The Stand-In

by Lily Chu

My day is tidily laid out on my new LifePlanX app. It’s a work of art, to be honest. Here, the Life of Gracie Reed is beautifully organized and color-coded in neat little rows, a guarantee against indecision and inaction.

I love lists. I crave them. I draw visceral pleasure from anything I can put a line through, a check beside, or delete as a declaration that I have Completed a Task and am therefore a worthy, functioning human.

Ditto, except my face never seems to work for me unless it’s as a gateway for people to stare and ask where I’m from.

While I never progressed past North American crowd favorites and refuse to eat phoenix claws (because they’re chicken feet), thousand-year eggs (because they’re gray), or fish eyes (because they’re fish eyes), these are delicious shrimp dumplings, for crying out loud. Sorry they aren’t chicken nuggets.

I don’t know much about clothes but perfume has always been my thing. I have over three hundred samples logged on a spreadsheet with my ratings.

I was brave enough to want to live instead of settling for existing.

Now I’m as vulnerable as a snail without a shell, an easy mark for the Todds of the world to come by and sprinkle salt on me like an unpleasant child happy to flex what little power they have.

Why is it so difficult to talk about the things that are important to you? I understand in the grand scheme of life, creating a to-do list that works is not on the same level as fixing climate change, but to me, perfecting this list is a Thing.

“There are enough people in the world ready to put you down. Do you need to join them?”

I need to act because I want to be remembered for something, for this life to mean something.”

She has gum. I have my Dior. We’re both happy.

Independence is the pinnacle, and while a man can be a companion, it’s a grave mistake to think he can be your center. You should never be a satellite orbiting your own life.

“No one else can be you. No one else can tell your story like you. You are unique, so write the movie you want to see.”

“Did you ever think to ask why we’re responsible for answering for our government when they’re not responsible for yours?”

What a wonderfully fluid word that is, depending on the tone. Give it an emphasis at the end and you have joyful triumph (o-KAY!). Draw out the beginning for a nice dose of doubtful hesitation (ooo-kay?). Then there’s the way Sam says it now, hushed and vulnerable as if the O is a window through which he can see a road he never knew existed. “Okay,” I say back. Used to ease this time. “Okay.” Firm and decisive. End of conversation.