When I was a child, I had recurring nightmares for years. It was always the same story. I’d be in some normal place, surrounded by family or friends (generally family, as I had few friends). And then I would realize or remember that all of these people were, in fact, monsters wearing human disguises. Perhaps they’d always been this way, and I’d never had family; perhaps my family had been replaced.
I’d sit there, paralyzed on the couch next to a terrifying, smiling creature. Smiling just a little too well, and looking just a little too intent. I’d desperately try to act natural, casual, to smile as well and to play along. Because somehow I knew that as long as I played along, as long as I showed no sign that I knew what they were, everything would be okay. Maybe they thought I was one of them, or just that I was acceptably oblivious.
It never lasted long. I knew they’d notice, and dreams are self-fulfilling. Once one of them caught on, I’d see that light of recognition and the rising force of… something… as their face slipped and they began to move. The terror would hit full-force, and I’d wake up, heart pounding but still desperate to stay still and silent.
I never did find out what happened next. The fear wasn’t of being attacked or killed. It was of being noticed — recognized as someone who didn’t belong there, who saw them for what they were, who couldn’t play along. I don’t quite know or remember what it was at the core, so all I can do is gesture in the general direction of this strange nameless fear.
A tenuous segue: I know it’s hard for us, as men, to understand what it’s like to be a woman in our world. I was thinking about vulnerable situations that women sometimes find themselves in. Those in which there’s a man who is smiling, friendly, but forceful in his interest. Perhaps not willing to take no for an answer. And she’s scared to say no. Because if she says no, everything changes, and it might get worse. Much worse.
Sometimes I hate this world. Sometimes I think we can change it.