“You Are Not Supposed To Be… Me.”
Today is the day Aduragbemi would change her life, for real. Her friend — we’ll call her MJ— had invited her for a girls’ night out a week ago— just the two of them bar hopping and draining shots of vodka and tequila (MJ) and chapman (Aduragbemi) before going to sing their hearts out at this doozy underground karaoke place MJ had found. Of course food would be involved, what’s a night out without a hearty meal? Aduragbemi was put in charge of sourcing for cool and affordable restaurants for them to eat in as they laugh over old jokes and stories. It is going to be just as Aduragbemi had pictured spending her late evenings in her late twenties.
And it is such a perfect day to make life changing decisions. The weather is warm and friendly, not as boiling as it was exactly two days ago. She spent her morning eating noodles and sausages and eggs with fried pork rinds on the side and a huge glass of iced fruit drink—from Chi! She can now afford drinks from Chi! — as she scrolled mindlessly on YouTube. After doom-scrolling for two hours, she puts her phone down, puts on a fun indie record she stumbled upon at Sir Dees Records store a month ago and can’t seem to get enough of, and heads to the bedroom to pick her outfit for the evening…
Nope, just going to make another plate of noodles. Do you think it’s wise to add egg again? Well, I made fried eggs this morning so I’d just make soft boiled eggs now. You know, low cholesterol and all that.
Okay she’s not going to pick her outfit now but she will, eventually, because she’s going out. She has to because I know she can’t stand the thought of cancelling out on someone she spent the past week with planning for this totally fun girls’ night out. I’m sure that would almost be confrontational and the thought of confrontation makes her sick. So she’s good, we’re good. When her meal is ready, she sits in front of the television and queues two movies to watch — the fault in our stars and me before you. This is going to be a long afternoon.
The time is now 3:15pm and Aduragbemi is thirty minutes into the fault in our stars when MJ calls. This makes my heart skip a beat because I know they planned to leave by 5:30pm and Aduragbemi hasn’t even made a move to get up. Maybe she’s planning to run late though, she’s always late by default. So I wait for her to pick the call and tell a lie that she’s preparing, doing her nails, cleaning up, anything but instead, I watch in horror as she watches the phone ring and ring and ring. She’s not going to pick up. This is very bad. She continues watching the movie.
Your heart is beating so loud I can’t even hear what Augustus is saying.
“What? Why do you need to hear what Augustus is saying, for the hundredth time mind you, when you need to pick up your phone and hear what your friend has to say?”
Because I don’t plan on picking up.
“Okay, why?”
I don’t know.
I take in shaky breaths like I’m being drowned in the shallowest waters and trying my hardest to survive. This is definitely not the plan, this is not the story I thought about for days and painstakingly wrote an outline for. This is really not it. So I tell her, “I don’t want you to ruin this Aduragbemi. I have written the perfect story for you, you’re going to live this life that I can’t live and you will like it. You will enjoy it. It will be who you are, who I am not: Aduragbemi, the girl who is in the know about who she is. The girl who has nights out five days a week except Sundays because she needs the time for God and Tuesdays because she needs the time for herself. The girl who will rock crop tops and leather bottoms like she was fucking born in them…”
Um language. You never use the F word.
“And I was never meant to, you were, but look where we are now. And, I’m the writer here so just shut your mouth up. Like I was saying, you are not to call off outings, that’s my thing. I am the girl who backs off on parties every single time and you, the girl who plans them. The girl who has a lot of people to have fun with. Karaoke bars. Dark underground bars. House parties. Deafening loud clubs. Concerts. Theatre plays. Operas. Everything loud and chaotic was supposed to be your thing, your defining variables. You are not supposed to have social anxiety, a disgustingly low self-esteem, an overtly critical brain, and a vague sense of body dysmorphia. You are not supposed to be…me.”
Okay, that’s a lot. I sense self hatred, escapism, and anger in your words. Are you sure you’re okay? This seems to be more than a character gone wrong. Do you want to maybe sit and talk about it? I would even pause Augustus for you.
“Three things Aduragbemi. One, you’re not a fucking therapist so do not think of diagnosing me and trying to read meaning where there’s none. Two, Augustus isn’t even meant to be your thing! You are supposed to be interested in shows like Euphoria and Gossip Girl and shit not Augustus freaking Waters! Three, I wrote you into existence and I know you. You’re trying to deviate from the main issue at hand which is that you are not acting like I want you to!” I take in deep breaths, get up to connect her phone to the speaker and play calm relaxing sounds to ease the tension. Then I sit on the floor directly in front of her, yoga style, and take her hands into mine. I’m shaking visibly but I try to cover it up by telling her to look directly into my eyes. She does.
“There’s nothing that’s written that cannot be corrected Aduragbemi. So I will correct you. In this story, you’ll get up from this couch and put on that GRWM playlist on Spotify that I know you would love. You will pick when MJ calls again and apologize for missing her call. You’ll figure out which restaurant is cool and affo…never mind, in this story, you’re rich enough to go to the fanciest diner. You will take a shower, get dressed, do your makeup and hair and spray the magical perfume I will write into existence for you. You will walk with your head high and shoulders straight. You might even take a sip of tequila. You know what, you will throw tequila shots like it’s fucking basketball. You will be the ultimate peng ting, comfortable in your body and fully aware of your sensuality.”
“You will dance with MJ, dance with cute boys, dance with the DJ. You will be loud. You will take up space in the bar, club, restaurant, and wherever else MJ has in mind to take you to. You will sing offkey in karaoke with your full chest and you will not have one ounce of embarrassment or self consciousness. You will be the woman other women want to be secretly but criticize openly. You will be a menace and a worse-nightmare-slash-wet-dream material.” I grip her hands tightly, I can feel the atmosphere shifting as a new creation is taking place; I feel the pieces of her being finally slotting themselves into the right places, places I carefully made for her. I feel like a god, telling my masterpiece to be and to do. I shift closer to deliver more of my own Genesis-like speech.
“You will be bold Aduragbemi. You know what else I will write into existence for you? That you’re so freaking irresistible because you will be. You will have heart stopping kisses with men you met thirty minutes ago and men you’ve known for so long.” She pulls her hands out of my hands so fast like mine are filled with high current electricity.
Eww, no!
I am confused. No? “Okay, I’m liberal. You’ll kiss women?”
Definitely not.
“So who would you kiss?” I ask her with folded arms.
No one. I don’t like kissing. Do you know how disgusting it is to have someone’s saliva in your mouth? Think about the bacteria! Someone’s slimy tongue in my mouth should definitely not be a part of my story. In fact, no sexual activity should be in my story.
I am willing to negotiate. “Okay fine, no kissing and no sexual activity. But the other terms stand right?”
Yes.
She says that in a voice too small it sounds suspiciously familiar. I shake my head as if to wish the thought away and clap my hands. “Okay, call MJ and ask where to meet.” She does and I can hear MJ’s voice on the other end, droning on about the bars, the pictures they would take, the men she can’t wait to introduce to my character, she has even found a restaurant that is perfect (bless her party-going extroverted heart). I am excited to live through Aduragbemi, she is going to be my ticket to a life I am not privy to. I look down to hide my excited grin when I see her legs shaking and tapping, shaking and tapping. Signs I am very familiar with. I follow the trail to her hands and see them squeezing the pillow next to her on the couch. I look at her neck, the space near her throat beats so fast, an indication of the fast beat of her heart.
Before she even says:
MJ, I’m sorry but I can’t tonight.
I know she is going to cancel. She goes on:
That’s actually why I missed your call, I was throwing up bad. I have a terrible headache too. I’m very sorry, I didn’t mean to cancel.
MJ, the most understanding girl to walk the earth cooes and fusses over her, saying she would come tomorrow to see her. That she should take care, she would even get her souvenirs from the night out (because she is still very much going!) Aduragbemi hangs up and looks at me. We look at each other for a while as the realization that I have failed at creation, at mimicking God even, sinks in. The thought that my ticket to a life I am not privy to has been torn right before my eyes washes over me like ice cold water. She is everything I am and even worse.
I stand up, dust my clothes, and say, “well that went fucking well” before heading to my laptop to click twice on a piece of the words that brought her into existence. I look at her once more before clicking on “select all” and finally, with a defeated sigh, “delete”.
