Vida by JL Bogenschneider

I was following Vida Mondana. Everyone was. She was the biggest star on the planet. We were just the debris in her orbit. Whenever she posted a picture of herself I’d comment with something like Good morning, Vida! if it was morning, or Goodnight!, if it was at night, my salutations salt in a sea of stans.

But I got to know some of the other people who followed Vida, so that as well as saying Good morning, Vida! or Goodnight!, I’d say those things to the other people too. Often in the comments we’d get to talking about ourselves; how things were with us and so on. Sometimes Vida would like these comments – receiving a notification with her name on it was like winning the lottery, only better – usually the ones that were kind and reassuring, such as You are beautiful inside and out or Just knowing you’re alive makes my heart sing or Yikes! Hottie alert! which was a joke that we had.

*

When the person I was married to asked me to leave because of my ‘obsession’, the others were really nice about it. They said supportive things like  At the end of every night there is always day or Somewhere there is someone who will love you without condition or D-d-d-doi-oing!!! which was another joke we had.

When the company I worked for invited me to leave because of ‘productivity concerns’, I told the others there were days when I wanted to go to sleep and never wake up. They responded with emojis and exhortations to remember the thing about the end of the night and the day. Even Vida responded with a sad face. That led to a discussion of how we all expressed our emotions in different ways, concluding that there was no single most effective way to do this, that each to their own was best.

And when the person who owned the apartment I’d moved into told me I had to go because of ‘serious arrears’, I was overwhelmed with messages of support and gifs and financial advice on investment opportunities. Really, everyone was very good. Vida didn’t respond but then she was a busy person.

* 

One time someone said that they’d seen Vida in the grocery store of their small town. We all knew Vida lived in the city, but she was famous, so it made sense that she’d have other homes as well, such as an anonymous bolthole in a small town with a grocery store where she sometimes went to get away from it all. It wasn’t far from where I lived and because I didn’t like where I lived anymore, which was my car, I drove the fourteen hours, thinking I might start afresh.

When I arrived, sure enough there was Vida Mondana coming out of a pharmacy. I followed her again – IRL this time – all the way home, which was in a rundown building in a not-nice part of town.

There were a lot of people waiting outside. Vida let one of them in. The rest were left milling around. We got to talking and someone invited me back to where they lived, which was an abandoned house they shared with some other people who also followed Vida. There was a spare corner in one room so I moved in.

We didn’t talk much beyond ‘Excuse me,’ ‘Could I have the bathroom next?’ and ‘Can I borrow your charger?’ But every morning, after Vida Mondana posted a picture, we gathered outside her building and watched her come and go. Mostly we were respectful but sometimes – usually a new person – would say something like, ‘Hey, Vida!’ or ‘Can I get a picture?’ Sometimes they whistled or whooped, but we put paid to that with a stern look or a harsh, ‘Hush, now.’ In the evenings Vida would invite one of us in.

 *

One time, after a long while, it happened to me. Vida had been to the grocery and she was carrying two plastic bags bulging with a cheap cut of meat and some vegetables. She waved at me with a finger and I helped take the bags inside. Vida led me up a flight of steep stairs up to her apartment. I prepared dinner while she sat with her feet up watching TV. I didn’t think much of where she lived. It was shabby and damp. The fixtures were loose and the furniture old. The corner of one room looked very much like my own. We ate together, in silence, watching a soap opera.

‘I’m not who you think I am,’ said Vida. ‘Only I’m quite plain, so people tend to project. Maybe I have her nose or something. I think her films are average to be honest.’

 I understood what she was saying. Everyone needs their privacy. I thought it was important to play along, so I asked why she pretended.

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she said. ‘On the whole, they’re kind. Sometimes they’re funny. Mostly they can cook. Anyway, they don’t believe me. I’ve tried telling them often enough. Watch.’

Vida stood up and opened the window.

‘Will you all go away, please? I’m not Vida Mondana! I’m nobody! I’m just some person who doesn’t even much look like her!’

Everyone cheered and applauded her modesty. Someone shouted, ‘I love you Vida Mondana!’ and was promptly hushed. Vida closed the window.

‘See what I mean?’ she said.

I nodded and asked if she wanted dessert.

We had ice-cream and watched a documentary about krill. After I did the dishes she showed me out.

‘Goodnight everyone,’ she said. ‘See you tomorrow.’

 ‘At the end of every night there is always day,’ someone said. Another person said, ‘Somewhere there is someone who will love you without condition.’

I made my way towards the voices. We greeted one another as old friends. It turned out we were all living in the same place, just in different corners.

Before we went home I turned around. The door to Vida’s building was closed. The lights in the apartment were off but I could see her shape at the window. It didn’t look like Vida, but famous people always look different in real life.

 ‘D-d-d-doi-oing!!!’ one of us said. ‘Yikes! Hottie alert!’ said another. The rest of us laughed. It was a joke that we had.

………………..

JL Bogenschneider has had work published in The Mechanics' Institute Review, The Stinging Fly, PANK and Ambit. Their chapbook - 'Fears For The Near Future' - written under the name C.S. Mierscheid is available from Neon Books.

Twitter: @bourgnetstogner