Reject the premise

Whenever you’re given a binary choice, A or B, Yes or No, This or That, reject the premise. Accept neither.

I am 15. Again. And I know everything.

I know every hurt. Again. I know every rejection. I know the slow tedium of choosing my clothes for school, just to wear the same jeans, sit in the same seats, listen to the same teachers teach the same things.

I thought I would. Again. I would invest. I would gamble. I would steal a kiss from the pretty girl. But I can’t stomach touching a sophomore. I have a $5 a week allowance. No one will open a brokerage account for a minor.

Everything is worse. Again. The joke is less funny the second time. The surprises don’t surprise. It’s just a long slow road until I get to choose. Again.

Whenever you’re given a binary choice, A or B, Yes or No, This or That, reject the premise. Accept neither.

I chose. I made the wrong choice.

I am 45. I think. I can’t be sure. The money is there. In my account. I guess I’m still using the same password I’ve always used. I have changed so little.

I am married. I think. I don’t recognize this person. Her laugh is not a laugh I knew then. A phantom smile on a ghost I’ve never known.

I have a future. I think. I can afford one. But I don’t have any shared stories. There are no inside jokes, told outside, with a friend who has been there since the beginning. There was no one here with me. I think.

Whenever you’re given a binary choice, A or B, Yes or No, This or That, reject the premise. Accept both.