Ask the Question

It was a couple of months ago. A Thursday, if memory serves. Kym Trailz and the TONCWAVE had agreed to help me with a photography contest I was entering. The collaboration would prove fruitful… oh, don’t misunderstand. Not only did I not win, but I didn’t even place in the final tally. I did however come up with an image that I am quite proud of and if it didn’t meet the standards of others, so be it.

This is the photograph in question. I love it for all its unconventionality. If you do not care for it, kindly pucker up and kiss my grits.

We met in a bar in Metairie, LA. The owner had graciously allowed us use of his space. When I walked in, I was surprised to see a friendly face, Paul and his girlfriend. Paul is what I suppose I would call “charmingly and extremely counter-culture”. He likes to look at the world in what he considers to be its true form and poke it with a stick as often as possible. I’ve occasionally thought that had he decided to pursue a career as a zoo keeper, he would inevitably end up looking like one of the supporting characters in Tiger King.

As I set up lighting equipment, Paul inquired as to whether I would be producing any new stand up comedy events, something I used to do up until a few years ago. As we discussed my general dislike of working with comedians, something caught my eye.

This is something that happens to me about once a day. A shot. THE shot.

The bar we were in was lit in a way so as not to disturb the migration patterns of the chronically inebriated. The bartender opened the door, breaking the general darkness like a light sent directly from heaven to burn the sinners (I.E.: us, I suppose). The light caught Paul’s face as well as his barrier of cigarette smoke, trailing from his lit Marlboro. It was a perfect shot. My camera was hanging loosely on my hip. All I had to do was grab it and take the shot.

I didn’t.

I let the moment pass uncommented.

So why?

If you’ll indulge me… I’ve been reading the memoirs of arguably my biggest idol, J. Michael Straczynski. The more I read, the more I am struck by what we have in common. At one point in the story, he explains that he has never felt human. Rather, he feels like an alien who has learned how to emulate human behavior, just enough to get by, but never enough to feel it. That’s me. To a “T”. A misfit. An alien. Able to walk among the humans, but rarely relate to them the way my brain says I should.

So often in my life, something happens. Maybe it’s profound. Maybe it is something utterly ordinary. But I let the moment pass, because for whatever reason, I don’t ask the question.

That’s it. I don’t ask the question. Perhaps because I’m afraid they’ll think I’m weird for whatever simple question I’m asking. Is the question stupid? Bizarre? The human disguise might slip a bit, revealing the alien underneath. Better to stay silent and avoid being noticed.

Its why I don’t date much. I’m terrified that a woman will see me for what I am. These fears extend even to those I am actually close to—-be they friends or lovers.

It’s something I’m working on. Obviously, I haven’t been very successful.

I have to remind myself regularly. “Just ask the question. It doesn’t matter. What’s the worst that could happen?”

…don’t answer that.