I'm Not Bulletproof

About an hour has passed since I attempted to call Reta, I am still thinking about the tone in her mother’s voice, it was obvious that she was lying. She wasn’t even trying to cover up her lie.

Maybe she did that on purpose though. Instead of saying, “Reta is home, she just doesn’t want to talk to you,” she put into nicer words. Probably to save me from another thing to worry about.

She must know the stress of moving to a new country with no friends and no family, just a bunch of strangers where the son constantly freaks out on you for no reason.

I always use critical thinking to solve things. I guess it’s a good strategy to have. It sure helps in history class, and it keeps people from being biased.

“Triinu,” Alexi says, standing in front of my bed.

“Yes?”

“Here,” he puts a bowl of Cheerios on my bed, “eat.”

I nod and begin to slowly snack on the cereal. It is nice of him to be concerned about my eating habits.

If only I can help him with his problem.

Cutting is so much more complex than eating disorders.

And I don’t have the slightest clue as to how to help him. There can be so many causes for his problem, and as to mine, I was simply called fat by someone I thought I loved.

You see? Easier.

Alexi knows why I am this way, but I don’t know why he is his way. I want to help, but he has to help himself first.

Or help me help him.

If he would just open up and let down that wall he has built, I can help him.

But he has to do that for himself.

“Are you going to Henkka’s soon?” I ask.

“Yeah, are you coming?”

“I don’t know,” I say quietly. I don’t want to be a tag along.

“You have homework anyway,”

I narrow my eyes at the thought of school. Honestly, school is the last thing on my mind. I have so many other things to deal with.

“Fuck homework,” I say sternly.

Alexi gasped in horror, obviously joking. I laugh in response.

“Well, it you feel that way, you should come with me. Don’t worry, you won’t be the third wheel, there’s going to be a bunch of people there,” he says.

This man must be psychic or something. Or maybe it is common to feel this way.

“Yeah, that’s cool I guess,” I say.

“Go get ready. He wants us to be over in a half hour.

I promise that I will not embarrass myself or Alexi tonight.

I promise I will not make stupid jokes, make a mess, or be a typical Estonian.

I promise I will try to have fun, and if I don’t, I will fucking fake it.