Let’s call her Claire, in order to protect the not so innocent.
Perhaps I had occupied the euphoria that was pre-adolescence until that point or maybe it was because I had attended a small insular private school all of my life, but I was painfully unaware of what other people thought about me until I found Claire.
It was in the 6th grade, my very first year of public school when we met by the bike racks. I was unlocking my bike to go home for the day when a boy behind me made a mean comment about my outfit looking like something his grandmother wore.
Honestly, I didn’t think much of it at first. I heard him, but I guess I didn’t really hear him, you know?
Claire definitely heard him, though. After he left, I got on my bike, and Claire chimed in right beside me. “He’s right, you know.”
“What?” I was startled. “Right about what?”
“Your outfit. It looks like an old person’s outfit. Like a grandma’s outfit.”
“This is what they wore at my other school… it was fine for there…” I slowly pointed out.
Claire sighed and said in a quiet and unassuming way, “That was your other school. This place is different. If you want people to like you here, you’re going to have to wear different clothes.”
It was a profound statement in my sixth grade mind. Acceptance didn’t lie in constancy, it lay in adaptability. In other words, dressing like a grandma was cool with the Baptists, but it was not cool with the public school kids.
So, from that moment on, Claire and I were inseparable. Even though she berated me constantly, often bringing angry and hurt tears to my eyes, I both literally and figuratively clung to Claire. I very much needed her to not only survive but to thrive in public school.
She was my lifesaver in an uncertain ocean of social acceptance.
The sixth grade progressed rather quickly and while Claire wasn’t able to erase the nerd inducing effects of seven years of a conservative Baptist private school completely, she, at least, was able to render me socially passable.
I mean, I had friends and people knew me. I’d venture to say a good deal of people even liked me.
So, when Claire accompanied me to junior high, I felt incredibly lucky. I’ll never forget that first day of seventh grade when the handful of friends I had were assigned a different lunch period, and Claire suggested that I eat lunch in the bathroom all by myself so I wouldn’t look like a loser because I didn’t know anyone in the cafeteria.
Claire was an expert at keeping me from looking like a loser.
It was around eighth or ninth grade that Claire truly helped me blossom. There were some boys in my classes who had a habit of picking on people. They rotated victims on a monthly basis and took ridicule to a whole new level. Claire, always at my side, coached me on how I could avoid being victimized by these little punks, and also on how I could ingratiate myself to them.
“Just laugh at everything they say… make sure you give them an audience, then they’ll definitely leave you alone. In fact,” she said, “they might even start terrorizing people in order to entertain you specifically.”
Claire was very tactical by nature.
“I don’t know,” I said slowly, “they’re being really mean to So-and-so… maybe… I should say something… stick up for her maybe?”
“Are you crazy?” Claire whispered. “Don’t you dare. Look. If you want to be cool, if you want to be more than just accepted around here, you can’t upset the people who have power… those guys,” she pointed her thumb behind her discreetly, “are in charge around here. They decide who fits in and who doesn’t. Do not piss them off.”
As usual, she said it in a hushed tone… very quietly… very unassuming.
I listened to Claire. I laughed at the jokes those boys made about other kid’s clothes, their mannerisms, and their general appearance. In fact, every now and then, Claire would inspire me to join them. I always felt bad afterwards, but Claire had carried me this far… I wasn’t about to deviate from her proven track record.
Then high school rolled around, and thanks to Claire’s tutelage I was an expert at figuring out what to do in order to get people to like me and, even better, to get them to be scared of me.
But Claire kept me plenty humble, too.
When I lost the election for student body vice president in the tenth grade after a run off, it was Claire that reminded me that I didn’t know enough non-IB kids to win. When I missed being on the homecoming court by just a few votes, it was Claire that reminded me that I shouldn’t have been on that ballot in the first place since I wasn’t really that popular. When I got third runner up in the school beauty pageant, it was Claire that rolled her eyes and said that third runner up existed strictly to ensure that one less loser would weep about not having won the contest. When I had a falling out with my closest friends my senior year in high school, it was Claire that pointed out all the reasons why I deserved it.
Claire also told me who it was okay to like and who I could not like. She made up rules about who was cool enough to merit conversation and who ranked right beneath a bout with the Black Plague.
People deemed cool enough by Claire received my love, respect and loyalty, everyone else was ridiculed, ignored or used for copying homework.
By the time I started college, Claire had taken the unsure little girl who had eaten her first lunch of seventh grade in the bathroom and turned her into a well guarded, impenetrable fortress of arrogance… impenetrable, of course, to everyone but Claire.
Because, let’s face it, people, Claire? Owned me.
I wish I could say that Claire and I parted ways when I left for theater school, but we didn’t. She came with me, but this time Claire wasn’t telling me how much better I was than everyone else. No, this time, Claire made it her express intent to send me home.
“You absolutely do not belong here,” Claire said, “the kids here have real talent… you’re just articulate. There’s a difference between being well spoken and being an actual actress.”
Now, see here. Claire had gotten me through just about every rough patch in my social and private life in the last seven years, I wasn’t about to let her stop dictating my life. She was strong when I was weak, brave when I was cowardly… I needed Claire.
Claire knew me better than anyone else, better than my teachers in high school who said I was meant to act, or my friends who thought I was extraordinarily talented and much better than the obviously misguided professor at the theater department who offered me a scholarship.
I had fooled them, but, Claire knew the real me.
So, I listened to Claire, of course, and dropped out of theater school and went to an engineering school. And lived happily ever after.
Somewhere around 19 or 20, Claire was just no longer a part of my life. I don’t know if Tariq scared her off, or whether it was just the simple act of growing apart.
I’d like to think she was devastated by my lack of attention towards her. It’s funny how a smart, handsome and charismatic young man can render even the likes of Claire all but generally useless.
You’d think that since I was so important to Claire, she would have put up a fight. But, really, her passing out of my life was uneventful.
It’s like one morning, I woke up, and… no Claire.
Every now and then, though, Claire calls me. Because our interactions are so few and far in between, though, wow, she comes at me with a vengeance.
She implies that I’m wasting my life staying at home when I should really be doing a PhD or being a CEO. Or she’ll remind me what a huge mistake it was for me to drop out of theater school. And, wow, she really gets on my case about how much weight I’ve gained since having these kids.
So, yes, There was a time when Claire made my life hell. When she shows up now, though, I give her minute to say what she has to say, and, then, I tell her to be on her way.
I’m not a teenager anymore, you know?
I know what I like… I know who is important. Most of all, I like myself well enough that I don’t need anyone’s tutelage in order to survive this life
So, I don’t need Claire.
I bet you’re dying to meet her, right?
It’s funny, back in the sixth grade, Claire seemed larger than life, and now she just this tiny, little, rather insignificant shadow of her former self.
That little glimmer right behind the left pupil? That’s her.
What do you mean, you don’t see her? Trust me, she’s there… I’m just keeping her in check.
Plus, I told you she could be quiet and unassuming.
***
P.S. That’s me in the photo, for all the brain surgeons out there. (Oh, my GOD, Claire, would you shut UP already?!!)
When I was reading this I thought “wow, your friend was REALLY articulate. And she sounds like my inner mean girl.”
Claire is your inner mean girl, right? No way this kid existed.
I kept thinking, ‘whoa, that sounds like so many of ours’ inner voices’. Way to fable that stuff out.
Wow Faiqa, this is really powerful!
Claire was a real person, right? Because when you say she’s in your left eye I’m suddenly freaked out that she was your imaginary friend always judging you.
Because I actually did have a friend like Claire, only her name was Anu (yep) and she was my friend 7th-11th, gave up on me when I would no longer bend to her ear, and although she added me as a Facebook friend and I still long for her to want to be my friend she has long since forgotten about me. Hurts. And I feel very unaccepted because of that.
(Stop searching through my friends for her to send her a nasty message, that’s not nice.)
I always hate Claire. I always loved you, and you can always go back to school when the kids decide that they’re tired of hanging out with you.
I actually knew a real life Claire, too.
But no one is worse than the inner Claire. Such a bitch.
I once ate an eclair, but I don’t think it’s the same.
Nicely done. I wanted to kill Claire for you at one point.
Now meet Charlie…
I think we have all have had a Clare input lives. And at various times in my life — early elementary school, college — I have been Clare. One of mybiggest daily challenges is to not be Clare. Let’s face it; I learned fromwatching a master at work — my mother. But I can read people much better than she can and therefore can be more hurtful. Every day I make the choice to be the better, nicer person. Some days it’s really hard though. I mean did you see that outfit?
I think we have all have had a Clare input lives. And at various times in my life — early elementary school, college — I have been Clare. One of mybiggest daily challenges is to not be Clare. Let’s face it; I learned fromwatching a master at work — my mother. But I can read people much better than she can and therefore can be more hurtful. Every day I make the choice to be the better, nicer person. Some days it’s really hard though. I mean did you see that outfit?
Wonderful post! How is it that we haven’t met? Because I live in a cave I think.
Thank you for a wonderful post, I too have a Claire inside of me, but thankfully she’s starting to visit less and less often. I really enjoy your writing
Just the little section about what you were wearing brought back a memory about grade nine when flowered blouses were “in” and a really hot grade 12 guy walked by me and said really loud, “who’s going to water you today?”. I was so embarrassed and I never wore the shirt again. My Mom didn’t understand and she was so mad that her money had been wasted, but I just couldn’t do it.
I think many of us have little voices inside of us. Some more pronounced than others. Great post, sorry I haven’t been around that much.
This was like Fight Club, except without the teeth in the sink.
Lovely post, we all have a Claire who dwells deep inside.
I always tell folks to remember to be kind to themselves. Perhaps, I should be telling them to kick Claire’s ass instead.
As soon as I started reading this I knew that she was your “Drop Dead Fred”.
I like this post a lot. And you are way too hard on yourself. Give yourself a break, Claire.
I thought this expressed you as a person well and your power to move on….”People come, people go – they’ll drift in and out of your life, almost like characters in a favorite book. When you finally close the cover, the characters have told their story and you start up again with another book, complete with new characters and adventures. Then you find yourself focusing on the new ones, not the ones from the past.”
— Nicholas Sparks
oh faiqa, i wanted to pummel claire as i read this. i was baffled at how someone could consider claire a friend, to want to cling to her. i couldn’t understand why you would need her then and still even entertain a call from her now. and then to find out she resides, even a little bit, inside of you, well i am sitting here at my desk with tears in my eyes. fuck. i cannot adequately describe how much it hurts my heart to know that you listened for even a moment to such doubts and negativity. i’m so thankful you are stronger these days. and i am grateful you know the love and support of tariq.
This is award-quality writing that my pre-teen girls will soon be reading. Thank you.
I my Claire’s name is Ugly Girl.
I never named my inner mean girl, but you sure hit her nail right on the head. Sometimes our worst bullies are ourselves.
This was superior writing, Faiqa. Really well done!
I never named my inner mean girl, but you sure hit her nail right on the head. Sometimes our worst bullies are ourselves.
This was superior writing, Faiqa. Really well done!
Oh Faiqa, I love you.
I’m glad you told Claire to back off. Here’s hoping we all can do that. I have an inner mean girl but I can’t remember what I named her. D’oh.
PS : When I hear the name Claire, all I can think of is the Breakfast Club.
Oh my gosh, Faiqa. This post was beyond brilliant. Wow. I don’t even think I can say anything other than this was amazing. And I think you should be the keynote speaker again in San Diego. And just… wow. You’re an amazing person. xo
After seeing the title and then the name you chose? Sorry, but I could not read this post. I’m not ready to read anything negative about someone named Claire. Next time think of me before you chose a fictional character name. Sheesh!
Not only was that beautifully written, that was one of the best posts I’ve ever read.
Thank you for that.
Wow, I had to read that twice, just amazing. I think I’ll let my 13 yr old daughter read it. You are so talented and I am really enjoying this series. Thank you so much for sharing.
Oh I GET it! I get it right?
That’s awesome!
This is exactly why I think you would be a fantastic fiction writer. In my opinion this post is one of your top five. Bravo.
@tariq, or as the arabs would say “bravo alayk!”
Claire sounds hot!
that’s funny!* I dunno if you watch Star Trek (TNG), but Claire was the name of an alien of some sort who played that role in the life of a girl new to the Enterprise. Everybody thought she was just an imaginary friend, until… well that’s not important. As soon as you named her Claire, it occurred to me to think of her as a possible imaginary friend.
*Not so much your post, as the way I was able to figure out the end, without even thinking there was something to “figure out.”
My Claire is named Chatterbox. She’s an awful bitch.
Amazing Post, Faiqa. I’ll admit I spent most of the first read-through running EVERYONE we went to high school with through my mind, trying to figure out who you were calling “Claire”… then I got it. And I went back and read it again, wishing we had known then what we know now.
You blow my mind.
I think we all have a “Claire.” You characterized her so perfectly.
Unfortunately, some never learn to silence their Claire. On the other hand, some never really listen to her in the first place. That’s a really special kind of person.
awesome. my inner mean girl is such a bitch, NOT thanks to all the bullies who reinforced it for me growing up too. bitches!
This is an amazing post. Fantastically written.
Ya know, at first I wanted to “bitch slap” Claire! Then, it came to me…
WOW, what a fantastic piece, Faiqa! Like I said today to you on the phone…
You REALLY NEED to ….
Absolutely one of my faves as well