"Bob" by Marsha Mellow

His name was Bob and he liked to say things that were not in his place to say. No one could see him so he paid little mind to feelings or morals.

He told me that people needed it. He told me that people were spoiled by shelter and harmony.

He tells me a lot of things, some that I don’t want to hear.

His first words to me were “Hey you’re not like the others...not at all… not at all.”

There was a pause where anyone in their right mind would have ran the other way. But I took a step forward, then another, then one more. Bob told me we’d do great things together but it was myself I saw in the mirror every time. “That's not me… it’s not me….It’s him.”

His name was Bob and his feelings were gray, his intentions black. You'd never guess it though, you wouldn't, you wouldn't…..I didn't.

But what's in a guess? A conscience? An independent will? Those were Bob’s favorites. He was so good at blurring the lines of what was him and what was me. Sometimes I thought it didn't matter, maybe he was right and I was wrong and maybe I was already him.

Bob had a simplicity to him that was oddly calming… that's wrong...that's right...that's good..that's bad, but oh he was bad, he was bad. Sometimes when I doodled his name my o’s looked a lot like a’s and my b’s like d’s. I knew, but what could I do?

His name wasn't Bob.

It wasn't much of anything.