Second People - by Regina Moon

"It turned out so much better in my head"...The calmness of my steps towards my apartment was nothing compared to the storm I felt inside. What do you know? I had become an even more excellent actor. Good enough that nobody could tell that my smile existed only to keep the tears from falling. But there’s no audience behind your own doors. I didn't know why I felt so restless and aching inside, like I wanted nothing more than to strangle myself from three weeks ago to death because she let him in. No, it's not a boy… it’s not about money either. He’s an old friend, that motivator who had encouraged her to stop being a passive observer of her life and instead be an active participant. So, let's call him hope. The bridge between us and someone we’d love to meet in the next… ten years or more. We all have that person living in our heads: the Second Person. You know, they hold the goals, the dreams. Capable of being so much that we aren't, Second Persons always have the tendency to have very dramatic lives, being brought up in a surrounding that is beyond the control of circumstances that would tie us down in real life. Mine had always been extraordinary and a bit bizarre, to be honest. She could walk into a room and capture your attention by just speaking. She’s great at football and could play without caring who was watching. My Second Person has the willpower to power through adversity in a way that stuns the world. She also happens to be special enough to be a main character in everyone’s story. Somewhere, she had already recorded hundreds of motivational conversations on a YouTube channel that existed only in my imagination. She was also a computer genius and could solve problems I don’t understand, inspiring enough to be some eleven-year-old's role model. And when Hope had offered a chance for her to become real, how could I refuse? I signed a contract three weeks ago with Reality. It is to be the way for the formation of my brainchild. Making progress and having the courage to do this feels amazing. But what IS "progress"? Does seeing the opposite version of my second person count? That does deserve a thought, because what reality fails to mention about our little world generally is that things don’t just happen because we want them to. Because we simply dreamt that they would. You are allowed to dream, being your own creator and director of the script of your Second Person. But waking up, everything that surrounds you is directed by things outside your control. If you are brave enough to persist and get yourself a contract to bring your Second Person to actualization, Reality is that director that picks at your script. It’s terrifying…to see how different Second Persons are when they seek expression. Reality edits scenes you wanted to keep and writes for others you never asked for. Our brainchild is tossed, torn apart in a million pieces, added to, tempted, withered, and, with some parts, forced. It is on these bases that I cry. For I recognize neither myself nor my Second Person as edited by Reality, with no idea of where to go or of who to be. I feel pathetic for trying and stupid for thinking it could ever be possible to be as I've always wanted to be. Live as who I've always wanted to be. After all, I'm just ME. I can barely hold a conversation with anyone, as my brain can’t cook up anything to talk about. I feel pathetic for trying. I’m not a tomboy and only ever had to chase after a ball with no insecurity or embarrassment at the age of eleven. Willpower in adversity? I can barely obey my own commands to get off the bed when I crawl under the sheets half the day. I’ve learned the hard way that people choose their own main characters for their stories. YouTube? Seriously? I can’t even get a picture into my WhatsApp DP. Some computer genius who won’t take her coding lessons seriously… Yet. … I stir as I feel the warmth of the sun touch my face. My eyes hurt to look; they burn to wake up to my miserable life, and yet they blur with tears. Because I think of how much she’s counting on me. Reggie from three weeks ago. Reggie before then, Reggie at nine with the loud comments about all she was going to be and more. I sit up, rubbing my eyes as I wrap my arms around myself. Things felt the same, like they mocked me for even trying…and yet for stopping. Because the question is, "So, what now?” Things always turn out better in our heads than they do in real life. Within, you’re the writer. The editor. The director. Every scene bends to your intention. Reality is a far more stubborn collaborator. It takes the ending you imagined in a single afternoon and stretches it across twelve years. And that bothered me. Because in this time, so many things have to change. And that change is not predictable. It doesn’t guarantee us the safety we included in our script. It’s painful feeling fake because you try so hard and see almost nothing change… I could give up… I sniffed, closing my eyes. And opened them again. “No…you can’t sleep. It's hard, but don't." Because it turns out that the aim isn’t to bring Second Persons to life. It’s more along the lines of becoming someone who is capable of expressing the life of your Second Person in a world outside your mind. If you stay awake long enough, you may still get your happy ending. It won’t look the way you rehearsed it. It won’t arrive when you scheduled it. But it will be real. And finally, it will be yours.

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