The problem with Mouse is I can never predict when she will strike again. Although “strike” is far too strong a word for Mouse, it has a ring of malicious intent to it and that’s something she definitely doesn’t have. She’ll never hurt anyone, she’s just afraid people will hurt her.
Things can go well for weeks, months even. If everything in my life goes according to plan, she can stay away for so long I almost forget she even exists. Then I’m just Eve and Mouse is someone from a past as grey as herself, an anecdote to be laughed over. Back in the days, boy was I shy and awkward. You don’t even want to know. I would rather stand than ask someone to move their bag from a free seat in the bus. I didn’t go to places where you have to order your food at the counter, too scared my words would come out wrong and the entire line would laugh at me.
I love the faces full of surprise when I tell people these stories. You, shy? You’d ask a complete stranger what he thinks of your new shoes. You dare to sing in front of an audience three hundred people strong. You’re such a spontaneous girl. They’re like presents, these surprised compliments. I carefully collect them and store them in their colorful wrappings, so I can unwrap them when I need to.
Because sometimes Mouse will return, without any provocation, or at least without any decent provocation. My ego isn’t big enough to handle all situations. She can overtake me in the middle of a conversation or when I’m dancing at a party, when I don’t expect it, although I do learn to recognize the kind of people that trigger her, and avoid them. On a good day I can handle them, but on a bad day all it takes is missing my train or accidentally bumping into someone to wake her up. If she were a dragon in a movie I would hear her rumble and growl in the deep and I would start running. But it’s not a movie and she isn’t a dragon and I can’t run away.
The smallest thing will do, a strange look, a remark, everything that gives me the feeling that I’m out of place here and I don’t know what the proper socially accepted response is. ‘I don’t understand anyone can still believe and defend that crap.’ ‘Only depressed fifteen-year-old snowflakes and middle-aged housewives are into that.’ That’s all it takes. Because obviously, I believe that crap, although I wouldn’t dare to defend it, not in front of these people, and I’m into that thing, although I would never tell them, out of fear they’ll think I’m ridiculous or pathetic if they truly knew me and that they would never fully accept me.
And there she is, not a fearsome dragon but a nervous little bird with crooked legs, her head tucked anxiously between her rigid shoulders. Mouse annoys you, she is clumsy and gawky and does everything wrong. She says the wrong things at the wrong moments and most of the time she just doesn’t say anything at all. You want to tell her to stop being so weird, to just say something back. You want to grab her by the shoulders and shake her to get some life into her, to make her angry for once. But it wouldn’t help; she’d only grow more timid and crawl away deeper between her feathers.
It’s not that Eve is just a mask, that falls off every now and then to reveal my true identity. Usually Eve is my true identity. Usually I’m fun and self-confident and I ask strangers what they think of my new shoes. I’m proud of Eve. It took a long time to get to where she is now, and more and more often she’s capable of dealing with difficult situations. But she can’t handle everything, and from time to time my immune system fails and Mouse gets a chance to surface, although it’s less often than it used to be. Mouse is there when I don’t know what to do, she is my Pavlov response to danger: cower. Hope it goes away when I close my eyes and cover my ears.
Whenever she arrives she looks at me guiltily. She knows she’s doing something wrong, but she doesn’t know what. I can’t blame her for being who she is, she is who I was, but I don’t want her here. I want her to stay in my past. But it’s too late, of course. When she comes, she comes inevitably. Powerless, I feel how she takes over, how my hands become her hands, how Eve turns into Mouse. All of a sudden I’m no longer a spontaneous cute girl talking at a party, but a frightened little creature who feels awkward in these clothes, between these people, at this party. Everything is far too cool and hip for her.
The guys I was talking to probably don’t even realize what happened. They think they’re just playing with a girl, who probably enjoys it. Maybe they’ll try to hit on her later that night, when they’ve figured out who is most likely to score. They don’t see how I collapse in front of their eyes, how I crumble to ashes. I can keep up appearances for a while, but I know I have to leave within a few minutes, before the second gust of wind blows the ashes away. I usually end up in a bathroom, the only place at a party where you can be alone for a few minutes. Within five minutes I have to collapse and rebuild. I don’t care about this party anymore, I feel miserable. I just want to go home, to bed, crawl under a blanket and cry.
Usually no one notices. Or they think I’m having a bad day, which I guess is kind of true. Usually I can put things into perspective the next day, when my head has cleared up and the fog of the alcohol doesn’t weaken my ego’s immune system anymore. Usually I know, sitting in the bathroom, trying to hold back my tears, that I’ll be able to laugh about it someday soon. Back in the days, boy was I awkward. You don’t even want to know.
One night I run into Cat. Cat is a real cat, and a foul one. Mouse exists because of Cat created Mouse. Cat is a cunning hypocrite. She’ll purr to the boss, but when he looks the other way she’ll hunt for everything that’s smaller and more vulnerable than she is. She’ll please everyone she might be able to use, and throw away your empty shell when she’s done sucking the life out of you. Mouse didn’t exist before I met Cat, she only started to grow when Cat didn’t want me to play with anymore; an anxious, nervous and insecure creature. If someone can go from best friend to worst enemy, what else could happen? Who can you trust? I changed into prey and I didn’t see it coming.
It’s not fair to blame Cat for everything. Once Mouse existed there were others who took advantage of my insecurity and pulled my tail and ears. Once Mouse existed I made it worse for myself and started believing what people said about me. Maybe I was indeed worthless, and that explained everything. I started expecting people would think I was weird, and they thought I was weird. That’s how it goes, you get what you expect.
It took me a long time to escape from Cat’s claws, and even longer before I grew back some of my confidence, scurried together grain by grain. Eve grew, Mouse disappeared into the background. I forced myself to ask ten random strangers for the time. After seven times my pulse went back to normal. I had to relearn all my social skills. I learned to deal with people again, but the only way to deal with Cat is still avoidance.
So now I run into her again. Adrenaline gashes into my throat like a sword and cuts short my breath. I feel betrayed now I know someone I know let in the devil. She hasn’t seen me yet, so there is still time to reorganize, to put the wall back up before anyone saw it collapsing. Desperately Eve tries to keep control, to prevent the smile from fading and the hand from shaking. My entire body is trying to prevent anyone from noticing I care about her being here or about her opinion of me. If she doesn’t feel guilty, I won’t show her I’m still hurt. I don’t want her to know what power she still has over me.
I manage quite well for a while. As long as I, nonchalantly, avoid the mines in the field, all is well and I can handle it. Only talk to people I know. Only talk about safe topics. And then all of a sudden the wind changes and things go wrong. I lose control of the helm and my boat, in which I safely carried the conversation until now, goes adrift. New people join the conversation, people I know move away and before I know it lightning strikes right next to me. Cat joined the conversation and joyfully talks about something that is lost to me already. Everyone laughs, except me. Inside joke, someone is polite enough to tell me. The inside joke is followed by an inside conversation, a group of friends reminiscing about their adventures together. The sea of friends engulfs the conversation and I’m out. I sit and watch it happen, unable to turn the tide.
I haven’t felt this lonely and locked out for a long time, even though I’m in the middle of a group of people. I know almost no one at this party, the friend I came with is in the middle of an argument with her boyfriend. So here I am. Mouse hits mercilessly. I kick over my chair in my hurry to get to the bathroom. Code red, hope you can keep your tears contained until the door is safely locked.
The door is locked with someone else in it, and the line is so long it would drive me nuts on a good night. I panic and flee to the only other exit, the door to the backyard. Breathe. Sit down, calm down. Luckily it’s warm enough for me to not need my coat immediately. I look around to make sure no one is watching, and then I let go. The tears come without effort, I don’t even have so sob, the water just runs down my face.
The disadvantage of a bathroom is that there is usually someone standing in line, waiting for you to get out. The advantage is the abundance of toilet paper to wipe my nose with. In my pocket I find one used paper handkerchief, not nearly enough to clean up the mess that my face is, but I don’t dare to go inside for more. I can’t go back before the traces of my collapse are no longer visible on my face.
The door opens and the noise of the party gulfs into the night sky. Someone walks outside, a guy. I freeze, but it’s too late now anyway. Thank God he is alone. I hope he won’t see me and will just smoke a cigarette or throw up in the bush and then go back inside, but he squats down next to me. I don’t look his way but keep staring into the darkness. I wish it was someone I knew. I don’t care if my friends see me cry, I just don’t want new people to meet me as Mouse. Anxiously I wait for him to ask me if I’m okay and if I need some water, but he doesn’t.
‘Yeah, sometimes life just sucks,’ he sighs, and then he hands me a full pack of paper handkerchiefs.
Five seconds ago I wanted him to leave, now I’m thankful for his company. Nothing is better than someone confirming life sucks. I blow my nose and mumble a ‘thanks’. We sit next to each other in silence for a few minutes.
‘So, my ex is here tonight to ruin the party,’ he says finally.
‘And what is your problem?’
‘Something similar,’ I mumble, my voice still thick from crying.
‘A girl I know from high school. We don’t really get along.’
‘No kidding.’
‘She’s sort of my worst enemy,’ I confess.
He snorts.
‘Who is it?’
I hesitate. Should I tell him? What if he knows her? I have no idea why I’m so brave, but I decide to go for it.
‘Cathlin.’
It’s weird to speak that name out aloud after all those years. In my head I still call her Cat. We started it when we were still friends and gave each other nick names to emphasize our friendship. Cathlin, Cat for friends. Now the name is associated with claws and vile comments.
‘Oh, I know her. Friend of a friend. Yeah, she’s a proper bitch all right.’
Those few sentences are so soothing I drop all my defenses. Mouse wants to lean against his shoulder and hide under his arm. She’s a proper bitch. It’s not me, I’m not the only one who knows her true spirit. I know it, but it’s wonderful to hear it from someone else. We sit next to each other in silence again. Then I ask: ‘So who’s your ex?’
‘Jackie. A proper bitch too.’
I giggle.
‘How about I get us a blanket and a bottle of wine and we get wasted?’ I can’t think of anything I would rather do at this moment. Mouse falls asleep on his shoulder.
*Thanks for reading! All images made by me.