He said, She said…
Last night I was exploring first person POV, the unreliable narrator and differing perspectives on the same situation with a student I tutor. To illustrate the situation I presented the following YouTube clip:
I then asked her to write the piece from the boy’s perspective in first person, followed by the girl’s perspective. While she wrote, I did the same. It was an interesting exercise. Here ‘tis.
She
My stomach turned over as I saw him. This was not going to be a pleasant conversation. It was either the nerves. Or the baby.
Oh yeah, I’m pregnant.
How would he react? In these situations, I tend to get defensive. My back was up as we met and I’m sure I was sulking as I matched his step.
Finally, he stopped and confronted me.
He looked tired. Tired and annoyed.
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
Already he’d annoyed me. He knew, but he wouldn’t be the one to say it.
“What do you want me to say?” I asked. His expression was part of the reason I was glad the baby wasn’t his. God, how could I have been with him?
“Well,” he said, his voice flat, “clearly you’re acting like this for some reason -”
Like this? Like my life had been thrown into turmoil? Like my future had just become that of the single mother?
“- so what’s up?” he asked. He was pretending to be Caring Guy. I was having none of it.
“I don’t know.”
“Come on, what’s wrong?”
You really want to know? I thought. “I’m pregnant.”
His surprise was genuine. Hell, maybe he hadn’t known, after all.
“Really?”
“Yeah.” And then he said the words I’d been dreading:
“Is it mine?”
I didn’t want to have this conversation. I didn’t want him to be a part of my life. My baby’s life.
“I dunno, maybe.”
“Maybe?” Oops. No guy wants to hear that. But, looking at his stupid face, I figured I was better off without him. I sighed.
“Probably not.”
The look of pure relief on his face said it all.
“Thank God!” he said, and he almost sprinted from the room. I left in the opposite direction.
Good riddance.
He
She was bugging me. She’d been moody for days. When she called me and said we needed to talk, I gigured that the inevitable break up talk was imminent. And frankly, that was fine by me.
But now that we were together, she wasn’t saying anything. I decided to make the first move.
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
“What do you want me to say?”
I hate you? I’m sick of this? It’s over?
“Well clearly you’re acting like this for some reason, so what’s up?”
“I don’t know.” This was harder than I thought. She was withdrawn. Maybe it wasn’t the breakup conversation. I looked at her more closely.
“Come on, what’s wrong?”
“I’m pregnant.”
Whoa. That was not one of the possible options.
“Really?” No, not really, I’m just fooling. What a stupid question. I saw contempt in her eyes.
“Yeah.” Ok, next stupid question. I was on a roll.
“Is it mine?” I mean, really, who wants to know the answer to that, one way or another? I didn’t love her, didn’t even like her much. I definitely didn’t want to have a kid with her. But although I was pretty sure she’d been cheating on me, I had no desire to know for sure.
“I dunno, maybe.” My stomach lurched. Maybe was a confirmation of the cheating. I’d almost have preferred a “How could you ask that?” blowup, not this sulky quiet. My heart grew cold.
“Maybe?”
“Probably not.”
I was furious. I was ecstatic. I mourned the loss of my brief, ten-second child. I celebrated my freedom.
“Thank God,” I snapped.
And then I sped out of the room so she wouldn’t see the tears.
On a lighter note:
This YouTube clip was obviously part of an exercise for a film school or something. These two did a pretty good job. But I found another one which you might find amusing, although they would fail the sound check:
Finding Damo 