The Beginning of Beginnings

Picked Up

My words felt clumsier than they should have. It wasn't as if I was talking to someone I didn't know, yet the distinctly panicky and almost desperate feeling of 'I'm struggling to feel like what I'm saying is interesting because you're not keeping the conversation alive the way I'd hope you to' was nagging my words as they spilled out.

"I don't know, like it was just kinda," I pushed an awkward chuckle through my lips, thinking about how the stumbling over words would've been wholly more natural if it was accompanied by the vague agreeing and laughing of the person I was talking to. It wasn't.

"Like nuts, y'know." I still soldiered through the words as if I wasn't basically holding conversation with myself. "I didn't know Mr. Vaug could get like that." I finished off the end of the story, but it doesn't tie off the casual way a story told between friends should, it feels like a bow tied awkwardly and shameful.

"Oh yeah, I mean," Lydia's voice was light but it's tone held about as much engagement as you would have with a paper clip. Her open lips softly lingered on her last word as if searching for more to supply, before she gave a tiny sigh through her nose.  Defeat. "Yeah it's like... whatever." Lydia voice practically vibrates with its lazy tone, completing her response to my earnest attempt at making conversation. Once again.

She wasn't being mean. I could tell it wasn't that she was purposely trying to make me feel like she was disinterested, but for some reason, her response trying to sound authentic but clearly falling short as though I truly hadn't  interested her enough to provoke actual effort didn't do much to make me feel good.

Her head was stoically tipped upwards as she clumsily swept her fingers through her jagged eyebrows to smooth them out. Not that Lydia was even that big on appearance, or to be completely honest, a total stunner. Primping just seemed to be a self conscious yet narcissistic habit of Lydia's, even though her school attire didn't usually sail beyond modest eyeliner and an Adidas sports jacket. Worn purely for aesthetic, of course.

I pursed my lips and willed myself to dissolve the awkward stagnancy in the conversation by pretending it wasn't there. I was trying. You couldn't blame me for that. At least, that's what I kept telling myself. It was getting harder and harder to believe.

I tried to breathe a breath of casual air to calibrate the situation back to having a mood between people who were actually friends. I didn't deserve to have to be trying like this. I also didn't deserve to be dragged to the banquet hall bathroom of the school solely because Lydia's selfish ass wanted to be there to check her hair, and barely saw me as enough of a person to consider what I wanted much less put any importance to it, like the thought that I shouldn't be obliged to literally doing nothing but standing for 15 minutes while she primped had never even bothered crossing her mind.

I stared blankly into the mirror as sounds of Lydia batting her bangs out of her face in the mirror took up too much space in the girls restroom. My arms were crossed, my hip jutted out. My body screamed of trying to hold its ground and seem as though I had the strength to leave if I want and that I was only here by my own will, that the power control in the relationship is equal. I hated feeling like the sidekick.

"Ok stop looking at me." Lydia suddenly burst out in annoyance, flicking her eyes to me in frustration.

My mouth opened. "I wasn't staring, I'm just-"

"No, like I know, but just-" she waved her hand flippantly but her eyes were trained on me with annoyed certainty,  blazing with anything but apology, "just stop." 

I couldn't spare the honey sweet smile that spread across my face as I stood next to Alexis Hycole, watching the cafeteria's population swell at the signal of the bell.

"Lydia is such a bitch." Alexis grimaced, her nose crinkling to express her contempt. Her micro diamond nose piercing glittered with the movement, sinking into the fold of her nose then rebounding as her expression softened to continue talking. "This is why I stopped being friends with her in 8th grade. She was so fucking weird and rude about shit that didn't matter."

"I know," I agreed, fully indulging in the shit talking that was practically freeing my soul by the minute, "she's so into herself and everything she wants, it's crazy." I scanned the lunchroom breezily, feeling the blonde animatedly swish her head to nod in agreement as I spoke. This was going good, seriously. "And yeah, she was terrible in the 8th grade. Her and that ugly ass ponytail-mohawk hybrid."

Alexis laughed in a tinkling way, dipping her head down in her hand and lightly jostling her brown blonde hair in the process. My heart soared, feeling the airy feeling I'd been missing out on for months. This is what it felt like to have an actual friend.

"Ooh shit." Alexis' lips zipped into a deviously tight smile, showing all her teeth, and her eyebrows bounced upward. She turned to me, hands loosely grabbing my forearm. "There the bitch isssss." She drawled comically near my ear, bringing a nicely manicured finger up to point out Lydia, wearing her characteristically brooding and controlling expression as per usual.

She was standing near the microwaves, alone, but her eyes were flicking from time to time, as if she was simply waiting one someone to rightfully service her with their presence. It was almost a sorry sight. Actually, scratch that. It was wholly pathetic.

"Eulch." I showed my tongue, and twisted my face up at Alexis gleefully, and she returned my expression with an appreciative laugh.

Lydia would be mad. I mean, she hardly valued me for my personality or character, but she practically felt she owned me. She felt wholly entitled to the presence of my passive-bordering-weak-and-submissive personality, taking advantage of it so that she'd always have a servant that validated her.

I was sure that the next time we'd talk, she'd snipe an ugly comment about me being "fake" without truly confronting me, just sneaking the attack into our conversation. Then she'd sigh with deep and obvious annoyance, probably complete with an eye roll before moving on from the topic, but referring to me the rest of the conversation with something of a much more closed off and irritated attitude, as if she was doing me a favor of talking to me, but not enjoying many seconds of it.

It was the same thing every time. A vicious cycle of negative and uncalled for reinforcement every time I seemed to step out of the lines of what she wanted from me. Making me feel guilty while simultaneously pretending she wasn't making me feel guilty if I attempted to correct her.

I breathed out deeply. This time, I didn't care. And I didn't think I was going to let myself care ever again.