While thinking today about the concept of creating your own reality I was reminded of a guy named Stew I used to know. He didn’t really like being called “Stew”, he preferred “Stu”, which is almost the same, but completely different. But, come on . . . if your name CAN be reduced to stew, why not reduce?
Anyway, that has very little to do with my story. Pretty much nothing, really. I could delete it, but, who cares.
Anyway, Stew (or Stu, but more accurately Stew) is one of the few people I’ve met who I can say with some confidence that he created pretty much his entire reality. Not in the sense that the sky was green if he wanted it to be (although for all I know that may have been true) but Stew had this way of being able to weave a fabric of reality into any bizarre story he told you about his life, and it wasn’t until later that you would sit back and think “What a crock of shit”.
He was very mysterious. He had apparently been in a very bad car accident a few years before any of us became acquainted with him, and suffered a fair amount of brain damage . . . he would often tell me that the Stew I knew was not the Stew who originally existed. He would tell me that I “wouldn’t have liked that Stew”, which was an odd thing to state, I always thought. He worked as a waiter, and took great pride in creating a different personality for himself when he was waiting tables. He seemed, in fact, to have a slightly different personality for each person he knew.
He once told Big Mama and I that for an entire year in BC he had lied to a girl about his name, grade in University, and his major. He had done it, he told us, to see if he could fool people into believing he was younger than he actually was. Think about that. He lied to a girl, who thought she had a boyfriend named Steve, when in reality he was a completely different person. He told Big Mama and I at the end of the story that “somewhere” this girl was walking around telling stories about her psycho ex-boyfriend who had fabricated his entire life. We assured him that the girl was correct in her theory.
Several times strange events took place and he would later recount the stories in different ways. Like the time he got in a fight. Or, maybe got in a fight I should say. I never found out the truth. One time he told me that he had been mugged in a park by people who jumped from the bushes, on another occasion he told me he had been smoking weed with some people he didn’t know in the park and later they mugged him, on still another occasion he told me some gay guys had tried to rape him in the park. Any or none of these stories may be true. Maybe a little bit of each, I don’t know . . .
After a certain point I stopped trying to figure out what really occurred to him. I started thinking of him like Schrodinger’s Cat . . . if I didn’t think about what actually occurred to him, then in a certain sense all my theories were simultaneously true, which is how I prefer to remember Stew.