Look at Me, Don’t Look at Me

In today’s journal excerpt, Snow reflects on her first meeting with Jo.

By jkt_de at http://morguefile.com

Street people, homeless people, invisible people. None of these labels place the emphasis on the most important word, the one word we all have in common–PEOPLE.

I don’t know what it was about that Jo when I first met her. I didn’t think anything of it really, not at the time. Oh sure, there was the locking of eyes, the pull of someone “Seeing” you. Of getting you. For an instant it opened up a channel, like a switch on an electric circuit connecting. But it clicked off so quick, with a squirt of fear—Don’t look, don’t look, I’m ugly, don’t look.

Which is funny, that. That fear. Usually I’m like, look at me, yes, look at me you bastard. I dare you to . . . look . . . at . . . me.

Because they don’t, you know. They glare at you maybe. They may even notice you enough to step around you. But hardly nobody ever really looks at you. So why should my rage, my challenge to see me, turn to fear when someone actually does?

I don’t know. I don’t care. Enough of this bullshit. Let someone get close and they screw you. Everyone knows that. Think too much and you screw yourself.

So fuck her. Fuck that moment, fuck that instant of hunger and longing and pain. Stuff it all down deep into the dark core of ugly and save it up for that day you need all the rage you can find.

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