“Who the f*ck is Liz?”
It’s a question that’s been asked before, about 3 years before, if I recall correctly. It was about 3 years ago (1999 in Roman terms) that Jaimie and I gathered several snapshots of Liz and created a fictional timeline of Liz, as well as her hobbies and sleep patterns (SupraREM 3000TM, anyone?). And since we put the collection on Jaimie’s webpage, some random netizen e-mailed to ask the obvious question. But when you’re asking “who is Liz?” the answer is anything but obvious.
Liz can sing. Let’s just go ahead and get that out of the way. It’s not who she is, it’s something she can do. But it’s something she does so well that if you met her at a party and whoever was introducing you to her only had time to tell you one thing about her before heading over to the cheese dip, it’d be about how she has an awesome voice. I could write a whole essay about how Liz can sing, but that’d be like writing a whole essay about jeans when I was really trying to describe the whole outfit.
Liz is a mystery. You can hang out with her for a whole weekend and someone can ask you on Monday “how is Liz?” and you, shamefully, won’t know. You can be her compatriot for years and one day realize you don’t know her favorite color. But if you’ve been paying attention, you can sketch an idea of how she will react to a certain situation or what her response will be to a given question.
Liz is a delver. Maybe it has something to do with the mysterious air she creates; she likes to delve into matters, problems, nuance. She will disassemble, evaluate, construct and redefine a thought, an object, an emotion and make it something more substantial than it was. She gives matters weight by treating them with respect.
Liz is a friend. She’ll sit with when you don’t want to go home. She’ll be silent with you when you don’t understand what’s happening. She’ll face you when something is going wrong. She’ll buy you grapes when you can barely stomach solid food. She’ll listen when you have to unload.
Liz is an elf. She’s young, but wise. There’s a forest of thought going on behind her eyes, but you’ll never get to camp there. When she’s around, you’ll be at ease, but you won’t know why. And she will insist upon wearing flip-flops all winter, because, as an elf, her feet need to be free.
And that’s all I can tell you right now. To really know Liz, you have to know her over a lifetime, and I haven’t done that yet. I plan to, though, so ask me again when I’m a septuagenarian.
