A Sense of Entropy
"I'm Not Through with You Yet"

by Jenn Kane

In honor of the holiday season, I'd like to take this opportunity to thank my family.

It's not what you think.

I mean, don't get me wrong: I love my family. They are wonderful, kind people with some of the most endearing idiosyncrasies in the world.

But what I'd really like to thank them for are their completely fucked-up soap opera lives. Without their sordid activities as conversational fodder, I wouldn't have anything with which to fill those awkward silences.

Lately, especially now that I'm back in the retail workforce, I've been running into a plethora of former co-workers, classmates, and the like. It's just that once my time with them is up, whether it be at a job or for the semester, they are immediately relegated to the nameless floating faces that compose my subconscious. Honestly, I have a sneaking suspicion that my brain retains their image for the sole purpose of later use as an extra in the rotating cast of my dreams.

So I have been having quite a few of those conversations where the mouth stalls for time as the mind searches frantically for the winning match. It's like an internal game show, a spinning wheel of faces and names flying wildly. (The absolute worst part is, they always remember my name. Always. Aren't people constantly complaining about how famously bad they are with names? That particular breed of folk exists purely as myth to me.)

The following example pretty much constitutes my most recent forays into capable conversation:

Person who I don't know, but who obviously (and happily) knows me: "Jenn! Hey! How have you been? What's new?"

Me, confused but enthusiastic: "Omigod! Hi! It's sooo good to see you again! So how are you doing? How's life?"

Unidentified Person: "Good. Totally great. Life is life, ya know? So how about you? How's school?"

Now. One would surmise that I could narrow down this anonymous person's place in my past using the process of deduction. Alas, no. The only reason I have been stranded on Long Island for the past four years is school and school alone. Any other context in which a person could know me inevitably traces back to the university.

At this point in the conversation, the aforementioned awkward silence drops with a large and obtrusive thud.

I generally begin to fidget with anxiousness. My eyes dart rapidly. These actions are my body's version of an SOS signal.

My brain begins to tick away the seconds, each one heavy and portentous, as I desperately search for some key phrase that embodies everything I want to convey. Wittiness yet apparent thought. Confidence with a touch of modesty. A pair of expectant eyes stare at me, waiting silently for this impossible response.

I finally speak, the word 'blurt' reaching new heights in definition. The words tumble out quickly, breathlessly before my hands fly upward to forcibly shut my mouth.

"My aunt had an affair. With her tennis instructor."

Okay. Stop.

"Then she was diagnosed with cancer."

Seriously, you've made an ass out of yourself.

"Now she has a wig but it looks like real hair."

If you were trying to make this person incredibly uncomfortable, you have completely succeeded.

"My grandma says that maybe it's just God's way of telling her that she shouldn't have cheated."

Fuck.

It's painful and horrible, this conversational Tourette's.

All of this private information, usually siphoned from relative to relative with great care has now been unburdened on this unsuspecting innocent from my past.

It's these moments when I feel as though I should come with a warning sticker.