Sunday, May 9, 2010

Story 3

A/N: This is something of an experimentation with voice and tone, so please tell me what you think. Warning: Some swearing.

I just--ugh! It's like, there's stuff that sticks with you for years, and it shouldn't be there after a couple days, or even hours. Like you're mind's trying to get back at you or something.

We were having an argument. Whatever. It was a bowling alley, even if we were yelling it wouldn't've carried more than a few feet. She was attacking whatever she could; seeing what stuck. Saying that I was a loser, I had no friends. Again, what-freaking-ever. Like I hadn't been hearing stuff like that since, like, third grade. Most of it since first. I mean, honestly, get some new material.

And then, she got flustered, she stopped thinking, and she hit something.

"I come here in my best clothes, and you come here in--in scraps--"

I really didn't hear anything she said after that. All I could think of was that she had called my very best scraps. This was my new outfit. I'd gotten it for my birthday. I loved it. It felt like she'd hit me, full on and in the chest.

I can tell you, looking back, why it bothered me so much, why I burst into tears--and the girl asked, "Are you getting help? Do you take medication for this?" which was real bright. I can tell you that, though people had insulted my voice, my oddities, my family, my intelligence, and everything else, no one had ever touched my looks. I knew, on some level, that I was pretty. To have someone attack that was worse than anything else she'd said.

Call it shallow. Call it valuing clothes over friends. But it was what I had, and losing that last inch hurt as much as the first time a friend had turned her back and snickered.

And her asking if I had medication...Hell. I know, she was just trying to push the blame off herself, onto some imbalance in my system. Anywhere that made it so she didn't have to feel the guilt. I know. It just doesn't help much. Or, you know, at all. Do people ever think before they speak? Is this so hard it's a step people just skip over, so they can listen to themselves yap insults and compliments, work themselves up some fucking popularity tree?

I put up this big facade. I don't care how I look. I don't care what you think. I don't care I can't seem to keep friends. It's all bullshit. I care. Anyone who bothered to look at me for two seconds would know that. Which means that anyone who doesn't see through this it doesn't bother to look for two seconds, and that makes me feel just wonderful, thank you so very much.

Aw, shit, I'm sorry. I'm unloading all this on you, it's not your fault.

No, it's not a problem, really. I wanted to get to know you better. And...I'm glad you let down the facade.

Hah. Thanks. Glad you saw through it.

Hey, you said it. It only takes a couple seconds. If you ever need someone to talk to...I'm here, okay?

Yeah. Okay. Thanks, J, I'll remember that. I'm probably going to come up with a list long enough to reach the moon for reasons not to, but I'll remember.

Just use a large font.

Ha! Sure, why not?

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