“Friends”

A girl stands stock still, staring at the photos of her best friends. They hang on the wall in a geometric pattern, which she measured to a tee. As she stares, her eyes begin to sting.

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“What’s wrong?” her roommate asks.

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What’s wrong? Everything. Everything is wrong.

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What’s wrong is that when she was a kid, she was always too quiet to have close friends.

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What’s wrong is that when she did have friends, they were always closer to each other than to her.

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What’s wrong is that she was always so anxious about how these people saw her that she would shut down completely – turning away the people she wanted to be closest to.

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What’s wrong is that when she reached high school, she finally found friends who she thought would be her people. The people whom she would tell stories about to her children someday –  the people who would be with her through her first breakup and to celebrate her first real job.

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Sadly, they treated her like a burden rather than a friend.

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Any time she spoke about something personal, they acted as if it wasn’t important. It wasn’t enough. They would knock her down until she could barely lift her head for air. But she would. She would lift her head, crawl back up and face them again. Because they were older and more powerful, she kept on trying.

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She wanted them to like her so badly that she would do almost anything to make it happen. Their homework, their errands, anything. Alas, her efforts went to waste, so she slipped away.

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What’s wrong is that when she was a junior in high school, she became friends with two seniors who loved her for her dry humor and her knowledge of random facts and embraced her faults.

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What’s really wrong is that they are not here with her, and she has to make new friends all over again. She has to feel self-conscious again. She has to hide parts of herself again. And that is the part she hates the most.

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“Everything’s fine,” she said, blinking back the tears.

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