13 comments

American Sad Western

I wake up and slide out of bed. I’m careful not to wake her as I tiptoe out of the room. I shut the door behind me.


I’ve been doing this for years. She tells all of her friends how considerate I am. I smile and say something like, “I’ll try not to hurt my arm patting myself on the back.” 


Everyone laughs; they always laugh. Humor has become my job, my responsibility. 


I wonder what she would think if she knew that I sneak out of our bedroom so I can be by myself. Would she brag to her friends if she knew the truth? In my defense, it's not just her—it's everybody. Interaction is a chore, engagement is a duty, human contact is oppressive.


Safe in the solitude of my favorite wingback chair, I read. I read the newspaper, or a book, or anything else that takes me away.


I read what I want.


This is my time, my favorite part of the day. No one is awake to entertain—no one is interrupting me with questions or problems or demands.


The phone rings. It always rings exactly seven times. I know this because I never answer. I don’t even look at the Caller ID. I don’t want to feel obligated. If I do, I’ll have to put on my mask—the mask everyone knows. He’s so funny, so interesting, so smart.


My daughter comes down the stairs. I love her more than life itself. Still, I hope she doesn’t stay long. She thinks I’m perfect. I have her fooled. She tells me she wants me to meet her new friend. I told her all about you! She says with a smile. She thinks it's a compliment. It feels like another obligation. Yet another person I have to deceive.


When she leaves, I'm relieved. I'm ashamed.


Now I’m in my car, the second favorite part of my day. I am an aggressive driver. I cut people off. I don’t let people in. “Fuck you!” I yell because no one can hear me. I say the things I dare not utter in public. If people heard me then they might know who I really am.


I can’t stand the idea of anyone knowing me. 


I’m not a bad person. 


I’m not an angry person.


I just need a way to let off steam. 


The car acts like the release valve on a pressure cooker. I need the time alone. I need it to get through the day. I wish the drive were longer.


It’s not.


All too soon, I’m at work.


It’s time to do my morning dance. I scan the parking lot. Is anyone getting out of their car? Is anyone pulling in? On good days, I can time it exactly right so I’m too late to ride the elevator with the people in front of me while being far enough ahead of the next group to avoid them as well. 


But not this morning. 


Today I’m forced to ride up in the elevator with Barry and Heather.

 

Barry asks me about my weekend. Heather turns to listen. 


“Same as always—too short.” 


They both laugh. Heather says I crack her up. Three floors up with them seems an eternity to me. I smile, praying no one else gets on.


I work in a call center, an ironic job for someone who hates talking to people. I am pleasant. I ask my customers questions about their lives. I empathize with their struggles. I tell jokes. They like that, they chuckle.


I tell them I’ll call back with an answer, but I never do. Once they are off my phone, they are dead to me. They only get to see the mask I am paid to wear.


I have to stop on the way home. I need a new shirt for a party tonight. 


I dread the store. A salesperson will talk to me. I don my mask once again. The conversation is endless, Jehovah’s Witness meets Amway rep endless. I hate every second. Finally, another customer comes in, relieving me of my obligation. When I buy my shirt, I say, “I hope that card works—I found it in the parking lot.” The salesperson laughs. 


I’ve done my job. I've been entertaining—now I can leave.


Back in my car for the ride home, I savor my freedom from others. 


I eat in the car. 


I sing in the car.


I cry in the car.


I am myself in the car. 


More than once I contemplate driving right by my exit and never turning back, only I know my curse will follow me wherever I go. In a new town with a new name, I’ll still be me.


I’m home again; she’s working. I’m happy. She’s otherwise occupied. I don’t have to tell jokes or be interesting or interested.


I go back to my chair and enjoy the few quiet moments before the party.


I made plans with three different friends. I’ll disappoint two because saying yes is easier than saying no.


I’m always overbooked with events I don’t want to attend, so I try to settle for the least offensive.


At the party with my wife, I talk and I listen. When the conversation starts to lag, everyone looks to me to liven it up. So, I tell a joke—I always have a joke. They laugh—they always do.


Tonight, there is karaoke—I love to sing karaoke. People think it’s because I love the attention. It isn’t. On the stage, I get to be alone. I’m willing to sing poorly just for a moment of respite. 


I want to be the first to leave the party, but I’m always the last.


Now I’m back home. She tells me what a great time she had. My wife has made plans to do it all again. I tell her I’m tired, but I’m not. Not really. I just want to go to sleep so I can be alone once again. Such is my curse. I do need to sleep because tomorrow it will start all over again.


There are no support groups for extroverted introverts. Everyone would RSVP but no one would attend.


July 17, 2023 15:25

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13 comments

Mike Panasitti
19:13 Jul 17, 2023

This reminded me of a role Robin Williams would have played...a role that would have revealed something of what it was like to be Robin Williams, that sad happy man. Great work, Robert.

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Sue Hunter
22:47 Jul 26, 2023

Hi Robert! I’m trying to get better at critiquing things, so this is going to be a longer review. Not trying to nitpick or anything like that. Just trying to get better at writing by looking in depth at the work of others. I hope you find some of my stuff helpful but remember that this is all just my opinion. Pros: I am a huge introvert, so a lot of the points in this story hit close to home. The protagonist (who I will just call MC for Main Character) always has to be a source of happiness for others, something I am all too familiar with....

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Robert Lee
02:49 Jul 27, 2023

Sue, this is about the kindest feedback I’ve ever received. You not only took the time to give me props for the things you liked, you cared enough to give me constructive feedback on what might have made it better. The first part was cool, the second was above and beyond cool. Part of me wishes the story wasn’t locked so I could use some of your suggestions, but they will also help as I write in the future. Thank you. You are the best.

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Sue Hunter
00:43 Jul 28, 2023

Aw, you're making me blush :]

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Ty Warmbrodt
08:16 Jul 23, 2023

As an introvert who has to pretend to be an extrovert, I can so relate to this character. Loved the story. Thank you for sharing.

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Joan Wright
22:23 Jul 22, 2023

Great story! Your character was true throughout. I am an extroverted introvert and could identify. I loved that he didn't see himself as unusual or weird just burdened. I wonder how many people just like him, live in our world. Great job!

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12:44 Jul 22, 2023

Robert, this is incredibly relatable...and perfectly written, down to its last comma. Told in spare, clean, deceptively simple prose, the narrator's pain/guilt/shame comes through in waves -- he's almost drowning in grief from the loss of who he'd really like to be versus the societal construct he's found himself in.

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Bruce Friedman
20:25 Jul 17, 2023

Robert, a very well-written story about what you are calling an extroverted introvert. I think that more people fall into this category than recognize. Good work.

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C. J. Peters
22:41 Jul 29, 2023

Hi Robert! This is such an incredibly well-written story and I found myself relating to a lot of the protagonist's struggles. The simple, straightforward voice really shows how he's got this practiced inauthenticity down perfectly, how he's mastered the skill of not only being likable but also entertaining to make it through his everyday interactions. The spaces and times where he can be himself are so limited (i.e. his chair, his car) that almost all other aspects of his life feel exhausting and oppressive. Very effective, great work!

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Kevin Elias Kaye
15:41 Jul 26, 2023

I like the idea of a group for extroverted introverts, but I feel the how he describes it is too "on the nose." maybe, a group for people "like me...people forced to talk about nothing when they want to be quiet about everything."

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Olive Silirus
19:26 Jul 24, 2023

Great story! I love the last line especially - 'There are no support groups for extroverted introverts. Everyone would RSVP but no one would attend.'

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Temitope Ajao
13:54 Jul 24, 2023

Great story

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Ben LeBlanc
23:13 Jul 22, 2023

Hmmm. This story was a little dissapointing for me. There was a lot of repetition. Different situations with no variation in character. I get that he's an extraverted introvert, but he acted robotic, and no one is that simple. There must have been some way to escalate/deepen his character as the story progressed. Introverted extraverts don't hate everyone all the time. It didn't seem like his problem was just that he needed to "blow off steam"; it seemed more psychological, like he was a narcissist or a psychopath (or both). I do like how si...

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