Sleepwalk With Me_ And Other Painfully True Stories - Mike Birbiglia [58]
Anyway, Abbie hated this rival women’s group. So Abbie and her friends decided to crash the Take Back the Date event. So I went along too. As we walked over to the student center for this event, we perused the Take Back the Date pamphlet and we started picking it apart. First in ways that made sense, but when we ran out of points that made sense, our criticisms became pretty irrational.
One of the women in our group looked at the pamphlet and said, “This is so stupid. Who are they to tell us how we should see each other romantically?”
Fair point.
Then someone said, “How come there are no gay relationships in the pamphlet? Can’t gay people go on dates?”
Okay, less strong of a point. But okay.
Then someone was like, “How come there are no drawings of black people in the pamphlet? Can’t black people date?”
This is where the wheels fell off the trailer. I don’t think the Take Back the Daters were racist per se, but that didn’t stop us. We were like, “Yeah! Why no black people?”
With this bit of momentum we walked into the event, taking seats like regular pro-daters and blending in with the crowd.
After the panel of pro-dates spoke, they took questions. This is always the activist’s sweet spot. The Q&A!
First question.
Someone from our group stood up and said, “This is homophobic. It’s offensive to women. And it’s a step back for women everywhere!”
It wasn’t so much a question as it was a statement. And with that, our entire group stood and started walking toward the exit. I hadn’t been told we were going to leave. To make matters worse, while they were leaving, Abbie shouted to the stage, “How come there are no black people on the cover?” The pro-daters were confused. I was even more confused and, sadly, I was the only person left in our group still there, the lone representative of the anti-daters. I was like, “I’m with the people who hate dating. I’m actually dating one of the anti-daters. Okay . . . so, good luck with everything.” I slunk out the back of the room and reconvened with my fellow protestors at a local bar.
Abbie and I argued about feminist issues a lot, and it was productive. It made me think that if people had more open talks about gender, we wouldn’t have so many books about the various planets men and women are from. One time our discussion of gender issues got so contentious that I actually started crying. We were talking about marriage and she told me that she didn’t believe in it and was never going to get married. I think the reason I was crying was that before I met her, I didn’t believe in it either.
Abbie and I were living together and it was a secret. This was her idea. She said, “We should live together.” Now, what I should have said was “I don’t know if my parents would go for that because they’re very conservative.” What I did say was “Yeah!”
So when my parents visited, we’d put all her stuff in the bedroom and close the door to the bedroom. It worked. And it was exciting. But lying to my parents caused me anxiety. That was when I started walking in my sleep.
It was the fall of 1998. I was secretly living with Abbie, secretly working at a comedy club, and nearly failing out of school all at the same time. I started having this recurring dream that there was a hovering, insectlike jackal in my bedroom. Each time I had this dream, I would jump up on our bed and strike a karate pose. I had never taken karate, but I had the books from a book fair. So in this book-fair karate pose, I’d say, “Abbie! There’s a jackal in the room!” She got so used to this that she could talk me down while remaining asleep.
“Michael, there’s no jackal. Go to sleep,” she’d mumble.
“Are you sure?” I’d ask, continuing to hold my karate pose.
“Yes, Michael, there’s no jackal. Go to sleep.”
And I would lie down, knowing there was a jackal hovering right above, ready to swoop down and kill us.
When I would have these episodes, Abbie would say, “Doesn’t that sleepwalking stuff seem strange?”
“Yeah.