Me: Yes. That’s exactly what’s happening on my end right now. *laughing emoji
ChefCurtisRockwell: Why are you hiding, sugar?
What a loaded question. There are so many things he could be referring to. Hiding from the unexpected media attention. Hiding from the feelings I have inside me. Hiding from him. I choose to respond to the former.
Me: In the span of twelve hours, I now have 126,435… no, make that 126,502 followers on Instagram. Yesterday? I had 2,330, and that was mostly my old high school buddies and nerdy cosplaying friends. THESE. ARE. NOT. MY. FRIENDS.
ChefCurtisRockwell: You can turn your page private, baby. There’s a setting where you have to approve people to follow you.
Me: I don’t want to do that though. I like to stay open and visible for my patients. It gains their trust, and they feel like they know me more and can open up to me more easily.
ChefCurtisRockwell: There’s no one else like you, sugar. No one on this earth. You do know that most doctors and other professionals have their personal pages locked down tight, right?
Me: I’m aware. That’s why I don’t post anything majorly personal. Just things I’m interested in and enjoy. Like my geek conventions and food, pics with my bestie. What I’m not used to is going to my tagged photos and seeing a fucking close up of me pushed up against a brick wall with my legs wrapped around a guy whose tongue is down my throat. That’s waaay more personal than I’ve ever gotten on social media!
ChefCurtisRockwell: Aaaand I’m hard. Thanks for that.
I let out a squawk of laughter, shaking my head.
Me: Of course you are. *face palm emoji
Me: I’m just going to start calling you Chef Rock-Hard from now on.
ChefCurtisRockwell: LOL! Only for you, baby. Only for you.
ChefCurtisRockwell: Also, this is weird.
Me: What is?
ChefCurtisRockwell: I don’t normally chat with anyone in my IMs.
I laugh once more.
Me: I can tell.
ChefCurtisRockwell: How?
Me: You called it an IM, old man. It’s no longer an “instant message.” The kids these days call it a DM, for “direct message.”
Me: Come to think of it, does AOL even exist anymore? *thinking face emoji
ChefCurtisRockwell: As a matter of fact, it does.
Me: OMG do you still have your AOL account?? *laughing emoji
ChefCurtisRockwell: I mean, I never deleted it. But I know AOL exists because I did an exclusive recipe and interview for them a little while back.
And just like that, reality comes crashing down on me once more. For a split second, I forgot I was joking around with a celebrity. A person who is recognized wherever he goes. Which makes me wonder…
Me: Last night, was that a rare occurrence? Like, are you normally bombarded with fans everywhere you go? I honestly thought the only people who recognized you were the students. No one else said anything. I think that’s why it was so shocking to see so many pictures of us.
ChefCurtisRockwell: To be perfectly honest, that’s the first time I’ve ever gone out and not been completely aware of people sneaking pictures of me. Normally when I see someone trying to snap an incognito shot, I give them a goofy face or I approach them and let them take a selfie with me. They don’t come up and bombard me, because either they’re too polite, not wanting to bother me, or because they’re too shy. I love my fans, and it always struck me as crazy to have fans for something I love doing so much… cooking. Like, how weird is that, for someone to be starstruck over you making food?
Me: What’s funny to me is I’ve always assumed famous people can’t even walk out their front door without being hounded, like paparazzi style.
ChefCurtisRockwell: It’s different everywhere. In California, around where I live, I get it more like what you thought. Out and about in other states, because we don’t announce where we’re shooting before it happens, it’s harder for people to make the connection. They’re more like “OMG you look just like that chef guy” instead of realizing it’s really me.
Me: Interesting. I’m sure there’s something psychological behind that, but I just don’t have it in me to shrink it.
There’s a pause. As if he’s thinking about what to say next. He’s clocked me as a runner, so he’s probably weighing every statement, every question, every joke in his mind, being careful not to say anything that could make me bolt again.
I hate that this is what I’ve made him believe about me. I have patients like that, people who have more flight in them than fight. And I’ve worked for years to help them get past their issues in order to stand up and fight for what they want after years of holding themselves back for whatever reason. I want to be all the things he saw in me last night. Everything he pointed out, I want to grasp onto and shove all my fears away.