Life or Something Like It

I was reading the newspaper last week and saw somebody quoted in an article that couldn’t have been less interesting. In a sense, I didn’t know the person, in another sense: I did, and very well. This might be a true story.

I knew this girl. She was a girl who had no name. She had a face and history. She had real parents, friends, a bedroom and a TV in her bedroom--after 8th grade. But she had no name.

Upon recounting her life, the girl always felt apologetic. She didn’t want to bore anybody with her life story. Oh sure, she had fun, but for some reason she felt her fun, her life, never translated well into a good story, or even anecdote. Her friends were like her; the friends that weren’t like her weren’t her friends for very long. She’d go down a different road in life or they would.

In college she fell in love. Years later she’d admit she more fell into convenience. She needed a boy, she found a boy. When she didn’t need a boy, she got rid of the boy. She wrote some poetry when she felt blue or inspired but never showed anybody any of it. It wasn’t that she was modest, though she was, but it just wasn’t very good.

This girl with no name traveled occasionally. She went to Chicago and Austin. Once she went to Branson, but she didn’t care for it too much. She might have been a journalism major in college, but at times, even she couldn’t remember right away. After her freshman year, she switched and became a business major. She didn’t have any specific ideas for a business, but it seemed like a major that would help her be more successful in life. At one point she thought about opening a used-clothes store. She never would.

Around this time in college, the girl with no name decided to give herself a name. She had been in some school plays years ago and really liked it back then, so it made sense that she would choose the name: Madison Starr-the actress. Oh and what an actress she became. She auditioned for a play and everything. Hell, she auditioned for three plays in her first month of being an actress. Everybody knew she’d be famous someday. After all, her name was Madison Starr; she could do anything she wanted.

But after some time, Madison didn’t want to be an actress anymore. Being an actress has to be something you really, really, really want. And Madison only really wanted to be an actress. Madison eventually came to the conclusion that she was better suited to being a writer.

Madison had written some poetry when she was younger, remember? Granted it wasn’t award-worthy, but she felt she just needed some practice. And a new name of course. It was here that Madison became Joelle Johnston--but she preferred to go by “J.J.” She took a poetry class and went to some open-mic readings. She might have even read a poem or two to the crowd, but nobody really remembers, except for her. J.J. took up smoking around this time. It was kind of gross and kind of expensive and J.J. never really felt she was addicted, but her new friends smoked and well…peer pressure has a way of being pressure-less.

But being a writer wasn’t getting J.J. anywhere. She never liked the work she did a month after writing it. She was never going to get published, much less make a career out of being a “Greenwich Village wannabe”--her words. She was just plain tired of feeling miserable, so she stopped being a writer. She decided life is short and she should give something back to the world.

So Joelle, er, J.J., became Aleka Goodwin. Aleka was a social worker, whatever that is. She basically just helped people. It didn’t pay well, as any job that really helps people doesn’t, but she felt good about it. She felt she was making at least some difference in a few people’s lives. Aleka met some really great people. Some were volunteers and some were “travelers”--as many don’t want to be called “homeless”. But after a couple of years, Aleka’s energy started to fade. She became bored by the monotony. Same people. Same job. Same place. Same place. Same place.

That's when Aleka decided to go on a real adventure. Really do something exciting. Something that she could put down on a resume years later for a job she may not actually want. Aleka was going to find out who she really was, in her own unique way. Aleka went to Europe.

In Europe, Aleka became somebody else. The name doesn’t really matter anymore. At first she was an American backpacking the tourist spots, but over the months she became a European. It doesn’t really matter which country she was in, just so long as she could frown on the annoying American tourists.

But over time she became less a girl and more of a woman and went back to being an American again. Years later she became a mother, which brought along the name “Mommy”--and also some other name. Then she was the chapter president of some local club. As one name she owned a boat. As another name she owned a dog. Life continued. Names came and went. Emma, Hailey, Olivia, Sarah, Grace, Emma (again), Lilian and Cairo--though that one didn’t last very long. Eventually she decided to have grandchildren. Later she became the vice-president of another local club. At some point she received recognition from somebody about something. Two years later, the name on the plaque was wrong. Then she died.

And as stated in her will, her tombstone is altered accordingly every few months or years.

This might be a true story.