It was Trump’s inauguration today. I didn’t watch it. It was the first day it snowed in New York, the sky was clear and the air was still. I went to Leon’s bagel shop just off Broome Street. Ordered cream cheese, capers, tomato, onions and salmon. I then went to a coffee shop around the corner and ordered a latte. As I waited I pulled up the news on my phone. Saw a picture of two old men posing for photos outside of Congress. Their bright white teeth, and skin pulled back over their ageing skulls. Their smooth foreheads, and scolding faces. Their bored wives, and expensive hats. I closed it and put it back in my pocket. I looked at the young man in front of me and the barista he was flirting with. Their clear skin, and coy smiles. Their thick hair and second hand jeans. Their confidence, and total immersion. Eventually and reluctantly she handed the warm coffee to him. The woman working the till came over to her, and they whispered and giggled while she prepared my coffee. I thanked her for my latte and headed home. That was my first snow day of the year.
Tag: freedom-of-speech
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Anxiety
People often try to ease social anxiety by saying, “don’t worry no one notices you anyway”. The idea is you shouldn’t stress about what you are saying, or your appearance because even if you did do something embarrassing no one cares. Everyone is too interested in themselves.
I open my laptop to read emails. I am anxious and shaky. The alcohol I was still consuming in the early hours of Sunday morning has now fully passed through. I feel empty, stripped of the dopamine needed to motivate me. I open Twitter, and see a notification.
It is a link to an article about freedom of speech legislation. “Took me 2 mins of Googling to find. Next time, make sure to do your research before calling someone else a liar”.
I was at a wedding on Saturday. It was a friend from college. We weren’t that close at college but over the last few years I have got to know him and his family better. They are a family that seem so self assured. I know this can’t be as true as I think it is. But from the outside, they are attractive, confident in their intelligence, and generous with their home. And I want them to like me.
After the ceremony, we sat down to a starter of a salad of green leaves, shredded carrots and tomatoes, dressed in a vinaigrette of olive oil and balsamic vinegar. It was light, with the perfect amount of dressing. Not swimming, just brushed. Confident in its flavor, without being overbearing.
I ate it and then went to the bar, where I was introduced to a girl that wanted a cigarette. I had a pack of Marlboro Lights tucked inside my jacket pocket. I offered to go outside with her and her friend. It was a clear night and the stars were dotted across the sky. I offered them both cigarettes.
I like smoking because it gives an opportunity for a quiet conversation. I don’t like the smell it leaves on me, but the trade off is worth it.
“How do you know the couple,” I asked.
“Went to middle school with him,” he responded. The girl I offered the cigarette to stood in silence. She took a long drag, her eyes darted between the two of us and then she let the smoke drift out of her slightly opened mouth.
We were standing twenty meters away from the party, everyone else inside was dancing to a live band playing covers of Abba. You could hear them shouting along in a disorderly way.
Outside, we were trading a few details about our childhood. “I went to college with him”, “I grew up in England and moved here a few years ago”, “I am a writer”.
Then he asked me. “What do you make of the freedom of speech law in England”.
“Which freedom of speech law,” I enquired.
“The 2010 one, that says you can be put in jail for something you put on Twitter”.
I stopped for a moment. I didn’t want to talk about politics. I definitely didn’t want to talk about freedom of speech. And certainly not with this guy. I tried to keep my calm.
“I don’t think that is true, we are protected under the European Court of Civil Rights which protects freedom of speech in the UK,” I responded with more confidence than I should have.
He denied this. Told me I didn’t know what I was talking about. I asked him when the last time he went to England was. He said a year ago. I said I am from there. He told me I was an idiot. At least that is how I remember it.
“So you are telling me parts of England aren’t ruled under sharia law, that the mayor of London isn’t a Muslim?” he took a different line of questioning.
“No, none of England is ruled under sharia law, and yes the mayor of London is a Muslim,” I responded.
I explained that I have lived there most of my life. And that our common law system applies equally to everyone in the country. He called me an “elitist piece of shit”. I apologized to the girl for the conversation. He told me not to, she agreed with him and then he turned and walked inside with her.
I stood alone in the dark, away from the party while Abba still throbbed in the background. The cigarette smoldered in my hand. My fingers stunk.
I open the article on Twitter, it’s from a news website I trust. Published two years ago and gives some examples of people in the UK that have been prosecuted for threatening to “kill” and “rape” people on Twitter. Am I wrong? Is this what freedom of speech is? I always thought it was illegal to threaten people with violence?
Then I realise this man has been thinking of me all weekend. Sat down on Monday morning, found my last name, looked for me on social media and posted the article to my feed in public. “Don’t worry no one notices you anyway,” I think.
What else has been noticed? I told a girl I was trying to flirt with her, and then when she said she had a boyfriend I quickly apologised. That seemed respectful. But maybe it was pathetic. Maybe she saw flakes of dandruff on my jacket, or my breath smelt. My fingers certainly smelt like cigarettes.
She hasn’t found me on Twitter to tell me how pathetic I am, but maybe she told her friends. And her boyfriend. And the family of the wedding.
I want to respond. Argue back. “That legislation doesn’t exist anymore”, “It only applies to death threats”, “the US constitution doesn’t allow you to say anything you want”. I want to win. Explain why he is wrong, remove all doubt and get him to see the world the way I do. I sit for a few minutes. Do nothing, wait for the decision to settle.
Slowly the warmth dissipates from my face and heart rate begins to slow. I read the article again. I am right but he will never agree.
Sometimes people do notice you. Sometimes it is because they love you. Sometimes it is because they hate you. You might remind them of their dad, their first grade English teacher or themselves. But you will never know and they might not either.
I don’t respond. I get up, yawn and go outside. It is the last nice week of summer. It is still sunny and warm, but the mugginess of August is gone.
Karl's life 