Scrappy Little Nobody

Saying other kids were mean felt like I was saying I was more kind, which definitely wasn’t it—more anxious maybe, more sensitive. I guess all I was feeling was that I was different.

he’s just not that interesting
The summer I turned twenty-one I dated a musician named Connor. Well, I thought he was a musician and that we were dating. He thought he was a screenwriter who occasionally played music and that we were “hooking up and not labeling things because labels cause drama.” He was twenty-eight and something of an introvert. I took this to mean that he was deep and artistic and probably judged me for talking as much as I do. Once we broke up I realized

vinced?”

He chose his words carefully. “Okay, it’s just that the chase is kind of gone. It’s kind of a turnoff.”

Huh, I thought, I wonder how much therapy I’ll need to undo the damage from this moment.

The origin of his logic had taken a turn, but I couldn’t even be bothered to point it out. The behavior that I’d thought was adventurous, and awesome, and earning me girlfriend-of-the-damn-century points was making him lose interest in fucking me because I seemed too . . . available? Three months ago I

quality. Something new was there. Haphazardly written in some kind of Magic Marker were the words Mary D is a jerk. In fact, as my eyes began to adjust, I saw that hastily scrawled insults about almost every girl in our group now adorned The Wall. Based on the manner in which I’d been summoned to this meeting, I knew what was coming.

I tried to protest. I didn’t do it! I was their friend! I mean, “Mary D is a jerk”? “Amanda sucks”? Why would I write a bunch of mean stuff about my

of me now in a way that my six-year-old self couldn’t have foreseen. I’ve never been able to muster the righteous indignation of my elementary school years.

Back at school, I tried to embrace the smallest things in every category. Favorite instrument in the orchestra? The piccolo. Favorite mammal? The shrew. Favorite country? Monaco. And my favorite planet? Pluto. (Screw you, Neil deGrasse Tyson.)

Always being the smallest also gave me a specific role in life; it gave me an identity. Lining up by height? Excuse me while I

And YET, I always think, This is my year. This year I’m going to get my shit SO together that I’ll always be able to see the solution to my problems. I’m going to get it so together that I’ll never have to “get it together” again.

Once the sun has been down for a couple hours the Christmas season is technically upon us and it’s time for the first Harry Potter marathon of the year, starting with film number three (because, obviously) and ending with film five, when the filthy casuals are allowed to go home. The hard-cores can sleep at my place and in the morning we will finish films six, seven, and seven-but-where-stuff-happens.

People need escape and fantasy at every age.