4-8-02, Side Streets, Kimra Traynor Herb
A Gulf between Me and Me
By Kimra Traynor Herb
IPS Features
There is a huge
gulf between the me that really exists, and the me that I visualize myself to
be. The me in my mind is a super cool, liberal, beatnik, flower-child-esque
artsy free spirit. The real me is a middle aged mother of three boys who spends
a great deal of her time shuttling the aforementioned three boys between the
elementary school, the junior high school, and the high school. The mind me
lives in a loft, somewhere in New York City, and has a wide circle of artsy
friends who flitter in and out of my life. The real me lives in a house, with a
big fat mortgage, in the suburbs of Birmingham, Alabama.
This
fantastically laid back self, the imaginary me, has an array of successful
projects in the arts, not necessarily just in the arena of writing. Music,
painting, perhaps even dancing (hey, we're imagining here) are all areas in
which the mind me is fluent. The real me struggles to get the laundry done. The
mind me wears cutting edge clothing which is so artistic that only a few very
hip folks get it. The real me wears exactly what everyone else in the suburbs is
wearing. Exactly. And if it isn't EXACTLY the same, I find out where they got
their clothing and rush out to get my own carbon copy. The mind me is
fantastically secure and doesn't care what the rest of the world thinks. The
real me is a shivering mass of insecurities.
The mind self
walks everywhere, or takes the subway. In real life, I drive a mini van.
Although the two me's are quite a distance apart, the mind me is always with the
real me, wherever I go. I carry her with me, like a dream from which I awaken
but still remember vaguely. I was carrying her with me when I took my middle son
to a coffee house yesterday morning. We had just left from an extensive
orthodontist visit where we were informed of all the mutant workings of my son's
teeth. We were feeling rather drained from all the news (the real me was
mentally calculating how much this child's venture into braces was going to cost
us in terms of real hard bucks) and the mind me felt that a coffee house would
be the perfect hip diversion to all this downer reality stuff, man. It was only
as we were at the counter ordering that the mind me reminded the real me that
neither of us like coffee.
Like, totally
bummer, dude. "I'll have a coke." I said, and then changed my mind.
"No, make that a hot tea." A tea was a nice compromise between the
ultra-cool latte and the boring suburban coke. The very
hip dude behind the counter (his hair was longer and curlier than mine) inquired
"What kind?"
This stymied the
real me. "Ummm....." I stammered, "what kinds do you have?"
"Every kind. You name it." He replied.
My son, bored of this whole exchange, took his muffin and his cappuccino (yes,
he is cooler than me) and went to the table to start munching.
"Could I
look?" I timidly inquired.
"Sure, come
on back." The coffee house dude opened the cupboard, and allowed me to
feast my eyes on about twenty different bags of flavors, followed by another row
of twenty tins of tea. Whew. The real me was totally intimidated by all the
choices. The inner me begged me to remember that it was just tea, chill and pick
one. "Smell this one." He leaned his head
close to a bag. "It's blackberry almond and I haven't tasted it, but it
smells awesome."
I leaned my head
in next to his (after all, I'm cool, right????) prepared to take a big mutual
sniff of raspberry tea with my new compadre, and........
A tiny mouse
came flying out of the bag of tea and nearly brushed my face in its haste to
depart its temporary fragrant home. Now, lucky for the
entire world, and I do mean this; the inner me was in control at the moment. I
looked at the coffee dude, who was as shocked as I, watched the mouse scurry
away to safety and....... burst out laughing. "I think I'll have something
in one of the tins." I managed, between giggles.
"Oh, man, I
am so embarrassed." He replied. "I don't know what to say."
"It's
so funny." I laughed. (Meanwhile, the real me was struggling to keep the
ear splitting scream which would have been heard round the world inside where it
wouldn't hurt anyone.)
"Wow!"
Did you see that, Mom?" My son was thrilled. "That mouse just about
flew out of the bag trying to get away! That was the coolest! I can't believe
you didn't scream!" He gave me that "who are you" look my sons
sometimes give me when I let out a nib of my inner personality.
"Hey man," I told him, as I sipped my papaya tea (came from a nice
airtight tin, my real me reminded myself), "I'm cool. Now hurry up and
finish your tea and get in the van; we're going to be late getting you back to
school."