… Try to pretend every now and then. I heard this author speaking about her most recent book on NPR the other day. She was saying how her four main characters were so different, but were all really just pieces of her. I envied her ability to make things up, her obvious grasp on fiction – something I’ve never had when it comes to writing, nor in life for that matter. I’m horrible at making things up, pretending I like people, masking my emotions. If I could just master that art of fiction, of make-believe and pretend, I do believe my life would be a lot easier… like when I was a child. As a kid, I could read for hours, fictional tale upon fictional tale. And then I’d imagine myself as those characters – be it the damsel in distress or the charming go-getter busy bee. Now, I can’t even read fiction let alone pretend I’m part of it. And that’s sad. Really, it is. Why do we lose that ability to mimic our deepest and most secret desires? I know that sounds like some soupy and metaphysical, stick-a-pipe-in-your-mouth kind of question, but it’s really been bothering me lately. This loss of innocence is weird, really. As we grow, we tend to think of how we gain things – boobs, bodily hair, money, wisdom, and many more things. There aren’t too many things that we lose, and by far the biggest of them is this ability to believe in fiction. I’m not talking about the ability to believe in Santa Clause or the Tooth Fairy, I’m talking about the ability to suspend our non-fiction lives for a few moments to enjoy, say, a fictional story from a book. I think the only...

The Time I Got Beat Up A Little [Single White Nerd]

When I was about 12, some kids in my neighborhood beat me up a little.  I’d been taking the same route to and from school for three years–subway, bus, walking.  I’d gotten used to seeing the same faces every day, a comforting routine.  These kids were new faces.  And they beat me up a little. I remember seeing them on the other side of the street as we waited for the light to turn.  There were six of them, pushing each other, horsing around. I saw them see me. Their heads moved closer together, they pointed at me.  My heart started beating a little faster.  Despite the fact that my neighborhood wasn’t the greatest, I’d never had trouble before.  This looked like trouble.  I could have turned around or crossed the other way.  But then the kids would know I was scared and would either pursue or, maybe worse, make fun of me.  Besides, this was my neighborhood and I had just as much right to cross the street as they did. So when the light changed, I crossed, moving towards them with as elaborately casual a gait as I could muster. When we got within hailing distance of each other, I made eye contact with one of the kids and gave a little head nod.  “What’s u–” A fist slammed into my stomach and I lost my air.  Someone pushed me back.  An open palm smacked the side of my head.  A flurry of punches hit my back and chest.  The kids laughed, called me a little girl, jostled me back towards the sidewalk. Then, just as quickly, it was over.  A trickle of blood ran from my nose.  I had the urge to run after the guys and unload a six pack...