A Fist or a Heart

by Kristín Eiríksdóttir

I always felt a little uncomfortable in a theater. It seemed strange to see people moving and speaking in such a performative way. Like catching someone in a lie. Then it would happen every so often that the script would move me, and I’d hear what the actors said—feel, even, that they were talking to me. After one such performance, I described my experience, and Grandma said that that was the mark of a high-quality show—it got you to forget yourself. Just think, she said, that’s what we humans are always striving for—to forget ourselves and to let ourselves be forgotten. That’s what it’s all about. Forget what? I asked. It is so dreadfully painful to be human, explained Grandma, and sometimes, the only way to bear it is to forget.