Myself - Chapter 3 - Part XVIII

Awkward pause.

“Well,” I said, “I’d love to continue this chat, but I have some work to do.”

“You can’t lie to yourself, Bernie,” Emily said.

“You don’t have any work,” followed Bugsy. “I know it, you know it, she knows it.” Emily nodded.

“Ooh, ooh, as long as we’re just sitting here, not doing anything, can you get me paper and a pen?” Emily asked. “Something just popped into my mind.”

“Why can’t you get that?”

“I’m from the nineteenth century. Chivalry is still the law of the land.”

“Are you nuts?”

She went and fetched herself what she wanted, came back, and immediately began writing furiously. Bugsy and I watched excitedly. We were watching a famous artist at work. She looked at her page, crossed something out, scribbled in something, over and over.

“Drawing up football plays there?” Bugsy said.

“Ssshhh,” she said, focused on what she was doing. “Quick—what rhymes with ‘fatality’?” We thought for a second, but she immediately said, “Forget it, never mind. It doesn’t need to rhyme.”

“Oh, come on! It’s got to rhyme! All good poetry rhymes!”

“Don’t you get it? That’s the joke.”

“I’m sure the English professors of the world think you’re a riot.”

“No, they don’t get it. They think I’m all serious and shit.”

Myself - Addendum for Matt III

The snakes had mischief on their minds. Unfortunately, the agents in black didn't realize that it was a full moon.

malcolm

is anyone a little upset that theres no more new episodes of malcolm in the middle? it was a good show dont u agree? i guess the cast had to move on, o well.

Myself - Chapter three - Part XVII

Inside the house, Emily and sat down in the living room, and Bugsy went into another room to call Helen. The two of us sat looking at each other.

“So…” she said. “How did—Bugsy, is it?—how did Bugsy reveal himself to you?”

“He abducted me from my room at presumed knifepoint.”

“Hmm… that’s… creative… thought not particularly nice.”

“What would you have done if it were you?”

She thought for a moment. “I would have drifted into your bedroom, and hovered around you without talking at all, like a ghost.”

I was impressed. We sat without having anything to say for some time.

I broke the silence. “I have to say, I don’t really ‘get’ your poetry.”

“Oh, it all has to do with society’s oppression of the African American and his struggle to succeed despite institutional racism pervading his world.”

I look at her in shock. I had never seen that in her poetry.

“Oh, wait, I’m sorry. That’s LANGSTON HUGHES. I’m EMILY DICKINSON. My poems are about death, you idiot.”

She was me, alright.

Bugsy walked in. “Helen’s not doing anything tomorrow. Think you can hold over until then?”

“It’s not like I have a broken arm that needs to be set,” Emily said.

“No, you’re a girl,” I said, smirking. “You need help ASAP.”

Bugsy sat down. He looked at me, then he looked at Emily. “Emmy,” he said, “I have to say, I don’t really ‘get’ your poetry.”

She lit up. “What IS it with you? You are me, so shouldn’t you understand it? Is it the 19^th century language? It’s not that complex? Or are guys just too dense to get it?” She was fuming.

I leaned over to Bugsy and whispered, “It’s about death.”

“Ohhh…” he responded.

Note about "Myself"

I really enjoy writing roman numerals.

Myself - Addendum for Matt II

Six men wearing black jumped out of the van. They were holding snakes.

Myself - Chapter three - Part XVI

“I know just the thing to do,” I said. “You should get in touch with Helen,” I said.

“That’s a good idea,” I responded. “She’s helpful and is pretty unfazed by crazy things like this. Remember in high school when someone accidentally put a frog in her locker?”

“How do you accidentally put a frog in someone’s locker?”

“I believe it was put in the wrong locker.”

“I’ll give her a call.”

“What are we going to call you?” I asked her.

“I don’t know,” she said. She looked at Bugsy. “What name are you going by?”

“Either PM Bernie, or Bugsy. Generally, Bugsy. It’s a long story.”

“I have heard Bernie used as a female name, like Bernice,” she said. “But that’s a bit… I don’t know.” She paused for a moment to think. “Well, I am Emily Dickinson…”

“We’ll call you Emmy,” Bugsy said.

“Aw, I kind of liked Emily,” she said.

“Whoa, Em,” I said, “you realize you’re not in Amherst?”

“DON’T REMIND ME.”

We stood silently for a minute. Finally, we went inside.

i was just told that a junior license in jersey is called a cinderella license- as in you gotta be home for midnight. i just think its really funny that that is the official name dont u?

Myself - Addendum for Matt

Just then, a black van pulled up.

Myself - Chapter three - Part XV

“Hi,” she stuck out her hand. “I’m nobody. Who are you?”

I looked at her, a bit perplexed.

“I’m just kidding you. ‘I’m nobody, who are you, are you nobody too?’”

I pulled Bugsy aside. “Holy crap. She is me. And she is Emily Dickinson. And she’s a nut!”

We turned back to her. “How long have you been here?”

“Like, here on the doorstep, or like here in existence?”

“Why don’t you take us through your day?” Bugsy said.

“Okay,” she said, looking excited. “I woke up on the floor in the front hall, which was perfectly strange—”

“I woke up on the sofa,” Bugsy interrupted.

“Oh, so you’re the double. I was wondering which one of you it was. When I first saw two of you coming, I was a little surprised, but I guess it makes as much sense as I do. I assumed it was you,” she pointed at me, “because of the hair. It looks like it was sort of combed or something. I mean, look at my hair. It’s as straight as yours is curly. That’s weird. Anyway, I woke up on the floor, and I knew something felt different. I got up and walked to the bathroom, looked in the mirror, and promptly fainted. I’d never fainted before. When I came to, I heard my voice… your voice… and then the front door shut close. At that point, I didn’t dare try going out in public or talking to anyone I knew. I look like a 19^th century reenactor! I woke up wearing this dress! Anyway, I knew you were meeting Molly, so I thought I’d wait here until—oh my goodness, how was the meeting with Molly?”

Bugsy and I looked at each other, unsure of what to tell her. But we knew—she was me. “It went very well,” I said, nodding to tell her what I meant.

She stood still for a moment comprehending this. I had a feeling she didn’t exactly know what to personally make of it.

“Anyway,” she jumped right back in, “so I decided I’d just sit around waiting for you to come back. So I sat around thinking about myself. There are a few conclusions I came up with. First off, I’m not Bernie trapped in a woman’s body. I’m Bernie as a woman. There’s a difference. Nothing feels wrong… just different. But… my goodness, I know nothing about the practicalities of being a girl. Like what to wear… or what shampoo to use on rainy days!”

There's something sexist about this...

...but I can't quite put my finger on it.

Myself - Chapter two - Part XIV

“That didn’t go badly,” I said to myself as we were walking home from the train station.

“Ah, requited love!”

“Well, she could have just been referring to your hair, in that context.”

“But she said, ‘I love you too. That means she loves me the same way I love her!”

Our conversation was interrupted as we approached our house. Someone was sitting on the doorstep. We started walking slower.

It was a woman. She was wearing a white dress. She appeared, from the distance, to be no older than I. A few steps closer, and

It was me.

“She’s beautiful,” I said.

“Your years of habitual undereating have finally paid off.”

She noticed us and stood up. We arrived at the door.

“You’re…”

“I’m you. As a woman.” Her voice was soft.

Sure, this was unexpected. Me as a girl. A woman. On a normal day, that would have been enough. But there was something else. Something else to her. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. I looked at her. We all stood there, silently, for a few minutes. I continued looking at her. She was me, all right, but there was something else. I looked up at her.

“You’re…”

“I’m Emily Dickinson.”

END OF CHAPTER TWO

Typewriters II

Here be the rest of the typewriter pictures. All can be seen in higher resolution form here.

Typewriters I

This is a first bunch of a set of pictures of my neighbor Caroline Hudnut (who will now find this if she googles herself). These were taken in the basement of my dorm. These four will be displayed at Vassar in this particular order. Larger versions will be online on their own page soon, as will another bunch.

Myself - Chapter two - Part XIII

“Give me your clothes. You can’t handle this,” I said.

Bugsy knew I was right, and began taking his shirt off.

We swapped clothes quickly and I got ready to go back out. As I was about to open the door, Bugsy said, “sitting there, watching yourself… you weren’t just as nervous, and excited, and anxious as I was?”

I looked at Bugsy. “I wasn’t talking to her.”

“Well, you are now. Give me your hat.”

I walked back out and sat down with Molly.

“Geez,” I said, “I am NOT used to caffeine!”

“I thought you got hot chocolate,” she said. Oops.

“So did I.” Nice save.

“So… So how long have you felt this way about me?”

“Forever.”

“Oh, Bernie, you should have said something! You know I’ve always liked you!”

Then why didn’t you ever say anything to me? I was smart enough not to ask that. I just raised my eyebrows a little.

She smiled. “So you love me.”

“I don’t not love you.”

After a chuckle she said, “I gotta say, since you went to the bathroom, it’s been like a whole different you.” I heard a gagging sound behind me. “Did you… did you comb your hair in there?”

OOPS. “Uh, no, why?”

“Well, it looks like you tried to comb your hair, but failed miserably… Knowing you, I would have guessed it was the first time you ever touched a comb. It also kind of looks like it was messed up with a hat, but that would also be the first time you ever wore a hat.” A pause. “Of course, this is the first time you ever said you loved me.”

At that point, her cell phone rang. “Hello?...Oh, hi…yeah…But I’m doing something right now…OH REALLY?...Where is it?... Let me call you back…Okay…Okay…Bye.”

I took a sip of hot chocolate.

“That was Suzy,” she said. “Catherine Daren is signing books at Boundaries.”

“She wrote… that book.” I’d heard the name before, but I was struggling. “Oh! Yeah! That book about a girl who learns a valuable life lesson when she runs away from home and raises alpacas on a farm!” Thank you NPR and your uninteresting book reviews!

“You should read it. It changed my life.” She looked at her watch.

“When do you go back to school?” I asked.

“On Tuesday… we should probably meet again if, you know, you love me and all.”

“Sounds good. Call me later, we’ll figure out when to meet.”

Molly stood up and took her purse. She stopped for a moment and looked at me. “I love you too. Don’t ever try to comb your hair.” And with that, she was out of the door.

Myself - Chapter two - Part XII

I realized, watching from a distance, that the conversation wasn’t going to escape small talk. That wasn’t good.

“I do miss high school, though,” she said. Jackpot! Substantive conversation!

“Yeah, me too.” NOOO! SAY SOMETHING WORTH SOMETHING! “I was in a history class, the teacher was a little boring, and I was thinking, I wish Mr. DiNardi were teaching me this!” Okay, that’s good. Good Bernie.

“Oh, yeah, I’ve the same thing. And sometimes in math, I’m like, gee, I wish Bernie were here writing some story about partial derivatives fighting with each other.”

Suddenly, behind her, there was a sound of a loud crash. Someone had dropped a coffee mug on the floor. Commotion ensued. Molly turned around to see what was going on.

I saw my opportunity. I couldn’t say certain things while talking to her; I just wasn’t capable. But as someone observing the conversation from a distance, my brain wasn’t in dumb-frozen mode. I snuck up behind myself, paused for a moment, and then softly said, “I love you.” I then turned around immediately and scooted back to where I had been sitting.

Molly turned back to me. I was petrified.

“Did you just say…” I absolutely couldn’t read her face. Curiosity? Shock? Horror? Joy and rapture?

“I said-”

“You just said you loved me!”

There was an awkward moment of silence. It was my turn to say something, but I was speechless.

“Bernie,” she said, “why didn’t you say this to me before? Back when we went to the same school and lived in the same state?”

I was completely frozen. I looked like I’d just been removed from a freezer where I spent the last month of my life. I was looking at her as if to say, “Don’t hurt me!”

Although I was staring at her, I wasn’t actually looking at her. Had I been, I would have seen a big smile on her face.

“Bernie!” she said. “Bernie! Understand that you’re entirely crazy to tell a girl you haven’t talked to for almost a year, out of nowhere, that you love her, but… but you lucked out, and… Bernie! Are you okay?”

For a moment, I was concerned that the world had just gone back to having one Bernie, as it appeared that Bugsy had stopped breathing. Talk about romantic. That was enough for me. I got up from my seat, walked to the other side of their table, behind Molly, and tried to attract my own attention. I waved my arms a little, and made eye contact. I then pointed wildly at the bathroom.

Bugsy finally spoke up. “I, uh, I think I’m telling myself that I need to go to the bathroom.” I banged my head against the wall. A bewildered Molly looked at me as I hobbled to the bathroom. I met me inside.

“What the hell???” Bugsy said.

I locked the door. “Give me your clothes.”

“Are you mugging me?”

so theres someone in my econ class named Yu Sun and my teacher just realized what her name could mean.
quote from my econ teacher: "hey (pointing to her) Yu Sun, me rain!"