Story: Other

Author's Note: I wrote this story last semester after reading the acclaimed philosopher Simone de Beauvoir's Second Sex. The characters are based on Simone and her partner, Existentialist philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre. There is a message in mind here in line with some of the ideas that permeate Second Sex, but more than anything I just wanted to write. This is not for Mythology and Folklore, so if you're taking the time to read it anyway, I appreciate it and welcome any feedback!

“Making itself intelligible is suicide for philosophy” - Heidegger

Shivering, Simone limped out of bed in the nascent morning to shut the window, marring her fingertips with cigarette ash that had collected on the sill. She hesitated for a moment, staring longingly at the crumpled sheets adorning the mattress before picking up a loosely bound notebook and slipping on shoes.

“Sweetheart, what are you doing up this early?”

            Jean had sat upright and began fumbling around for his glasses.

“You look a mess, Simone. Come back to bed, please”.

“I’m sorry, Jean. I won’t be but a minute. Get some rest, I’ll see you in the morning.”

            Simone slipped into a pale green jacket and began making her way out of the dimly moonlit apartment, leaving the bedroom door ajar. Jean let out an exasperated sigh before resting his glasses on the crowded nightstand and his head on a pillow.

            Simone was greeted with the protesting howls of wind as she took her first steps outside. She lit a cigarette and began walking aimlessly to the east. Restless nights watching embers disperse in the breeze were common for Simone. It was a pastime that had etched sickly yellow into the buds of her fingers and cemented the contemplative creases on her forehead. Jean detested the smell and the discoloration of the apartment walls, but never asked Simone to do otherwise. She thought of Jean as a quaint but decent man. He learned quickly that she did as she pleased and never once sought to argue on the matter. She had yet to decide whether she appreciated or despised that quality about him. Under a dilapidated bus stop shelter at the intersection of two unfamiliar streets, Simone took a seat on a bench and opened her notebook from the back. Arriving at a section hastily scrawled on a similar night of insomnia-induced inspiration, she began outlining objections and scribbling violently through her perceived mistakes. After a few miserably cold hours, Simone made her way back to the apartment, threw her jacket atop the bedroom door, and laid her weary head upon Jean’s chest, who remained steadfast in his sleep.

“Where is it that we’re going again, Simone?”

Jean hurriedly shaved the unkempt beard from his face with one hand while combing his hair back with the other. Simone sat impatiently upon the bed, fidgeting with the buttons of her blouse.

“We’ll meet Saul in his office and he’ll take us to the lecture hall, remember? No need to concern yourself with directions.”

“Thank you, sweetheart. I’m impressed with your resolve. Is there truly no anxiety or am I just off in my sense?”

            Simone let out a light chuckle.

“There’s nothing I need to worry about at this point, my dear Jean. I’m used to the process by now.”

            Jean stole a kiss from Simone’s red lips and replied,

“Good, my love. Let’s go, we may still have some time to sit and discuss the fruits of your nightly venture should we walk out the door now.”

“Let us, then.”

And so, they went.

            Simone was in awe of the crowd that had amassed and taken seat in the grand hall they stood in. Saul’s introductions brought about a furious roar of applause that inspired her to take a step forward, hands intertwined with Jean. He looked graciously at her before stepping ahead and taking his place behind the lectern, placing a loosely bound notebook down. He waited for the cessation of applause before sternly looking ahead at the audience.

“What do we mean when we talk about the Other?”

He began.