Ever since I was a kid, I’ve stood out of the crowd. I was the smart kid, the fat kid, the sissy kid, the gay kid, the goth kid, etc. It was always a dream to be like everyone else, just so that I could walk down the hallways at school and not get those stares, or comments, or pushes, or shoves.
But no matter how “normal” I wanted to be, I’ve always ended up doing something to stand out. I dyed my hair hot pink, and blue, and green, and white. I stole my best friends heels at the winter formal junior year and haven’t taken them off since. Of course, anyone, male or female, who wears heels in the daylight of North Carolina stands out.
I suppose I feed off the stares and the comments and the pushes and the shoves. I’m like a crazy alien spaceship with a fancy force field that absorbs enemy fire and turns it into energy to fuel my quest for world domination.
And now that I’m moving to New York City, the largest city in the United States, where millions of people live, cramped together, within a few square miles, I’m almost scared that I won’t stand out anymore. Haven’t New Yorkers seen it all? Won’t I become just another person on the street? What will happen to my fancy force field? Will I loose my fuel source if the stares and the comments and the pushes and the shoves simply stop all together? Will my quest to rule the world just end if I start to blend in?
Blending in: it’s what I’ve always wanted, and what I fear the most.
Maybe I’m giving NYC too much credit. I’m sure there’s a sexually confused and frustrated duschebag from New Jersey who is just begging to taste my… pepper spray.
Here’s hoping my force field has been built up enough to never weaken, and that my heels will always keep me above the crowd.