We who love to read and write know that setting (time, place and space) is a very important part of any story. It affects how characters act and react to situations, conflict, complications, and other characters. For example, a story about a black man would be very different set in 1815 America rather than 2015, wouldn’t it? Nevermind, you get my meaning.

I’ve been wondering how Time, Place and Space affects our identity and how we react to others. Time and Place can be easily defined, but by Space I don’t mean the final frontier, I mean the atmosphere of a where. At work, on Twitter, on vacation, at a bar, with family; a person can see and be seen differently in all of these wheres.

In the 1984 film, Brother from Another Planet starring Joe Morton, the protagonist cannot speak and is an alien both literally and figuratively. Both the other characters in the movie mistake his significance and otherness until the end of the film. It is the space that this being occupies which hinders the communication of his true self, not his inability to speak.

Does your knowledge of anyone transcend different spaces? Do you notice that they are different at work versus on Twitter, versus with family? Or do you treat individuals differently on vacation versus in a bar versus on Facebook? Is one of the reasons why because we reinvent ourselves to fit into each space?

Have you ever had an experience with someone in different times, places, or spaces and they either knowingly or unknowingly treated you differently? I have.

It was the 80’s. We had not long been in town and I was attending a prestigious public honors magnet school in one of the richest neighborhoods in the state. I had tested eligible to get in and I was to follow in the footsteps of my cousin Mags who is 9 months and one grade older than me.

At school I was the outcast, yet again. I was new, I was black, I was quiet and I was “other”. For some reason, however, I had a nickname. Medusa. If I was caught looking at anyone, kids would freeze as if frozen in stone until one of their friends freed them, a cruel game of freeze tag.

Thinking back, maybe my Jheri curl contributed to it. I thought then that it might be because I was ugly. But nah, it was just kids being cruel to someone different. It began immediately on the first day of school because of a disastrous visit there in the 4^th grade that they never forgot. It was so pervasive that I just thought it was my lot in life.

So I kept my head down and did my work, waiting for the afternoon bus ride across town to my aunt’s house.

Then, our week at sleep away camp happened. At the time, every fifth grader in this district in a major urban area got the chance to experience sleep away camp in the country. This week changed the nature of my 10 year old existence.

I was no longer an “other.”

There in that cabin in the woods, I became a “regular” girl. We laughed and giggled and sang songs at the campfire. The boy that I secretly had a crush on in town seemed to be crushing on me in the country. We even held hands on the trails, surrounded by our classmates. There was no outcry. No one froze because I looked at them. Everyone smiled at each other. At the time, it was the best week of my life.

It took me a minute when I got off the bus the next week back at school. As Lauren stood still when I called her name, I thought she was just waiting for me to say something else, because we’d talked a lot at camp. When I realized that she had been frozen by my regained Medusa-ness, I just sighed and went back to my routine, the ultimate other.

Fast forward 7 years to fall of senior year in high school. Another town in a different state, my 8^th and final school. I was more socially adept and a little more accepted, but our group of girlfriends were called the Tri-Lambs. You know, from Revenge of the Nerds. Yeah. The popular girls didn’t kick it with me, and the popular boys never seemed to look my way.

Then we went on an exchange program in a town about an hour away with another black high school for two days. We went to class and out bowling on the second night. Boys flocked around me and tried to get my number.

I was confused.

They hadn’t gotten the memo that I was supposed to be untouchable as they overlooked the most popular girls in my school.

It took me a while to get it, but by the second night, I was enjoying the attention, and it went to my head just a little bit. It was fun for a night, but just as in 5^th grade, when I went back to school the next week, things were back to normal.

I put my head down, did my work and did not try to approach a guy until I was almost outta there. Luckily, he had no clue I was untouchable either. He was wonderfully oblivious to what I was supposed to be. Good thing too. He’s still holding me down today.

Observing on social media years later, I have seen people ignore one twitter follower while instantly following back another, not having any idea they were the same person. Its amazing the power of a picture versus an egg on Twitter.

How much does it matter the setting in which we meet people? Do we create constraints and invisible standards from one space to another. Do individuals have to look, act, talk, believe a certain way for us to f with them? Do even we, those “others”, otherize those who are different than we are? Are we writing someone else’s story, making a science fiction story out of a romance or a poem?

All of these thoughts are rolling around in my brain every time I observe my world. I’m trying to be a better being. I’m trying to look beyond the surface so I don’t otherize the people I encounter in any space. I will let you write your story.

I try to think back to the terrified 10 year old and the naïve 17 year old other versions of me. I’ve been through about 5 or 6 more since then. But now I’m writing my own story. I just hope that it is good one.