the one and only

I was born an only child. My brother would disagree with this, but, for all intents and purposes... let's just go with it. 

'Only children' have a certain stigma surrounding them. We're bossy, obnoxious, perfectionists, thoroughly disagreeable when things aren't going our way, selfish... the list goes on and on. They've done studies on this 'only child' syndrome. Supposedly we have trouble in social situations and have a tendency to mature faster... Awkward and precocious? Me? Never.

While growing up I was entirely aware that I was all by myself. My dad had two brothers, my mom had a sister and two brothers... even my brother had two brothers! I had two dogs, and they would always steal my hats.

Once I was old enough to be in school and have actual human companions, I quickly noticed all my friends had siblings... which was something I'd never really experienced. Dinner time at their houses was practically like a party! There were so many people gathered around the table! And all of them had to sit, and eat, silently, while they listened to me prater on incessantly... about myself.

When friends would come to my house, I'd always come up with some 'fun' little game for us to play. Usually we'd pretend to be the Spice Girls, or duct tape nickels to railroad tracks. One time we hurled ourselves face first down a sandy hill near the freeway, and for weeks afterward my dad called me Scarface. *Yes, I played near railroad tracks and freeways, unattended. My parents were busy raising their other children... oh, wait...

We did anything, pretty much... anything that I wanted to do, that is. I was the boss. They came to my crib, they played by my rules. I visited their humble abode, they also played by my rules, because uh, hello?... I was the guest.

It wasn't until middle school that I started to clue into the fact that being 'bossy' was not a good thing. I figured out that my friends and relatives did not like being told what to do, especially by me. All of a sudden I didn't want to be the one in charge anymore. I didn't want to be the one freaking out every time someone decided to not conform to my will- I wanted to be calm, cool and collected... three things that I've never been and even to my best efforts will probably never, ever be...

Mostly I didn't want to be an only child anymore, and when my parents wouldn't help me out in that area, I decided to take matters into my own hands. After a few years practice, my calm, cool, collected projections turned me into a different, indifferent person. I allowed people to borrow things, and pretended that I didn't care when they gave them back or in what condition they returned in- "You want to borrow some DVD's? Sure, here, go ahead. Take them. Take them all. Here, why don't you have my left arm, too. And my heart. TAKE IT, YOU SAVAGE."

When asked where I wanted to go to dinner, I'd usually shrug and say, "Oh I don't care, wherever." But I did care. "Liz, you want to go to Maggie Moos with us?" Sure, I'd say, silently screaming. I hated that fucking place, and I'm glad it's out of business... All those creepy cow drawings and bright colors... And the ice cream tasted like butter. Ugh.

Anyway. I tried to be an always-agreeable person. I'd go wherever, do whatever (within reason...) and I'd shrug it off. One time, at a RHS/KaHS soccer game, I clearly remember getting laid out on the field by a certain friend of mine. There I was, with an astronomically blue comforter wrapped around me, toddling toward the exit, when someone (DAN) tackled me. To the ground. I saw stars... but that could have been because of my blanket. Bossy Elizabeth would have popped back up, screaming at anyone who was within hearing distance. The new Elizabeth, the cool, non-only child one, laughed it off. To be honest it probably was kind of funny.

It wasn't long before my supposed coolness turned into actual apathy and laziness. By the time college rolled around, I honestly didn't care about most things. Sure, there were a few instances that sent me into a flying rage, like when Jevon and Jurass broke my couch... bitches. Or when I put myself in charge of directing, editing and writing an Office-like version of Shakespeare's Twelfth Night. Turning a hodge-podge crew of English major awkwardos into veritable thespians? Not an easy task, my friends. But I did it. And I only made them re-shoot their scenes like 7 times.

Directing and property damage aside, I was noncommittal and uncaring about all aspects of life. If my friends wanted to hang out, they could call me. If I didn't return their voicemails and texts, they should probably come over. If I didn't answer the door, they could try knocking on the window. Or just give up because obviously I didn't like them enough to acknowledge their existence...

If my professors wanted me in class, they needed to explicitly say so... as in, "Elizabeth, you need to be in class on Wednesday." Then they would need to point at me, so I knew I was the Elizabeth they were referring to. And sending an email never hurt anybody...

It was about a year ago when I started to notice that nonchalant-ness was becoming a problem. Really it was the culmination of a lot of little things, but, there was one issue that was a bit more pressing than others. I was allowing people to call me by a name other than my own.

And no, I'm not talking about Booze, the-nickname-that-won't-die.

It all started as, "Hey, Grace, how are you today?" Grace is not my name. Not even close. I smiled and answered that I was doing well, thanks, how are you?... but inside I was trying to figure out how to clue him in that my name was, in fact, Liz.

This happens to me more than I'd like to admit, but usually it's over the phone and probably stems from my apparent speech impediment that occurs when I'm stating my given name. It's always, "Oh, hi Lynn." or "Hey, Lisa." or my favorite, "Lid? L-I-D?" I've briefly flirted with the idea of returning to Elizabeth... but it's just so cumbersome... and common.

This 'Grace' mishap was different. It was not a mispronunciation. He, a frequent customer at my place of employment, thought Grace was really my name. There are numerous instances that could have planted this Grace seed in his head, but every time I was confronted with it, I was unable to correct him.

My apathy had morphed into something I can only assume was a shy, cloying meekness that was to such a point that I was letting people's mistakes stay unnoticed and uncorrected. 

They'd use improper grammar, ("They was just looking at me, like I was stupefied.") and I'd bite my tongue and look the other way. They'd make obscure incorrect pop-culture references, ("You know, Tom Cruise, from Forrest Gump?!") and I'd nod along as if they were right... which they were so not. My neurotic, real-self was dying on the inside... but I would not allow my casual facade to show the cracks of know-it-all-ness. I was unflappable. Unfazed. I could let people be stupid... even if it killed me.

They'd make assumptions about me, and I'd just nod, instead of steering them into a truthful direction. Like one time before P.E. when a boy looked at me and said, "Who'd you borrow that sweatshirt from?" and I looked down at my sweatshirt, and said, "Huh?" He then pulled at the sleeve, which was hiding my hands because it was too long, and said, "It's too big, whose is it?"

I shrugged, thinking it was an utterly strange question. Then I answered with something that I'm still trying to wrap my head around. I opened my mouth, falsities tumbling out: "Oh, yeah, it was my older brother's."

It was not. I lied, to further perpetuate my normalcy and the notion that maybe in some alternate universe I could have a brother that I stole Kamiakin sweatshirts from...

My best friends might laugh at this, as I never fail to correct them... but this is for their own good. It's how I show my love for them. It's not like I can let them go around, speaking erroneously and sounding idiotic. What would that make me, their peer... their equal... if they- for example, asked, "What, exactly, is a teriyaki? No, I know it's a sauce, but, is it a bird? Kind of like a chicken?"  There are some things that even I, a really calm, blasé person, can't let slide.
 

"Grace! How are you?"... Oh, I'm fine, I said, not returning the question. It got to the point where I was kind of rude because I didn't want to give him another opportunity to call me by the wrong name. After this particular exchange my boss looked at me strangely, "Does Larry think your name is Grace?"

"Yes," I said.

"Why don't you correct him?"

I shrugged. "It's been going on like, three months. I feel I'm past the point where I can go, 'Oh, no, actually my name is Liz.'... Grace isn't a bad name. I could be named Grace. And it's not like he's calling me Gladys." I shrugged again, which is my favorite thing to do. "I thought about wearing a name tag... but, we don't wear those, so it would be weird."

The next day Larry called me Liz, and I can only imagine why.

For the most part I've returned to my unsavory, only-child ways, but that doesn't mean my years pretending to be laid-back were all in vain. When I first started at the winery, one of my coworkers asked me about my brothers and sisters. "I don't have any," I shrugged (see? I love shrugging). She looked at me, shocked. "You don't seem like an only child," she said, "my daughter's one, too. I hope she ends up like that."

I smiled, and nodded. VINDICATED!

PS- That teriyaki thing totally happened.