Michael Seidlinger - The Strangest

Says society is toxic.

Says that society is absurd.

Says that people try to find too much value in society.

Says that doing that makes it difficult to hide from society.

Says that society will destroy a person.

Says that society is tragic.

Says that if you let society do all the talking, you’ll find that everything is a cage and nobody is free.

Then Nikki goes on to talk more about herself.

Her studies, her exhibitionism, her many suitors.

We turn the corner and she pushes me into an alcove.

She kisses me lightly, I don’t kiss back.

“‘Nikki’ isn’t my real name …”

Then we keep walking.

When I look at Nikki, she has a great big grin. When I’m not looking but looking from the side, pretending not to look but I’m really looking, Nikki has the greatest frown. There isn’t anything genuine here.

She’s just giving me a tour.

When we finish we end up back in the bigger room near the front where Veronica stayed. Rios is there too. They’re talking.

The way they talk confuses me.

He sits real close to her, and she isn’t pulling back.

When we arrive, Rios greets me but completely ignores Nikki.

I guess it’s because they are brother and sister.

My guess is as good as any.

Maybe not. There are a lot of maybes traded as everyone in the room, 4 people, exchange considerations for what happens next.

What happens next?

They don’t ask me.

And I don’t say anything. I keep to the phone. Meurks is so behind.

Nikki and Rios take us to the shoreline. There is a rocky pasture where the seawater splashes up and I sit there with my phone for most of the time. Veronica goes with Nikki and Rios. They walk the edge, where their feet sink into the cool sands.

I can hear only Nikki’s voice, like Veronica and Rios are holding theirs close. Nikki shows them around.

Nikki does nothing but show.

Like she is the show.

When is a person acting and when is a person genuine?

I delete it though, since the lack of activity has decreased Meurks’s reach.

Nikki takes center stage.

Where’s the stage and what makes the stage any different?

I get confused and watch videos others have posted about various topics. I laugh when I think I’m supposed to laugh and I am disgusted when I think I am supposed to be disgusted. Then I remember that nobody is watching so I go to where I’m most comfortable. I go into a public chatroom where I originally made Meurks who Meurks became.

I chat with different names. All of them fade.

The talking isn’t what’s important; it’s the typing.

We type to get everything out.

And before I can finish typing, my thoughts and feelings are pushed up, the chatroom a wildfire of bursts and other bombardments.

Everyone is typing.

They are typing to get out.

And almost do. We wait for that one thing that does.

What does?

When they return, Nikki has no clothes on. Neither Rios nor Veronica seems to notice. I notice. It keeps my gaze immediately on my phone.

I have trouble speaking.

So I type.

Feel like there’s this atmosphere of a charade. Like everything is a surprise waiting to unfold and I’m the only one not included.

Maybe I don’t want to be included. I want to be surprised.

I want to surprise them, everyone; and that’s what people really want right? Someone that isn’t like everyone else, someone that will make them feel more like themselves. Everyone is different, or so a lot of people say … and the differences are important and valued.

What does any of this really mean?

The blog post gets a lot of comments but I have trouble focusing on them because they all force me up from the rocks and tell me about things I shouldn’t know. About how there’s going to be a big celebration tonight.

How the celebration will bring together their friends.

And Rios slaps me on the shoulder, “And enemies.”

That’s a joke.

I think it’s a joke.

Neither Nikki nor Veronica laughs.

I ask, “What’s the purpose of the celebration?”

Nikki reaches up to the sky, “To celebrate!”

Veronica looks troubled.

I have seen that look before.

I have seen it in the mirror, when I look.

People start arriving when it gets dark. I am in one of the upstairs rooms using a laptop that might be Nikki’s but it has never been used. I am the first to use it. I maintain a level of activity despite it being the time of day where many only participate in passing.

I type more about what I should be feeling.

I type more about things that have nothing to do with me.

The most important part of this is that I am freely typing and I can feel my body relaxing. I am able to breathe without paying close attention to breathing. I am able to blink naturally. I don’t even notice that I’m blinking.

I am blinking right now.

Veronica isn’t here.

I don’t know where she is.

Yet I keep thinking about where she might be. And why — that becomes something else that I type to get out.

Friends and followers offer their condolences.

I don’t understand why.

Friends and followers offer their advice.

Again, an omission.

They speak of dead relationships, and dead feelings.

I hadn’t thought of Veronica in such terms.

Why would you say that it’s over?

I see the words “denial” and “grief.”

I close the tab.

I reopen the tab.

I delete some comments.

Then I forget why I’m deleting them.

I continue reading what shows up.

They say that they understand.

Thanks.

And I read one comment that says, We offer so much but we don’t have a place of offering.

I hear a knock on the door and everything looks like my apartment.

Everything goes back to that place.

It’s just what I imagine.

I tell them.

They say that it’s a “delusion.”

I begin to sweat and I start rubbing my eyes. My eyes burn.

When the tears start dripping down my face, I feel a weight push down on me. I remember the party. I remember where I really am. I remember Veronica, and then I remember that I missed work again.

I remember the routine.

The knock on the door pushes it all back.

Nikki.

She has the key to every door. And walks in like it’s her room.

She winks, “You too?”

I look down at the computer screen.

“I’m addicted to this stuff. I think my record is 60 likes.”

She asks me how many likes I’ve received.

The number registers over anything else.

“210, approximately.”

She seems impressed, “Oh wow, that’s crazy. You got it all figured out, huh?” From the door to the edge of the bed, she sits and looks over at me hunched over in a chair off to the side, occupying a neglected corner of the room. “How do you know my brother?”

Answering requires little effort.

Answering adds pressure.

I watch as my fingers continue typing.

But I don’t know what I’m typing. I don’t look.

My eyes are on the keyboard.

I think I tell her because she keeps talking.

Then she walks over to me.

It happens in reverse. I ask and she tells.

I ask and she does.

The laptop is taken from me. I close my eyes.

The next thing Nikki says is, “Hope you have enough left for the party.”

She had been accommodating up until this point but in a single blink it all changed. “I expect a performance,” she says.