In a moment of honesty I would confess to you that I sometimes hate this place. The smallness of it, and how everyone knows everyone. What I hate most of all is that when I had first arrived and it was unclear of my intentions – to stay or not to stay – I was the news. Everyone knew me before I’d even heard their name in aside conversation. I was hot. I was it. I was being fixed up with people behind my back and without my knowledge. Everyone wanted to know me.
Then when I decided to stay, I instantly felt like day-old bagels. I imagine people sitting around their woodstoves or kitchen tables saying, “Oh, let’s call Emily. Well… never mind. I don’t quite feel like it right now. And she’ll be around.”
The other problem is that when I first arrived, I was me. And when I decided to stay I was suddenly The Collector’s Girlfriend. Which is not to say that I don’t carry that title with some pride because, after all, we’re talking about a very special person indeed. But it is to say that I’d rather just be myself. Only I don’t seem to be able to figure out who exactly that is at the moment.