POV

"Isn't this whole thing very egocentric?"

"Well, yeah. It is first person narrative, you know."

That was a conversation I had years ago in a creative writing class. I couldn't believe the prof actually asked, but she did. I was remembering that today and it occurred to me that perhaps we're not always the best narrators of our own lives. From a subjective standpoint it's very hard to maintain our objectivity. Try describing a whirlwind while you're standing at its center and you'll understand. Calm eye of the storm my ass.

"Hey, why are you standing there like that?"

Jake had just been handed an astonishing piece of news which he was trying mightily to digest, so Brianna's question definitely struck him wrong. "Shut up", he snarled.

Her eyes widened at him, and he thought he saw the beginnings of moisture at their corners. Ah damn.

"Did you just snarl at me?"

Jake nodded. "Yup."

"Why?"

"Are you kidding? You just told me you were leaving me."

"Well, that's no reason to get so emotional. It's not like we were really involved."

"After three years? Not involved? How long does it usually take?"

"There you go again, raising your voice. How should I know how long it takes? Involvement is hard to time."

"I dunno. I feel like I just did hard time. What made you stay then, the sex?"

"Nah. The sex wasn't that good."

"I should have known when you kept asking for the remote. Then was it the money?"

Brianna laughed loudly. "You don't have any."

Jake was completely dumbfounded. What the hell had she hung around for? "Then why did you stay?"

She shrugged, a gesture more eloquent than words. It was obvious she had absolutely no idea. "You were, uh,"

"Familiar?" he prompted, and she nodded contemptuously. Wow, there it was right in front of him. Familiarity and its offspring, which was probably why she was leaving.

"And you made me laugh."

Jake stared at her. "You hung around me not for sex or money, but for comic relief?"

Brianna nodded again, and after a few long moments, Jake began laughing so hard he was afraid he'd hurt himself. The irony was thick. He'd been so concerned about making others laugh all his life, and his best audience had been right under him. Well, he thought so anyway; honestly, it had sometimes been difficult to tell, though the occasional muffled requests for electronic equipment or new carpeting had helped reassure him she was at least in the room.

There you have it, a life scene in third person omniscient. Tell the truth, if you had the choice, wouldn't you write better stories for yourself? Isn't objectivity easier than the opposite? Certainly things work out better when you can manipulate the players, though this one didn't end all that badly in reality. If you're curious, later that day, I went back to our apartment and did the dead fish dance with her in honor of our sex life, or mine at least. Hey, there's funny and then there's funny. Everything depends on your point of view.


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