Tell me something, chaps. Tell me who you really are.

No, I don’t mean the you in public or the you in school or the you around your family–I mean you, the actual living and breathing sack of flesh that you are. Maybe with a bit more personality thrown in.

You don’t want to tell me?

Oh, I guess you don’t know me that well. Here, my name is Will, nice to meet you. A little more introduction? I’m a senior in high school…I run a bit…I write a bit more…and sometimes I frequent television, mostly Netflix.

That’s your name? Great name! Might give it to one of my kids–if I ever have any. See, a joke, I just broke the ice a little. Tell me a bit more about yourself. Okay…uh-huh…I love doing that, too! We’re like twins–except not at all!

Allow me to continue:

I like to eat cheeseburgers–love me some bacon!–and my favorite TV shows have got to be Mad Men and Breaking Bad. I’ve written a couple novels and recently I got third place in a writing contest, got some money off it. Family is also pretty important to me–hanging with those people, well, maybe not 24/7; but I plead the teenager rule.

Now you go and tell me all the happy things in your life. Doo-doo-doo…and boom, we say our good-byes and part ways. Life continues on as it always has, will, and is–hey, that confused me.

Say we reverse. Say we go back and, instead of telling all about the happiest parts of our lives and acting as if we are all living in a Leave It To Beaver rerun, we take a chance and spill our guts.

Second Go:

Oh, I guess you don’t know me that well. My name is Will Boswell, a name I happen to really really like. Little more introduction? I’m a senior in high school and cannot wait to be shot of this crappy joint, I mean it is bugging the hell out of me, all these tests and the homework. Oooh, gimme a break.

Your turn! What? Not feeling as up to it as you were the first time? You say you’re a tad uncomfortable? I’m not what you thought I was when you first talked to me? Interesting how our perceptions can change when we say we know a person through and through, but, as it turns out, we don’t…at all.

What if you told me all your secrets? All your taboos?

Hell, I might ditch you then and there–but, then again, I might not. It depends.

That’s a smart ass answer. 

Yeah, it is, but you are lying to yourself if you say you’re not wondering about that question.

I do; in fact, quite recently, I decided I hate it when people assume they know me, when they say I’m perfect. Hey, if a can of Pringles can’t be perfect, then I can’t either. We’re not gods here. We’re all humans–like I said, living and breathing sacks of flesh.

Then why, why do people freak when they learn you’re not all you’re chocked up to be?

It’s like we enjoy staring at a portrait covered in drapes. We can eat our snacks and drink our drinks and watch–just watch it be covered. But, take off the drapes, we leave. Jack Nicholson walks into the room and says, “We can’t handle the truth,” then he morphs into Jack Torrance and butchers all us remaining folks with a friggin axe. Redrum…Redrum…

What would happen if we took off the drapes in the first place?

You have an answer? No? You just created another secret, added another drape.

End of session.

Think daily, 

A Southpaw