Kathleen McCall:
Occasional�� Muse�

2002-10-04 - 7:04 a.m.

Fringe

The thing I hated the worst when I was a kid was my own birthday parties. I don't think I had a lot, as parties were not de rigeur when I was a kid, but I know I had at least some, because I remember. Not the games or the cake or any of that; I remember opening presents in front of people. I hated that...all those people looking at me.

The "all those people" part was okay. I can do "all those people", although I tend to be the one who helps out in the kitchen. I know some other kitchen-helpers, we're kind of a breed. We can't all go to the same parties or there isn't room for us; we're all trying to stay out on the outskirts of the party. It's an "after you, Alphonse" sort of a routine. We'd end up each getting to cut ONE slice of bread for the crudites, taking turns. "You cut yours already, get out there and MINGLE!" But there'd be nobody out there to mingle with.

(I don't even like that word, mingle. Certainly doesn't sound like something you ought to be doing in a crowd of people.)

So the "all those people" was okay, but the "looking at me" part wasn't so great. I don't want to be the center. When I left my high-tech job, they had a going-away roast for me. I think it went on for about sixteen hours. I had to sit on a platform facing an auditorium full of people while they poked gentle fun at me. There was something absolutely wonderful about all those people caring that I was leaving, going to all that trouble for me; but it was excruciating to be such a focus. I have a videotape of the damn thing, and I have never been able to watch it. Who could? What's worse than being excruciated? WATCHING yourself be excruciated.

I can do public speaking; I can do stand-up comedy; I can lead a class of students. It must be some sort of a control thing. I can't sit there while you look at me. That's too hard. I can't jump into a conversation with acquaintances like I belonged there or something. If it ain't my show, I don't know where to go, Joe. Is that weird or what?

But this really started out to be about fringing, which is a thing I do well. Kitchen helpers are fringers. When you put us in a group, we know how to stay out of the middle; we know how to move quietly, and listen, and never look SO far outside that we're noticeable, and never get so far in that we run the risk of making fools of ourselves. We have the gift of semi-invisibility. Why? Because we don't really like people looking at us, paying us attention we didn't bid for.

Leo used to look at me, and if he looked at me for too long I'd get all shifty and freaked and say "Stop looking at me!" like a six-year old. "I like looking at you," he'd say. I like looking at people, too. I just don't like them looking BACK. What, I got egg on my face? I look tired? The hair's all flat and funny again? I don't feel like dealing with my confidence issues right this minute. Look somewhere else.

Fringers don't take compliments, either. Well, it looks like they don't; really they do. Part of the self-confidence thing. You say something nice to a fringer, they go right on as though they never heard a thing you said - but we do, we really do. We just squirrel it away for later; acknowledging it would be like opening presents in front of people, and we can't bear that. We don't hate the present part - we just hate the vulnerability of the whole deal. But we heard you, we really did, and we've already got the damn compliment embroidered on aida cloth and framed in our minds. You'll just never know that, unless you're a fringer, too. "I like your writing." "Yeah. Now, about next Friday..." But we got it, we really did. We're fast that way.

I used to think being fringe was wrong somehow, that I ought to get out and do the mingle thingle better. I thought if I didn't, people would be all, "oh, let's get Kath to come, she does the Pyrex." But as it turns out, the kitchen is the happening place anyway. It's warm, and full of kindred souls, having warm little conversations and keeping their hands busy. We pay attention to each other, but not such loud direct attention that anybody has to blush. We're not surprised when a compliment we give seems ignored, because we know better. AND we have immaculate Pyrex.

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