Georgia College Knowledge Box Creative Nonfiction MFA Theses Masters of Fine Arts Theses Spring 4-26-2021 Differents: Essays About a Human (and Humans) will gerdes-mcClain [email protected] Follow this and additional works at: https://kb.gcsu.edu/nonfiction Part of the Nonfiction Commons Recommended Citation gerdes-mcClain, will, "Differents: Essays About a Human (and Humans)" (2021). Creative Nonfiction MFA Theses. 7. https://kb.gcsu.edu/nonfiction/7 This Thesis is brought to you for free and open access by the Masters of Fine Arts Theses at Knowledge Box. It has been accepted for inclusion in Creative Nonfiction MFA Theses by an authorized administrator of Knowledge Box. Differents: Essays About a Human (and Humans) A thesis presented to The Graduate Faculty of The College of Arts and Sciences Department of English Georgia College & State University In partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing will gerdes-mcClain April 2021 Differents: Differents: Essays About a Human (and Also Humans) by will gerdes-mcClain Approved: _____________________________________________ _____________ Professor Peter Selgin, Chair, Thesis Committee Date _____________________________________________ _____________ Professor Laura Newbern, Committee Member Date _____________________________________________ _____________ Dr. Alex Blazer, Committee Member Date _____________________________________________ _____________ NAME HERE OF OUTSIDE READER (if any) Date _____________________________________________ _____________ Dr. Kerry Neville, Graduate Coordinator Date _____________________________________________ _____________ Dr. Eric G. Tenbus Date Dean, School of Liberal Arts & Sciences Table of Contents Mans in the Mirror ....................................................................................................................... 4 Last, Do No Harm ...................................................................................................................... 36 White Space (Lost Souls of the Internet Part One) ................................................................ 55 Anxiety Fuel (Lost Souls of the Internet Part Two) ................................................................ 84 Differents (Lost Souls of the Internet Part Three) ................................................................ 116 Bullet Points .............................................................................................................................. 141 iii Mans in the Mirror Among my many regrets in life, a recent one that stands out is a tweet that I didn’t like. I mean, I liked it, in my mind, but I didn’t hit the little heart button with my stubby little finger, thereby marking it and making it easy to return to. For whatever reason, I’m always focused on retaining precise wording and being able to attribute ideas correctly to their source, so it bothers me that I failed to archive this one properly. Nevertheless, the tweet’s content stays with me (however memory has garbled it): I’m so over white people who are perpetually stuck on recognizing their own privilege, as if that in itself is a form of antiracism. I just keep thinking about it. … … … I honestly feel so attacked right now. ~~~ 4 When I’m Fucked Up, That’s the Real Me I’m drunk. I mean, I’m at the 2017 College Composition and Communication Conference (4C’s, colloquially) in Portland, OR. No; I mean, I’m drunk. I’m not, like, knee-walking, falling down drunk, but more than drunk enough. Before coming to this restaurant, Ana and I went to a reception held by Bedford St. Martin, or some other publisher, and there was free wine. There was also food, but that didn’t seem as important. We got lost on the way there, but made it just in time to have plenty of wine. We’re walking everywhere, so there’s no urgent need to be mindful of my intake, which is nice, because the stress of being at a huge conference and being a capable version of myself is taking a toll. Once we got to this restaurant, I saw that, in addition to my partner and one other person who I know, there’s like seven or eight strangers, so I needed to order a Bloody Mary. I’ve had a couple, at this point, so I’m drunk. And I am doing a lot of talking. Indeed, I’m rolling. Who can say how, but the topic has turned to race and/or gender, which I always have plenty to say about, though I’m also usually much, much more reserved, even around people who I know, let alone around strangers. However, in this city, in this restaurant, with these people, in this moment, due to the stress of the past couple days and the fact that I am decidedly drunk, I am on one. I’m saying the stuff that I usually only say to my partner, the stuff that I am aware of myself enough not to put out there with people who I know don’t know me and love me unconditionally. My friend, Ana, who is Latina, is 5 sitting beside me, and three women, two of whom I’ve never met before, all graduate students from the University of Maryland, are sitting across from me, as I talk some serious shit, holding forth with my sophisticated, nuanced views on these complex topics. My deluxe vegetarian nachos are getting cold on the table in front of me. “I don’t know if you all know it, but there’s a Run the Jewels song called ‘Close Your Eyes (and Count to Fuck)’—it’s an amazing song, by the way, if you haven’t heard it, just so fucking good—it’s during Killer Mike’s verse. He’s describing a prison riot—actually, he’s exhorting prisoners to riot—and he’s talking about killing the guards and the warden, and he says ‘Even if some good ones die, fuck it; the Lord’ll sort ‘em.’ I love this line, because it’s the truth. I don’t think I’m one of the good ones—I hope I’m not one of the worst ones, but I also know I’m not a ‘good one’—but even if I was, I know that when the revolution comes, I’m gonna be at the end of a noose, swinging from a lamp post. And that feels right, to me. I haven’t done anything, I don’t do anything that excuses my culpability in the system.” In my memory, everyone is just letting me talk. They’re all surely used to White Dudes Who Have Shit to Say, and they’ve probably had plenty of practice listening politely, waiting for us to tire ourselves out. My mind is racing even more than usual, rapidly running through all the calculus, trying to keep myself from saying anything too stupid. I can’t stop my mouth from running, but I also know that I need to do my best to be thoughtful, keep from upsetting anyone or making myself look too bad. I’m doing a better job than usual of looking the people across from me in the eye, especially considering the fact that two of them are strangers. I’m not looking at Ana, partly because she’s sitting next to me, making it awkward, and partly because she’s the one I’m most afraid of upsetting, the one whose 6 opinion is genuinely important to me. The waiter asks if anyone would like another drink, and of course I would. Now I’ve moved on to talking about how the only thing I can think of that makes sense, for a white person, is to just be John Brown. My partner sits on my other side, engrossed in a separate conversation. She’s heard this shit before. “When I really think about it, that’s the only way I can think of to even come close to stopping being part of the problem. Just spaz out and attack the system, go for its throat in a way that there’s no coming back from. Short of that, you’ve always got your privilege, you’re not really committed, because you are still complicit, because you’re still benefitting. Honestly, I’m not even totally sure that that’s enough, but it’s the most that I can imagine that an individual can do. I’m too much of a coward to ever do what I should do—I’m too scared to even talk to strangers if I wasn’t drunk right now—and I should to be held to account when it goes down. I’m not John Brown.” I think I feel like this is a mic drop statement, but I don’t really know. I mean, I built up to it, and it feels meaningful that I’ve indicted myself, held myself accountable, but it’s very, very possible that I just sound silly. In the end, regardless of how forceful I am, I’m just talking, putting on a show; not doing anything. Maybe all I’ve accomplished is identifying myself as the worst, most infuriating white person there is: the one who needs you to know how truly, madly, deeply woke they are. Ugh. The three women sitting across from me probably nod, thoughtfully. I don’t look at Ana’s reaction. Someone probably has a response, but I don’t remember it. I’ve disappeared back up my own asshole, wishing I had kept my mouth shut. 7 Actually, maybe I’m wishing I hadn’t shared this story. Maybe I should have kept my mouth shut right now. ~~~ By the Time I Get to Oklahoma, Pt. 1 Do you remember the SAE Fraternity Incident at the University of Oklahoma in the spring of 2015? You probably heard about it. A video recording of a bunch of white frat guys on a bus, singing a song about how ‘there will never be a n****r in SAE,’ and how ‘you can hang them from a tree, but they’ll never sign with me’ was posted online and quickly went viral. There was a Daily Show segment about it.