So I am

Sometimes I don't realize things about myself until other people point them out. Oblivious to myself, but extremely aware of you, your scent, your odd behaviors and terrible spelling. I'm very much a type of person with my head in the clouds, thinking about some awesomely strung together words I'll later forget about before I have a chance to write them down, and/or creating relationship fantasies with the babe-a-sauruses sitting across from me on the EL or passing me on the street that I won't even say "hello" to or look at directly.

Occasionally I'll come to conclusions on my own, like when I'm happy I look happy, or when I'm sad I look sad; I wear my heart on my face. (Why on your sleeve? I don't like this reference. I don't spend time looking at peoples' sleeves, unless they're covered with colorful tattoos or if a bird just shat on them.) But usually, I'll just hum along completely unaware until someone says something.

The most recent occurrence was when I was hanging out with my step dad's neurologist in my hometown. He's an Indian from India. I love India! LOVE IT! A few months back at one of my step dad's appointments, the doc told my parents he had just returned from India. "India? Really? My daughter went to India and she loved it." The doc said he wanted to meet me. My mother told me all this and I groaned at the thought of her trying to set me up with any available man she might meet. "He's skinny though, Kate. He's really skinny. But he likes yoga, and he's from India, and he wants to meet you!" I told my mom we would see.

June came around and I was back home, and my step dad just happened to have an appointment my fourth day in town. I went along for the ride. The appointment seemed less focused on my step dad, and more focused on me. I was embarrassed. This is a set-up, I kept thinking the whole time. I don't want to be here anymore. I never should've come. My mother was smiling with visions of grandchildren dancing in her head. It didn't help matters that he asked me to coffee, which seemed harmless enough, although in front of my parents it again made me feel awkward. He wrote down his number and email and said "Tomorrow. Starbuck's at 6pm," with the slightest head wobble.

My mom asked me what happened as we were walking to the car. "What do you mean 'what happened?'" She explained that she couldn't understand him most of the time and was impressed that I was able to have such a long conversation with him. I told her I was meeting him for coffee the next night, and she beamed and got that glossy look in her eyes once more.

He stood me up at Starbuck's. I waited for 15 minutes and then I called him. I shouldn't of called him, I didn't really want to do any of this. He couldn't hear me, so I had to leave the Starbuck's to talk because I was shouting and the people trying to read their Kindles scowled at me. Wednesday we decided. I would go over to his house the next night.

When I arrived he was excited, and I was sweating because NW Missouri heat and humidity is enough to kill a cat. We talked about where he was from and his story in coming to America, and he was happy that I knew places that he was talking about and that I had lived abroad. He smiled and told me it was always nice to meet an international. I laughed because I didn't consider myself as one, but he assured me I was, and then told me I didn't belong in America. So he took me up real high and then he pushed me off the platform. It wasn't intended as an insult, but being an international, one would assume that they belong everywhere... and also nowhere. It's lonely.

Needless to say, things didn't work out between the doc and I. He started monopolizing all of my time and for a couple days I let him because it was nice to drive my mom's car alone and away from my parents' house and applying for jobs, but then it seemed like he wanted to be more than friends and this confused me. And then he started sending me poetic reflections via text and since I was on a prepaid plan I put everything to a stop - and when I say that I really mean that I just stopped responding to his texts after the first one and told him I was too busy to see him (I'm a terrible person, but I've known that for a while). That has nothing really to do with the rest of the story, but it does at the same time; there's closure for you there.

The first time I recall someone pointing out something true about myself was when I was a freshman at DePaul University. I lived in a communal dorm hall, and we were all friends, or we pretended to be. One of my roommate's boyfriend was coming in town, and the other one was out of town, so I was to find another place to sleep for the weekend. I ended up taking my friend Jen's bed because she was spending the weekend in the suburbs with her boyfriend.

I went to sleep with no one in the room, and I woke up to see a large lump in Stacey's bed, but two voices talking. "Good morning!"s were exchanged and then a man propped himself up behind Stacey. He said, "Oh! It's a woman." And again I laughed. A woman? I was 18. I was wearing my retainer and had to wear glasses to see 10 feet in front of me. If anything I was a dork, but this guy said I was a woman, and not a girl. All that day I walked around with birds singing on my shoulders and flowers blooming in my wake. No longer a Disney princess, but well on my way to becoming a queen.

There have been other instances of people telling me what I am, but they're not appropriate to share in this forum, so we'll leave each other knowing that I am an international woman of mystery, and you're amazing and probably bored - or were bored, but now you're enlivened by the entertainment I've provided. And so we are.