coley snowspire | d10 fin

Not again.

Are you okay, Coley?

There's nothing I hate more than having to answer that question, yet it's the one I put myself in the position to be asked every day. They say I've got a look about me, where the eyebrow raises and the skin on my forehead bunches up. My bottom lip burrows inward and my posture's slanted. The last thing someone wants to be asked is "are you okay." Do you really want to know the answer to that question, or are you just saying it to check it off your list like a chore?

Coley, you're so insecure! Lighten up! Everything's fine, you're fine.

The people around here have good intentions when they say these things. In some ways, they have to mean it because there's too much at stake to be dishonest. But every time they say it, every time they're "just checking in," I patch my face up to a smile and pitch a candle underneath my eyes. "Yes, I'm okay. I know, I'm trying not to be so insecure. You're right, everything's fine."

It's a win-win for both of us, really. You feel better and mind your own business until next time. As for me, I'm left in whatever-the-hell-content-is land in the powerhouse of my cell, the labyrinth of my mind.

People aren't too fond of the Coley they see offstage. They'll do what they need to in order to keep me upright, sure, but that's the extent of the social contract we've made with one another. Coley's a man with no texture, no style, no aesthetic, and no brand. I mean, this is me we're talking about; I don't have any game either.

That's why I put on the mask.

I play the Marksman, a man who only needs one masterful shot to save the girl. I play Whiplash, a vigilante cowboy on his way to stake justice in the heart with the slap of a whip and a wad of spit in a bucket. I'm the Fool who inserts chaos and franticness into someone's life involuntarily. I'm the Third, a jealous man who tears two lovers apart because if I can't have love nobody can. I am Bones, a Halloween special character who haunts fellow students within the academy (ignore Alain's camera set up inconspicuously on your dresser.)

They can't judge me if I'm never really here.

Marksman plays with a bravado and Whiplash plays the brooding loner. The viewers admire them.

The Fool is the one who got his big toe stuck in the water hose pipe. People think he's a dumbass.

The Third is a homewrecker. Most people hate him.

And Bones? Well, people hate him when he rattles around and scares the shit out of people (sorry, Lovie.)

Love them or hate them, people's feelings are projected onto the character, not me. Even if I look stupid or horrible or make a fool of myself, I can take the momentary degradation. I mean, I have to tell myself that if I want any shot at coping.

I act as much as possible. I can change my mannerisms, my tone, and my actions in such a way that one might as well forget Coley exists. My curly hair can get hidden underneath a hat or straightened away, I can get two dabs of contacts in my eyes. Who needs Coley when they can have his characters and all their schticks? It's a win for them: they don't need to ask if I'm okay or give plastered words of encouragement to make me feel better. And on my end, I can die one day knowing that the only person working on the project of Coley is me. No one else deserves a failing grade because their partner, who was meant to look after the baking soda volcano science fair project, let it all fall to pieces before it could make its way to Judgment Day.

My very being is a patchwork, a potato doll that you can paint on and wash off, stick on whatever limbs or features you need at the time, then sit back and enjoy. It's a performance, after all. Comedy or tragedy, it doesn't matter, we're all withering behind the facade.

And don't cry. Don't you dare feel bad when you read this. I'm not a problem for you to pity and write about in your diary. There are good things, too. Good people.

…

You want a particular name? Don't believe me when I say I'm capable of letting at least someone in, do you? Fine. Alain. He's my buddy, partner in crime. He mostly just stares into the camera, but on occasion, I can see the whites of his teeth peak through and his eyes flash a wink. He plays along and does enough to keep me as calm as I need to be. We have our momentary "break-ups" of our partnership but mend it back on track once we both recognize that we need each other to survive. Someday we'll cross that bridge and maybe more… someday.