DELUSIONS OF GRANDEUR Ivy Becker
2:46 pm The first line of a great novel is supposed to be iconic. To begin what is widely considered her magnum opus, Virginia Woolf wrote, “Mrs. Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself.” There we have it. A protagonist, an action, and most importantly, unanswered questions. Who is Mrs. Dalloway? Why did she have to buy the flowers herself? Who did she say that to? But this isn’t a great novel, it’s a manifesto. “A manifesto?” You may ask “why a manifesto?” Well shut up and listen. Was that harsh? Oops. I hope you know that this isn’t how I am in real life. Were we to have this conversation face to face and you asked “a manifesto?” I would answer with a smile and a flick of my gold bracelet clad wrist: a manifesto to explain my actions over the course of the past afternoon. She’s going to try to say that I left because I was unhappy. That’s not true though, because I’ve always been unhappy, yet I’ve never left before. The real reason for my leaving is that I felt guilty for being unhappy which made me unhappier, unhappy enough to finally do it. I felt guilty because in comparison to the rest of the world my life is golden. But then again, who is the rest of the world? Who are those faces I see on the news living in grass huts stretching condoms over piles of trash and kicking them like soccer balls? Does that make me sound like a brat? Because I don’t want you to think I’m a brat. Brat. That’s what Mother shouted at me when I refused to call her “mom” even though it’s a plebian nickname. If you live in Syosset, which, if you’re reading this you probably don’t because Syosettites are practically illiterate, then likely you’ve seen her, Mother that is, bumbling down Dorcas Street in her barf green clogs, stapling pictures of my face to every available surface area. God, she better not be using a picture where my hair’s still curly or I’ll kill myself. Oh my gosh, I’m kidding, I promise. Suicide’s not a joke, I know. But, like, I swear to God if Mother’s distributing grotesque photographs of me then I will kill myself. I want you to know that I’m not obsessed with looks or anything. No really, I promise. I mean I definitely think that presentation is important. Like, if you show up to a job interview wearing a Kmart maxi skirt and carrying a tattered leather bag from the recession, then you’re probably not gonna get the job *cough* *cough* Mother. I’m not shaming anyone, it’s just how the world works.
