Side Character Syndrome

“People just need to put themselves in my shoes more, you know?” Chase reached over and grabbed a handful from the bowl of peanut M&Ms on the coffee table in front of him, throwing them into his mouth.

Watching him made my stomach rumble. I stifled a yawn. The dimness of the office did nothing to ease my growing fatigue. Glancing over at the electric fireplace, flames flickering at the end of the room, I wondered again why I’d indulged Chase when he’d insisted on turning off the ceiling lights for ‘ambience’ this session.

“Why do you feel people lack empathy with you?”

“Because,” Chase sighed, “everyone’s so quick to judge when I don’t show up for things. None of my people truly understand me anymore. I’m not saying ‘I’m busy’ to avoid them, I’m just swamped.” At that, he slumped in his seat and moved to rest his feet on the table. 

“Aht! We’ve talked about that,” I warned.

Chase grinned sheepishly. “Sorry, force of habit.”

Over the past two months of therapy with Chase, it was getting harder to pair the image of this restless twenty-year-old, lounging in the armchair across from me, with the public face he showed to the world as ‘the’ Chase Beckerman, lead singer of the up-and-coming band ‘Ugly Flowers’. I was fond of him the way you’d be fond of a particularly active puppy. 

I pitied him, somehow. He was still new to the mainstream stardom he and his band were in, in that transitionary phase of accepting the dissonance between his old and new life, and the changes that come with that. I’m not unfamiliar with this phase, as I’ve received many a client because of it. I’ve realised, over the years, that sometimes, they just need a listening ear and an unbiased voice to validate them, no matter how unrelatable their problems may seem. Thankfully, with a whole lifetime’s experience of being that listening ear to everyone around me, it truly feels sometimes like the role of ‘therapist’ was handpicked for me. 

“We’ve spoken about finding a work-life balance before. Perhaps your folks are feeling neglected because there’s too much focus on work right now. Is there any way you can take time out to attend some of these events that your family and friends are inviting you to?”

Chase snorted. “Sure. I’ll just skip a TV appearance that’d generate thousands so I can go to a baby shower instead.”

I leaned back in my chair, amused.

“Touché.”

***

Chase was my last session of the day, so I packed up my things and jogged to my car, the mid-November breeze making me regret leaving my scarf at my apartment this morning. The sky was already a deep blue hue, despite it only being 5:30 pm. 

As my phone connected to the Bluetooth of my Ford, I received a call, the classic ringtone heralding my pulling out of the clinic car park and driving into the LA evening. I knew who it was before I even accepted the call. 

“Tosin baby!”

“Hi, Mom,” I smiled.

“How are you?”

“I’m fine, I just left work.”

“Ah! Make sure you don’t arrive at the restaurant late. I really tried with this date oo. I think you’ll like him, he’s a-“

“-man of great prospects,” I finished quickly. “You say this about every guy you set me up with.”

“Yes, but this time I truly mean it. Just promise me you’ll try with him, Tosin, please.” My mom sounded weary all of a sudden. 

“I always do,” I replied softly. 

“Okay.”

We were both silent for a moment. 

“What are you going to wear?” she asked. 

***

We talked for my entire journey home, and I promised to call and update her after the date. I entered my apartment, kicked off my shoes and curled up on my bedroom floor to redo my makeup. 

As I started to reapply my foundation, I reflected on the first time my mom suggested the idea of her stepping in regarding my dating life.

“I’m not getting younger,” she’d said, as she removed her purple gele* from her head on FaceTime, “I’m tired of wearing aso ebi* to other people’s weddings.”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, instead giving a small nod. 

“Mom, I hear you. It’s not that I don’t want a relationship, it’s just not my biggest priority.” 

“So let it be mine! You know, Aunty Amaka got her second grandchild just last month.”

I made a non-committal murmur of congratulations, my focus returning back to my session notes. Sometimes, I resented the fact that, to my mom, all of my other achievements seemed secondary to the ultimate goal of ‘husband and kids’. Never mind the fact that I’d done well for myself in my career, my salary helping her pay off the mortgage for my childhood home in Houston. Despite this, I couldn’t bring myself to blame her entirely for how desperate she seemed.

“Darling, let at least one parent be here to see your children.”

And there it was. The trump card used in all my family’s conversations. I’m not sure whether it was the tone with which my mom said it this time, or whether she had just finally gotten through to me, but I finally gave her my full attention. 

“Fine, let’s do it.”

That’s how I began dutifully going to dates that my mom arranged with any and all suitors she approved of. In the beginning, I tried to stay optimistic- perhaps this was truly the way God had planned for me to meet my ‘person’. But, as one date became five, which then became twenty, the feelings that I’d been swallowing down for as long as I could remember bubbled and threatened to spill over after each failed evening of interaction.

While it’s true that dating hasn’t been hugely important to me, I’d begun to toy with the idea that I only clung to that feeling to avoid the real truth. 

I’m simply undesirable.

And not because I feel I’m not physically attractive either. I may not be a supermodel, but I was blessed with genetics for glowy skin, straight teeth and natural curves. As I slipped into my semi-casual maxi dress and zipped up the back, I admired the way the dress hugged my body.

No, it’s not my appearance, but rather, the fact that I don’t seem to have anything about myself that draws people in. 

All my life, I’ve been surrounded by people radiating glittery, vibrant auras. My friends are the type who can command the attention of a room with ease. They always have the craziest stories, they always make people laugh the most. The magnetism of their personalities make people want to know more about them. And this magical ability seems to have skipped me, so my presence in a group always feels like nothing more than an accessory.

So, I settled in my role as the reliable, constant friend, who always had a good head on my shoulders, so my more ‘chaotic’ peers always had someone to go to for advice or comfort. Always the bridesmaid, never the bride. I’ve never managed to grow out of that identity, despite pushing 40.

It’s one thing to have a presence that pales in comparison to the one standing next to you, but the feeling is worse when you’re in a one-on-one interaction, and your existence still doesn’t feel enough. In gatherings, I’ve started to make a game with myself, to see how long someone new engages with me before their eyes start shifting to the space behind my head, looking for someone else to talk to, or an excuse to leave. 

With this unfortunate energy, it becomes understandable that these dates my mom is setting up haven’t come to much, and why I perhaps didn’t try as much with love beforehand. 

As I was peering at myself in the mirror, I got a text from Femi- the date for tonight. 

• Uber on me. It will meet you outside in 5 :)

I was impressed by the chivalry. The brief flutter of excitement in my chest surprised me, and I ignored it as I squeezed out a bit of hair mousse and smoothed it on my ‘good wig’. 

***

The restaurant was busy, with the hum of jovial guests who contained the extent of their laughter because they weren’t yet too tipsy to forget they were in a public place. Waiters swanned around with trays of food, and faces were illuminated by the lamps that were placed in the middle of each table. 

My mood was instantly lifted. I’d become irritable during the Uber journey. The LA traffic meant I’d arrived about 5 minutes late, and I was no longer hungry, but ravenous. However, to my annoyance, I still felt a glow of excitement when walking into the building. Like I did each time. 

As the waiter led me to the table, Femi stood up, looked at me and smiled. I immediately could tell why my mom liked him. He had low cut hair, and was dressed smartly in navy blue trousers and a white shirt. He looked like what she would call a “serious boy”. 

“Nice to meet you. You look great.” I enjoyed a whiff of Femi’s cologne as he led me to my seat, where I noticed a plate of fish and vegetables in front of me. 

“I hope you don’t mind. I ordered for the both of us since I wasn’t sure when you’d arrive. Plus, who doesn’t like fish?”

I’m honestly not the biggest fan, but I was too hungry to protest, so, I sat down and cut myself a forkful of the cod.

“So,” I started, “tell me about yourself.”

Big mistake.

Any hope I had for this date quickly dissipated as Femi launched into his whole life story, only stopping to scoop food into his mouth. It was like he was trying to list off as many of his achievements as possible, and I learned so much about his life as a corporate defence lawyer that I felt I could take up the career myself. I could barely get a word in edgeways; though, I didn’t feel like this was too much of a failing on my part. If Beyoncé was sitting in this chair in my place, I don’t think she would’ve been able to speak much either. 

At the end of the night, Femi stood up. 

“I’ve had a really good time.”

I’m sure. If he ever needed someone to ghostwrite his autobiography, he should give me a call. 

“I hope we can meet again soon, Toyin.”

I nearly choked on the remainder of my cocktail. After wiping my mouth and looking back up at his face, his lips contorted into a bemused half-smile, I realised it wasn’t worth pointing out that he’d somehow managed to get my name wrong after a two-and-a-half-hour date. I wasn’t going to be seeing him again. 

As I stepped out into the night, the weariness I’d been holding off all day seemed to settle on my shoulders. Despite myself, I felt my chest squeeze with a sudden, strong longing to go home with Femi, the desire for a partner- any partner- to babble to about the mundane stresses of my day. 

Then, my phone chimed with a text. It was Chase. 

• Are you free for a session tmr?

I decided I would respond later, and opened my Uber app. Swiping through the menu, my finger hovered over the ‘Uber Pool’ tab before pressing it. 

I’d started this little quirk a few years ago, whenever I felt particularly confronted with loneliness. Going home in an Uber Pool lets me shed familiarity’s baggage and talk with anyone. I have free rein to almost put on a new persona, where I’m the one with an exciting life, who captures attention. There’s no expectation for me to just sit back and listen, and I can connect with someone new by revealing things about myself. 

As the Uber driver pulled up, I was disappointed to find that my cab was empty, but a few minutes later, the car pulled over and a man stumbled in, closed his eyes, and sighed.

“What a bloody night!” he chuckled humorlessly.

I was surprised to hear an English accent. 

“Oh really? How come?” Curiosity overrode my initial intentions as I watched him open his eyes again. Even in the low light of the car, I could tell he had surprisingly long eyelashes. And full lips. 

Charlie was an aspiring actor. After realising on his 39th birthday that he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life as a software developer in London, he decided to pack up everything and move to LA to pursue his old dream of acting. But that had him staying out late and going to more parties than he would like, all in the name of networking- the reason he was out tonight.

“Sometimes, I regret giving up my old job, you know? The stability of it. I routinely feel like I made a big mistake, and that I’m an idiot for thinking I could start an acting career at 40. Now I’ve got to go to all these parties like I’m in uni again. I guess I just got a bit overwhelmed with those thoughts tonight, had a bit of an anxiety attack, and had to leave early. And I’m too broke right now to get a regular Uber, so I have to take Uber Pool. What a joke!” He laughed for real this time, shoulders shaking. I couldn’t help but giggle too, until he stopped abruptly and swore. 

“Sorry, I’m a bit all over the place.” Charlie removed his horn-rimmed glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, hard. I was ashamed to notice that his fingers were devoid of any rings. 

“An actor with anxiety issues. What an oxymoron.”

“Not really, you’d be surprised at how many clients I have with that exact combination.”

“Clients? What do you do- if you don’t mind me asking?” He shifted in his seat to face me more. 

“I’m a therapist, specifically to many in the entertainment industry. So that’s how I can confirm that having anxiety and being an actor are often not mutually exclusive.”

“So, like, a celebrity therapist, basically?”

“Mm, you could say that.” I began preparing myself for the usual questions after revealing my career- the identity of my most famous clients, or whether I could confirm whatever news that was currently circulating in the tabloids (which always confuses me- I’m a therapist, not a clairvoyant)- and then the subsequent disappointment when I didn’t provide the answers they wanted. Because screw client confidentiality, right?

“Wow, I can’t imagine what it’s like to deal with so much emotional baggage from other people, especially celebs. How do you manage?”

I blinked in surprise. 

“I mean, I’ve been doing it for long enough that it’s so much easier now to separate the therapist side of me from my everyday self.”

“And what does your ‘everyday self’ look like? Let’s start with your name, since you never ended up telling me, what with all my chatter,” Charlie rested back on the headrest and blinked at me slowly, thumb lightly caressing the stubble on his sharp jaw. 

It took me a second to gather my thoughts for a response. 

“Tosin.”

“What a beautiful name.”

***

We didn’t stop talking for the rest of the ride, the fluttering in my chest now a constant presence. As we talked, I started telling him things I hadn’t told people in a long time, like how cancer took my dad almost 10 years ago now, but the void he left has made me feel slightly unsatisfied with any level of male affection ever since, and how I fear that I’ll never again be loved that unconditionally. Or how, at my grown age, I still feel like a shell of a person, like I have no purpose or identity outside of other people, with no idea on how to go about finding one now. 

He made me feel seen- like the exact content of my thoughts were being transferred to his mind, even the things I didn’t say aloud. He listened for most of the ride, head tilted to the side, fully engaged. I felt completely bare under his gaze, and allowed myself to unravel to the point where I could reveal such things. I loved it, but it terrified me, as I came to realise just how desperate I had been for something like this to happen, without even being aware. How much I longed to connect with another person in this way.

Before I knew it, I saw that we were nearing my apartment complex, so we promptly exchanged social media details. 

“Let’s stay in touch, yeah?” he said.

I nodded, the fluttering in my chest so intense now that it felt like I would be carried away soon. I cleared my throat. 

“I actually know some amazing cafés around here. Let’s meet up and- get to know each other more?”

Charlie began to agree, then took in my hopeful expression, and his face fell. 

“Oh- Tosin. I’m so sorry. I never meant to- I’m in a relationship.”

My heart leapt to my throat. 

“I apologise for giving you a wrong impression.”

“Not at all. Sorry for interpreting things wrongly,” I stammered, mortified. 

The remainder of the journey was silent, and I waved goodbye to Charlie as I left the car, avoiding eye contact. 

After making my way up to my apartment and getting changed, I poured myself a large glass of wine and sipped slowly, opening my messages with Chase. 

• Yeah, I’m free tomorrow. What time are you thinking?

As I pressed ‘send’, the notification banner showed a text from Mom. 

• How was the date?

The words on the screen blurred together as I sobbed.