Michael Seidlinger - The Strangest

I feel dizzy from the pressure.

Nothing gives and everything bottles up inside.

Once again, I become conscious of my breath.

But she leaves the room without a bother.

As if to say that I am barely a bother at all.

My interpretations come from odd angles. They are tinged in maybes.

I reopen the laptop to find that I had written nine pages.

When I try to read the text, my eyes cross.

I feel nauseous.

It gets into the keyboard.

I feel my pulse quickening with the activity around me. I worry more about the laptop, and what I did to it, rather than where she is.

I take a second to figure out who “she” is.

I feel the room begin to spin when I realize that I am referring not to Nikki. The differences between her and I outnumber any other two people. It’s the only excuse that works. Rios is incorrect:

We are not similar.

Veronica and I are similar.

Nikki. I can hear her from across the room.

There are currently 22 people in the room, with at least another dozen populating the other rooms on the first floor of this building.

I let Meurks rebuild his activity.

Meurks needs to respond to every comment of the previous blog post; otherwise, it would go against his brand.

It means the party consists of people that search for that one true person.

Meurks comments.

The typing helps tune out the activity around me.

Then I start walking.

From one room to the next, I never stop for any longer than a second. I make sure to always be typing.

There’s always a comment waiting to be considered.

When I look up she is there, Nikki.

I see her laughing.

I see her getting along with everyone.

It wouldn’t feel right if she wasn’t the loudest.

People want to be the life of the party.

Someone hands me something. A drink, and it’s Veronica.

She kisses me on the cheek, “Having fun?”

I think I say something because she nods and says, “I’m meeting so many new people! I’m having a lot of fun.”

I tell her, “Yes” but I’m typing:

That bothers me. I feel some way, like I don’t want her to have as much fun as me. I don’t want her to meet anyone that I haven’t already met. I want to meet people. She isn’t as good of an employee as I am. She’s only here because I let her come here. She wouldn’t be here if I didn’t tell Rios to bring her along. And she’s the one that walks with Nikki and Rios. She’s the one that talks to Rios like they’re real close. Rios is my friend, not yours!

I don’t save it to drafts.

I can’t save it to drafts.

I had been typing it in the wrong app.

Veronica disappears again, becoming the 81st person in the 81-person crowd. I recognize, for one brief moment, on the verge of tears, that I never include myself in that number.

But the idea settles, and I am almost pleased.

Like I have the upper hand.

Back to the phone. Meurks is doing just fine.

People just like to be around other people. We’re social creatures.

Look up and Nikki is skipping over to another side of the room.

If we aren’t surprised, we’re old. It’s a sign that you’re getting older.

I don’t meet anyone that I don’t think I have already met.

Someone refills my drink.

Someone else says hello.

Cannot tell whether or not I am bothering to look, whether or not I return the greeting. I feel the effects of the alcohol. I feel the pressure of the party. I seek some sort of genuine feeling, something or someone that isn’t a maybe, but rather just there to be, as many of my friends and followers have specified, there to be around others. Not alone.

It is loneliest around such a large number.

That one gets a lot of likes and one comment. The comment is a question mark. A follower but not a friend.

I return to the comment thread.

I read the next comment three times, having trouble focusing.

I don’t care what people think so most of the time it’s about the booze.

Nikki walks over to me.

She hugs me and I hug her back.

I don’t get today’s trends.

Gulp from the plastic cup. Things merge and I am the merger. I have trouble speaking but the words still come out. They come out with ease. I feel like I’m letting go of something while I fumble with the phone.

Nikki keeps pulling me aside, bringing me to other people.

Things are said. I drink some more.

People just want to be hip. Element of surprise: being hip to the cause.

Nikki. A kiss.

Somewhere someone wants to hang out with someone like you.

I see Nikki pouring more into my plastic cup.

I’m not saying no.

I think I asked for more.

We’re all just fucked up anyway.

In a room with only … I don’t know. Number.

Not much people.

But Nikki is there. Same way, same thing that happened in the room. But I don’t vomit this time. The distance closes, and she says, “Coming!”

Someone walks into the room.

Nikki says, “He’s ready. He’s there!”

Stranger in a strange land.

Maybe it occurs to me. Maybe I noticed, I can’t tell.

Maybe but Nikki, always Nikki.

She’s there at every glance.

Like she’s standing in place of Rios.

Like they take turns.

This is me.

I don’t know what that means.

Outside where a lot of cars are parked. It is dark. Someone is filming. Rios slaps me on the shoulder, “Right on, right on.”

There are people. A number.

I am talking, not typing.

They are all listening.

There was a noise, maybe not. What I don’t see isn’t there. Maybe they are talking about me; they are most definitely looking in my direction.

And more maybes.

Maybes don’t get you anywhere.

Rios and a few people at my side. People all around us.

I try to count but the number is just that, a number.

Numb.

Rios shouts at one person. The person that looks around like he’s frightened. Someone pushes him at us. The person trips and falls. He was wearing glasses. I hadn’t noticed until he fell and they slid in our direction.

Noises, people reacting.

It seems to be entertaining.

I don’t know what part of it is, but it seems like I’m being entertained too. The person tries to get back up but Rios pins him down.

He steps on the person’s back.

The person screams.

It’s annoying.

They all look at me.

I look at them.

Rios nods at me.

We all look down at the person.

Soon it’s all I see.

The person’s face, red, eyes wide, blind.

Rios tells me what needs to happen next.

It all feels like it’s just everything falling into place, the straight line extending past this night toward a future night, a night that will feel the same as this. But different. Maybe.

I am handed the gun.

It’s a gun, you know. Don’t know if I thought that or heard that, but I say it anyway. I say it because it seems to fit in. I fit in.

“I know.”

The body on the ground was a person. So quickly people become something else. All it takes is a trigger. A single flick or pull, and the pressure mounts. It releases and you can barely tell the difference.

But the person is gone.

Maybe that person is really who they want to be but you can’t recognize them. You can’t recognize them because you only know what you’ve already seen, what you’ve already assumed.