When I was a kid, me and my friend would prank call people for hours and hours. In fact we started prank calling one of our friends. Let’s call the girl we called on the phone, Samantha. We told Samantha that my name was Erica. I was the one talking in a weird Mid-western accent I made up. I told Samantha that I wanted to be her friend.
I would make up facts about this character Erica, all in hopes of eventually torturing Samantha. Samantha began to befriend this Erica and would wait for our random phone calls. My friend would sit on another phone and listen to the entire conversation. This was before Caller-ID.
Then Samantha started opening her heart, and Erica started to be mean. I don’t know what possessed me to be mean to the girl, but I did it with all my might. I never really thought of myself as a “Mean Girl” until just now. Samantha cried on the phone and Erica told her to stop being such a baby.
Why? What posses a girl who wasn’t very popular and pretty insecure, to be mean to another girl. Why are girls mean to each other? Was I just another girl? A girl with a mean streak.
We are all capable of some kind of evil, especially I think when we are children. My friend thought it was hilarious that I was taunting this girl. What exactly does the word hilarious mean? Why is it funny to be mean?
Eventually Erica told Samantha it was over, she would not be her friend anymore. I think me and my friend were getting tired of the ruse. Samantha cried again and Erica laughed.
I remember Samantha very well with her long blong hair in a ponytail and her above ground pool in her backyard. We would bike to her place and swim in her pool. Me and my friend used her for what she had, and didn’t much like who she was. I don’t remember her personality at all, I just remember her hair and her pool. What does that say about me?
Along with Samantha me and my friend called various strangers and did fake voices, making up fake scenarios. I don’t know why it was fun to bother people on their phones.
It was a game we played. I wish I could be young again and just play. What does it mean to play? Maybe it doesn’t mean anything at all, and we as adults try to put meaning into everything. Maybe recess is just recess.
Maybe I was mean because I could be. Maybe it was that simple. But was that me? Is that mean girl a part of me?
I’m trying to remember the last time I was mean? What does it all mean?
I like to think I don’t have a mean bone in my body, but that little girl is a bone in my body. Does it even matter what you do as a child? Does it matter who you were as a kid? If we could all be kids again would we still bully each other? Would we know better?
Would we remember how to play? Do you wish you could play?
We didn’t have ‘play dates’ when I was a kid. We just randomly played all the time. Now I want to be able to play, I want to be that free.
I would never let myself go to that point. I think maybe that’s why people have kids, so they can see a part of themselves playing.
Instead of playing we stir rice, and iron clothes. We are constantly doing something besides having fun. Fun is hard when you grow up. Having fun is something that has to be planned out like a dinner party. There must be place mats and assigned seats. We must discuss politics; we must not discuss religion.
We must wear the right clothes in order to have fun, and wear the right smile. And tell the right story. We must be funny. We must have charisma and charm.
We can’t be ourselves in our fun. Playing pretend is the only game left in town. This town is not fun.
When we are in love we play, we pretend, we laugh. It can be the one thing that brings play back into our lives. Our mundane, superficial, lives.
We are yearning for this love, whether it be falling in love with a dog or another human, love will take us to fun. Love is our entrance into the circus of our souls.