I let out a high pitched sound.
I lift my shoulders up and down.
Much better. It's not like I actually remember how many times I did it today, but still. The medication is kicking in.
The doorbell rings, making me jump. It must be Hel, my best friend. I invited her to spend a day with me, like a birthday party for two. It's hard to spend time with her because she lives in another city. We've known each other for eight years, we made this work. So why am I so worried that it might drive her away? I still don't understand how my parents put up with it. I would go mad if I heard a high pitched sound every five seconds, all day long. They say over and over again that it doesn't bother them, and I ask myself over and over again if they truly mean it.
"Lyla? Are you gonna let me in or not?" I hear Hel shout from behind the door. Awaken out of my daydream, I quickly unlock the door to be greeted by a hug. When I pull away, I see nothing's changed, well, except for her hair. Dirty blonde, now short instead of long. Still messy. She is wearing combat boots, ripped jeans, and a Megadeth T-shirt. She is literally spreading metal vibes. People who look at us together probably don't think we are friends, let alone best friends. I am socially awkward, especially around boys, while she is the life and soul of the party, boys at her feet. I am girly, always wearing cute shirts, dresses, skirts, very organized. She is a true metalhead, always a rebel, always wearing her trademark messy bun. Sure, I like rock music too, I probably wouldn't be alive around her if I didn't, but I wouldn't consider myself a metalhead. As cheesy as it sounds, we're like puzzle pieces. Different, but we fit together perfectly. Gah, this phrase makes me want to throw up.
"Ahh, I haven't seen you in so long! I love your short hair!"
"Thanks! I cut it myself."
Always the rebel.
I let out a high pitched sound.
"So that's it? That's the tic?" says Hel while taking off her shoes. She then proceeds to put her hair in a messy bun, twisting and twirling it until it looks like the best messy bun I've ever seen, just as always. I am always jealous of how quick and perfect she does it. I can never get it right, it always ends up like a tight bun trying to be messy.
I nod, busying myself with locking the door very carefully.
"Don't worry. You're so amazing you couldn't bother me with that."
I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding in.
"You really mean that? You don't find it annoying?"
"Of course I do! It really doesn't bother me. You're my best friend and you're perfect just the way you are."
She pulls a few hairs out of the bun.
So casually. She must be lying, she must. How can anyone not be bothered by this?
"What about me is perfect?" I question. "What? Please don't lie to me, you don't know what you're getting yourself into! This-"
I let out a high pitched sound. I let out a high pitched sound.
"-all of the time!"
Hel stares at me wide-eyed.
I had to warn her. The last thing I wanted was for her to not be able to sleep because of this, hence my amazing ability to not fall asleep in less than an hour, or just be plain annoyed.
She takes a step forward and grabs my shoulders, shaking them.
"Lyla! I am not lying! I love everything about you. Even your Harry Potter obsession. Even your tics. So believe me when I say: it doesn't bother me
Ok, now I'm on the verge of tears.
I hug her tightly and whisper into her ear.
"Thank you. I really needed this."
She laughs and pushes me back.
"Ok, this is getting really sappy and cheesy. Let's go to your room."
I smile and follow her to my room, where we both flop on the bed. Hel is laying on her side, propped up on one elbow. I sit up and try to imitate her messy bun.
Ok, pull hair into a ponytail, no-don't smooth it out, and now twist, and secure with an elastic. Take a few strands out, this should do the trick.
Hel laughs loudly and snaps a picture with her phone before I can stop her. I look at it and join in with the laughter. My bun is literally clean and not messy at all except for a few bumps in my hair that look ridiculous. Sighing, I let my hair down and put it in a side sleek low ponytail. More like me. Organized and clean.
"Just face it. You will never become the messy bun master."
YOU ARE READING
The Tourette DiariesNon-Fiction
"This is Lyla Green. She is 16 years old, tall, and has long brown hair. She is pretty shy but very caring and creative." This is how a person would describe me normally. The usual. General facts, appearance, and personality traits. "This is Lyla Gr...