When I was in the fifth grade I had a recurrent dream that I could fly. I was elated that I could soar past the bullies and the teasers. I loved that they had to look up to me in my dream. I soared in the air down Haral Place past the mailbox on my way to Stafford School. I held onto that dream. It gave me a sense of being special when I felt anything but special.
But the teasing got worse in junior high. Patty Craven howled at me as if I were a dog. She bribed a classmate to ask me out so they could laugh at me. She was cruel, but I took it. I found small ways to be unkind to others, somehow justified in my low social ranking. I wasn’t proud of my behavior. I got myself, and an accomplice, in trouble by confessing to a teacher. I couldn’t live with my guilt.
It was then that I longed to be invisible so I could hear what the popular girls said about me, but they wouldn’t know I was there. I could disappear so that I wouldn’t be inclined to emulate the bullies. I just wanted to blend in, so that my frizzy hair and my bad complexion wouldn’t make a statement. Or I didn’t want to be seen at all. But, that was not to be. Once in a while I would still dream of flying, but during the day I was an obvious target.
Being invisible seemed like the coolest super power. Casper was a friendly ghost and he was invisible. It was a nice power. Samantha and her relatives could become invisible on Bewitched. And, Jeannie from I Dream of Jeannie could vanish after some mishap. Boy, would I have loved that in school and at home before my mother punished me.
Nonetheless, like all the mortals I’ve known, I could not make myself invisible, until now. Forty-six year later, at the precipice of my 60thbirthday my wish has come true. I walk down the street and must quickly side step the person coming towards me. I look at the businessman leering at the woman in front of me while unaware of my presence. Tada, meet invisible me.
On the sidewalk I’ve had gadget-frenzied individuals run into me, shocked when they hit a person who was unseen moments prior. I can hear inappropriate conversations in ride shares because the other passengers aren’t aware that this particular unobserved person can hear their banter. I am reading my emails on the bus when two loud friends sit next to me and continue in their outside voices, as if I am not there.
These are the minor inconveniences. More than anything, being invisible has its advantages. I am no longer concerned on the days I go around with unkempt hair. My shoes are comfortable because I’m okay with someone seeing me with my walk-friendly athletic wear, understanding that most people won’t be looking at all. There’s a delightful freedom in that. Not only can I face the world with abandon, I observe the quirks of others in private. So I embrace my invisibility. Though it serves a different purpose from the wish of my 13-year-old self, I am relishing the magic of post-mid-life invisibility in the present.
When I was 10 years old I was allowed to walk on Haddonfield-Berlin Road, crossing highways entrances and exits to go to The Woodcrest Shopping Center. For a short time they had The Jerry Lewis Movie Theater, and I could get in for 50 cents, the amount of my allowances after chores. Or, I would go to W.T. Grant’s, deemed a twenty-five cent department store, but more of a five and dime. that sold colorful birds, toys, clothes, plastic jewelry, and featured a lunch counter. I was much too shy to go to the counter alone. But I loved getting lost in the aisles ending up with some sort of sweet. There was also Crest Lanes where I could bowl. I loved the crack of the pins being hit, and the overhead light of the score pad. In the other direction I would walk to The Haddontown Swim Club. It was lovely after a hot August walk to reach the pool and jump in to the cold splash of wet relief. These were some of my first destination walks.
The movie Funny Girl opened in 1968. I was eight years old and in Third Grade, struggling with Mrs. Mishaw, the dower educator who wore Irish wool suits and had no patience for fools. I was a dreamy fool finding solace in movies. Barbra Streisand as Fanny Brice became my hero. Fanny Brice for celebrating her kooky self, and Barbra for singing so magnificently. She was the balm for an otherwise abrasive year.
janetzinn 