#this is the crux of the famous 'elaborate on that.' 'no.' exchange

[geddyqueer]

hard to overstate just how much lynch has influenced me as a storyteller. i think the most important thing he gave to the world was the concept that he was going to show you something, he was going to offer you a story, and it was your task and your responsibility to figure it out. the audience is part of the exchange and has a role to play, and the audience's role is just as important as anyone else's.

[awritersminds-blog]

A Simple Story

So… a simple opening isn’t it, ‘so’. Makes you, or me anyway, think of an excited teenager approaching a friend with that weekends story, that past conversation, that catastrophic event that won’t amount to anything by tomorrow. But this isn’t a story about a teenager though her age would suggest that. No, this is a story about my friend, my extraordinary friend.

So, to begin, I’ll tell you of her trajectory…

Imagine, if you would, braces, starch white-blonde hair, pale skin, and a faint English accent. Imagine this within one face, one body, that of a small girl. I didn’t know her then but I have the photographic evidence to prove it.

From what I’ve heard, she strolled through primary school as the quiet but intelligent girl in the corner. Shyly floating her way through school without a clue of what the future held for her, simply existing in her own little corner of the classroom.

I met this friend (lets call her Mary) after moving to a new high school. Yet, I only knew her from afar as the quiet girl she had always been. For a few years our paths were never intertwined, we dealt with our own problems, our own triumphs, our own journeys. Then on a day in Year 10, I sat down with her group of friends, having abandoned my own for reasons of terrible back-stabbing that could, and should, become an epic movie when Steven Spielberg decides to discover me (a slight side-note, I apologies). Anyway, I sat down and we exchanged these life-changing words:

“Hi!”

“Hello.”

The conversations, I’m afraid, have become fait in my memory over the years but I can tell you that we became friends.  However, this is a realistic story, not a wildly melodramatic one of mystery and adventure. Thus, we were friends, not instant best, nor inseparable, friends as you’ve hear of in the movies but friends nonetheless.

Fast forward to our final year of school. Without any planning, we did the exact same subjects and were both destine to be incredible writers (at least in our minds). Due to these extensive overlaps, our friendship was thrust into fast-forward, similar to this paragraph. Before long we were those close friends mentioned earlier. We were comfortable with each other, invested in each others success and willing to support each other through all the stress and hardships that accompanied our final year of high school.

Until now I was simply prefacing, setting up the story as they say. Now the crux of the, well really her, story:

This friend of mine began to question where she was placed in the world. Going to an all girls and private school there wasn’t much room for questioning one’s identity and desires but… she had a friend, a significantly significant friend… Their relationship was complex and interspersed with friendship, desire and a furious yearning to find where they stood with each other and within their own worlds.

As Mary knows, I never really approved of this friend. Indeed, Mary herself, acknowledged the flaws and limitations of their friendship, but only ever in passing, never truly seeing the toxicity. Despite my view, I felt it was not my place to drive apart something that was so vital to Mary, and so their relationship continued. A relationship of which I didn’t know many details and didn’t really need to know because I loved Mary, she was the down-to-earth friend with a world of perspective that I had always wanted.

One night, she confessed to me, on the brick wall of a low garden fence, that she considered herself pansexual; that it was a personality she fell for, not a gender. To me, this made perfect sense; it suited her personality to a tee. She was the accepting friend who accepted everyone. Yet, I could tell that she was still discovering herself, unsure of whether to put a label on herself or simply float through her sexuality as she had primary school (a strange parallel, I know).

Throughout this time, Mary’s friend struggled with her own issues, in my opinion; she used her friendship with Mary as a safety blanket, smothering herself in the comfort of this blanket when it suited her and thrusting it out into the cold when a more interesting something came along.

She took advantage of Mary’s innate kindness and desperation to fit in somewhere and, from a far, I saw them bring Mary down, make her doubt herself, and deflate her incredible energy. She told me one day that she was aware of the negative effect this friend had on other people, but I’m not sure if she saw the effect it had on her. I could tell when they were fighting without her telling me. I knew when they were on good terms without an exchange of words. It was reflected in her attitude, in her eyes. As I said, I don’t know the details but at some point in our final year of school I saw a change in her. She was more comfortable with herself, more independent, more openly Mary. I feel that this may have confused her friend because I witnessed a slight shift in their relationship; a distancing. To me, I confess, this was a great occurrence. As much as I was aware that this friendship was integral to Mary, I felt that this distancing was the push she needed to really come into her own.

The year concluded with champagne, smiles and nerves for our results but these were drowned out by our excitement to meet the world outside of high school with open arms (a slight cliché, but truly, this was our outlook).

I spent the summer holidays travelling with only a distance concern for Mary. It was not that I disregarded the tough decisions that I knew she would have to face; I was simply caught up in my own experiences, my own problems. Yet, on the 17th of January 2016, Mary sent me a message (a very expensive message from across the seas).

It simply said:

Melbourne Arts??

My reply was a completely over-the-top, elaborate paragraph with too many explanation points to count and a confirmation that we were indeed attending the same University and, of course, realising our potential as famous writers (we’re still working on that dream). History was, incredibly, going to repeat itself as our lives were destine to overlap once more (no, it wasn’t as melodramatic as I’m making it out, I was just very excited).

A few weeks later, when I returned from travel, I was ecstatic to meet up with Mary. After a few drinks, we ventured from her house to a small playground. It was there, on the low-hanging swing, with her eyes slightly glazed from the alcohol that Mary confessed that she had chosen a label for herself: bisexual. She was adamant that this was her identity and I couldn’t have been happier for her.

Granted, you may be wondering what happened to her friend; did she have any influence on this decision? However, this is not a story with a twist or a turn or an antagonist, it’s about a real person; a true experience. Her friend, I believe, had very little influence on this turning point in Mary’s life. She had, in fact, moved to Sydney to pursue her studies, but as I said, I don’t think this was the reason for Mary’s newfound confidence in her identity. I may be wrong, but I believe that she had simply come to a forked road and chosen the path that most suited her. Despite the wine, she was completely adamant and I couldn’t have been happier that she had found herself.

Which brings us to present day. Mary is now the type of person that is loved by all. You know that one person who seems to know and be liked by everyone? That’s her. She now tells me stories of ending up in the wildest places with the most incredible people.  She’s the type to slap on purple lipstick and dance around her room to the entire soundtrack of The Rocky Horror Show. And I’m of the opinion that, she doesn’t need the label, she is just, simply herself.