In which a ghost flits through l’école… [Written Mar 20 2026]
My father and I explored Étampes today, including a lunchtime visit to the school where I spent 4 months over the last year.
We chatted briefly with the administrators; I said hi to a few students.
The school felt oddly empty. Perhaps students spend their lunchbreak during these warmer months acquiring baguettes or eating outside.
Two students said hi along with my name, and I returned the greeting, then recalled their name a few minutes later.
Another student startled at seeing me. They looked like they’d seen a ghost.
Then, after school, around 4:30 or 5pm, I ran the 3.5mi loop I’ve done so many times.
I ran it slower than I did before I broke my foot.
I’ve become over the last few months: much fatter and happier.
I arrived home and wanted an orange.
I’ve enjoyed sumo citrus oranges these last weeks in New York.
I donned a shirt and walked to the local market.
On my way back, oranges in hand, I spotted two students sitting together.
One, a person who had wanted to fuck me.
The other, the person who wrote me hate mail.
What an odd experience.
I walked past, noticing how odd it is to be of any interest to others.
To gossip about a person gives them power.
Celebrity is formed by being an interesting subject for gossip.
Then later, I received a text from the at-school startler, asking if I’m returning to school.
I told them how “JuJu plans and JuJu laughs…”
They prodded again.
I repeated my lack of planning.
They said, “alright man, you do you. just know you’re a bit of a controversial figure so it would put people a bit at ease if they knew what to expect”.
What a weird thing to say.
Are you trying to protect others from feeling uncomfortable?
How do you think that makes me feel?
Does it make me feel good? Loved? Enjoyed? Respected? Seen? Invited? Welcome?
Or does it make me feel alone? Ostracized? Rejected?
Is it fun for me to feel those feelings?
Should I tell you that their discomfort makes me feel uncomfortable?
Is that enough to be conclusive?
If I feel uncomfortable, is that the end of the conversation?
Who are “they” exactly, and what exactly do they have to say?
Do they have some gripe with an underlying reason?
If so, I don’t know exactly what it is.
Only one even had the balls to message me about my being a pariah.
And that message was unhinged.
Unhinged, for example, in that they wrote three long, unanswered blocks of text and then finished with “Merry christmas” (they had sent it two days before christmas), and then deleted only the merry christmas message.
Why would you delete the only kind part?
That’s frightening. Objectively frightening.
Is this what celebrity is?
Being interesting enough to be spoken of?
I first wanted to attend this school because of the Bouffon class.
Some clowns are desirable, friendly, and fun.
Others are grotesque, disgusting, horrid (bouffon).
I have always found myself outcast by groups.
This group is not the first, nor will it be the last.
My elementary school administration, middle school classmates, college secret society, after-I-graduated improv group as well. Now this: a clown school.
If running away to join the circus is what people do when they’re rejected by society,
what do we do when we’re kicked out of the circus?
I have a great relationship with the admin. They’re kind, thoughtful, good-teaching bunch.
I also have a few friends I’ve made from school.
But man, there are a lot of crazies and stupids at clown school.
I don’t really care about being most of their friends.
What would be the point? What do they have to offer? What would be the mutually beneficial part of our spending time together?
But it sure does hurt to be yet again ostracized for bullshit reasons.
Returning now to the text and the question:
Why is their discomfort more valuable than mine?
Have you ever asked that question?
Their discomfort is conceptual – fear at some concept?
You’re making me hurt in the here and now.
I would pose that very question to this texting clown…
but he’s an absolute dolt and owes me money.
So I smile and I wave and I play the politician
and his life continues on
and theirs does too.
And I leave this year of clown school,
going instead to New York City.
And maybe in a year or two I will run into one of them
and they will shriek and run away
and by the time that happens
I will have learned
how to turn their fear
into gold.
P.s. No, it did not make me feel loved, seen, appreciated, and accepted.
It made me feel alone, rejected, hurt, and sad.
It conjured up the image of a bunny cowering in a corner
while some dark shadowy figure looms above it…
But that’s the key about dark shadowy figures:
what can a shadow do?
No arms. No legs.
They’re dispelled by the light.
