It was a heady feeling. No longer the tall, enigmatic figure hovering on the fringes, I was now an irrefutable part of the jet set,
I obliterated the maddening whimpers of my soul by spending increasing amounts of time in the friendship of women whose busy chatter could have drowned out a thunderstorm. It was the path of least resistance
W
hen I enter a room people notice. I am poised tastefully dressed and never without a mask of flawlessly applied makeup. This description slips off my tongue so naturally you wouldn’t dream that until not so long ago I considered myself a loser. But few ever realized how deep were the fault lines beneath the glossy surface.
I entered marriage weighed down by the falling bricks of a dysfunctional childhood. Throughout my teens I was an amorphous shadow flitting through my home. While my parents engaged in round after round of mutual recriminations sulks and sarcastic retorts I slunk noiselessly through the growing chasm of their marriage. Cloaked in invisibility I barely knew who I was or what I stood for.
I found some sort of answer by aligning myself with the cool crowd in high school. It wasn’t hard to tag along and gain a reputation for coolness by association. I’ve been blessed with good looks and my sophisticated set made sure I knew exactly how to make the most of them. Looking good became my ticket to society and an inviolable one at that.
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