What’s all the fuss about humans? All the words written and movies made. The endless speculation about this or that aspect of life. The fascination we have with each other, either as a race, a country, a family or as a partner.
I’m on a train. There’s a young woman in front of me, turned sideways on the seat, talking to her brother. On the face of it, she’s pretty. Shining hair, even, white teeth, clear skin, un-lined forehead.
But I can see the layers below her skin.
She very thin and so her skull shows through. Her teeth are the outer manifestation of that layer, and I can extrapolate the rest. Strip off the skin and hair and there’s the braincase. Sure, it’s a nice enough box for her grey matter, but that’s what it is.
Strip back the white bone, delve inside the grey flesh and you’ll find the mind. I can see her thoughts playing across the screen of her face. Give it a few years and lines will appear to mark their habits. Vertical grooves beside her mouth for that slight downturn that’ll drop ever lower. And other stuff.
But I don’t need to go on, do I. You know what I’m talking about. Because you are that young woman or that brother. You feel it all from the inside. You know I’m watching and catching the signs. You try to smile to counter gravity, but still it sucks you down.
And I know that you’re making the same judgements about me. That’s what it’s all about. That’s what it is to be human.
So, what’s all the fuss?