Just Between Us

It’s you and I, you know.

By “you” I mean you. You know who you are. You can wear that sombrero and stick-on mustache six days a week but on Sunday, you’re up against it. The truth is you may not remember who used to wear the hat.

By “I” I mean me, and I could be anyone. I’ve got a personality to match every sweater I own and a couple I’ve got my eye on. Since we’re here, get the door and don’t step on my cat. He’s black so you won’t see him until he’s sitting on your chest, issuing demands. Don’t worry. He’s a hustler. When he sees you have nothing he wants he’ll leave you be.

Any plural pronoun forms the basis for misunderstanding. “Let’s be patient,” I might say. The pronoun is hidden in a simple contraction; the anxiety would be clear. The risks are great in any human interaction. You’ve come a long way. For a moment you didn’t recognize my face and when you did, you hesitated. You know who you are. I could be anyone. The cat doesn’t trust you. Take off your shoes.

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