From Within

“Ab intra” I said to Sarah. Unless shaking and staring apprehensively towards the front of the store was a reply, she took no notice. I knew what a butterfly felt like then; the joy of its exodus from the cocoon as much as its solitude while inside of it.

All day at work I introduced myself as somebody else. Right now, for example, the Jeffersons on Birch Street are wondering how a Latin scholar and native Italian, who you could barely understand through his broken English, got so handy with computer networking. Three miles down the road, the McCarthys, who suffered from a crippling case of homophobia, were scrubbing clean everything Michel, the flamboyantly gay French cable repair man had touched. I even employed disguises in my mischief. Just ask David Brennan on 6th Street about the giant blue bunny that, without saying a word, repaired his TV connection, installed a new phone line, and smoked a ciggarette on his balcony.

Creating identities for myself had become a major part of life. I did it unconsciously, even as I walked into the convenience store several minutes ago. I had decided to be Duke Buttersworth, heir to the Mrs. Butterworth empire. Duke was charming, spoke in a thick British accent, and hit on anything that moved. That meant that one rarely saw Duke out on the town with a strikingly beautiful comatose woman.

When he walked into the store, walking with the same strut he put on to appear powerful in front of the shareholders at Buttersworth Inc, he couldn’t help but notice the posterior on the particularly voluptuous young lady in the back of the store. She had been leaning almost completely into one of the beverage coolers, trying to grab the energy drinks on the top shelf. She reminded Duke of his five-foot nothing Spanish nanny when he was growing up in Liverpool. He would always make sure to ask her to make things for lunch that were on the top shelf of the pantry; taking delight in the shape her bottom took when reaching that high up. She quit as his nanny when he took the phrase “bounce a quarter off her butt” literally and tried to test it out. The tragic part was, he didn’t even get to find out. When he threw the quarter, it landed in her back pocket. The curiosity of what would have happened fuels one of Duke’s most perverse guilty pleasures.

The woman had stopped searching instantly and looked around her. Duke tried to scoop the quarter up before she realized what had happened.

“Did you throw that at me?” she asked, staring crossly at him but also a bit curiously.

“That’s neither here nor there, love.” He said while both pocketing the quarter and drawing in closer to her. Her expression had softened from irritable confusion to possible interest. Who was this bold stranger, she probably thought. Duke had a keen emotional radar and had picked up on her newly lowered defenses.

“Allow me to assist. Which of these beverages did you desire?” he had asked with a warming smile. She had simply stared back at him with a smile of her own. He could tell it was one of those smiles that you didn’t realize you were showing. “You’re right, I’ll just pick one for you. How does Red Bull sound?” He had handed it to her and she had grabbed it, still at a loss for words.

“I uh, thanks.” She mustered, finally realized how entranced she had been and then feeling a bit chagrined because of it. “I just don’t want you to think that I’m some helpless thing that needs help all the time because she’s a girl or because she’s too short or whatever. I could have gotten that drink on my own ya know. Not that I’m not glad that you helped but it’s just—“

“What’s your name, love?” Duke interrupted.

“Sarah”

“Sarah, you’re beautiful. When we finish our business here, I’d wonder if you would join me in my car where I could appreciate your beauty in a more private setting?”

Normally when I was playing Duke, this is the part where the woman would follow me to my car. We would passionately kiss, then passionately drive to my apartment, and then passionately make love for two passion-filled hours. Because of one gunshot fired into the ceiling, that passion would have to remain unleashed.

Duke Buttersworth was a very effective character. It almost felt natural while I was playing him. I think it’s because Duke embodied everything that I wanted to be but was too afraid to take on. Duke provided an avenue for me to become all of those things without fear of rejection and humiliation. It would be Duke that took the blame for his actions. It was a comfort. Sarah had drawn close to Duke and clutched his hand. She shrunk behind the end of the aisle and, in a very uncharacteristic fashion of Duke, I followed suit.

Hiding there reminded me of a less comfortable time; before I started taking on alter-egos. I was twelve years old. I had watched helplessly from the car as an unspeakable crime was committed. I was so stunned that I didn’t speak for two months. My first words were not even mine. They were the words of Dan O’Rielly, a no-bullshit police officer from Chicago. He was a local hero for saving the lives of six people during a hostage situation at the Sears Tower Plaza. I remember his words well. He walked up to my grieving mother, put his hand on her shoulder, and looked her in the eyes. “If I had been there, ma’am, I would have caught the motherfucker.” He said. Mom wept in his arms.

Thinking of the boy who sat helpless in that car drew no emotion from me now. It used to conjure feelings of regret and fear. Now there was just nothing; total and complete indifference. I wasn’t him anymore. He stopped existing the moment Dan O’Rielly appeared. It had taken another startling juncture to make me realize it but it was true. I was Dan O’Rielly the cop as much as I was Bottelli the Latin scholar. I was Michel the interior design major as much as I was Boone Briar, the man who walked around all day in a bunny costume, both because he was insecure about his looks and because he had schizophrenia. Duke wasn't just a character I played anymore.

I looked over at Sarah. Her whole body was trembling, much like mine had been moments before. She took no notice of me, her eyes fixed on the events unfolding in the front of the store. “Ab intra” I said to Sarah. I knew what a butterfly felt like then; the joy of its exodus from the cocoon as much as its solitude while inside of it. I put a confident hand on Sarah’s shoulder and told her not to worry, Duke doesn’t stand idly by.

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