East Avenue
12
“What the hell are you doing?” Margaret asked.
She rarely found me at school now, I didn’t have to guess why. I looked at her for a long time, taking in everything I could, registering it either as new ugly or old ugly. Her face was tired, emotionally and physically but it was hard to decide which was taking the biggest toll. She was covered in cat hair, I didn’t know she had one. I was a bad friend even before I stopped caring, so I didn’t let it bother me. Instead, it made me want to laugh. Laugh because I doubted anyone cared, not really. I wonder how often she cries or listens to the songs on her i-pod that make her feel things. I wonder how often she plays with her phone, willing for a text from someone, always Joey and then comes the girl she exchanged numbers with last month whose name she already can’t really remember (Anna?), and then maybe her mom or her step dad. I wonder how long it takes her to get ready in the morning, to wake up, to acquire that willpower that lets her out of bed. I haven’t known Margaret for long, a little over a year and well after meeting Joey. She was the kind of person who tried to understand me, but no connection was made beyond that because the way her hair frames her face has always distracted me. Doesn’t make me nervous, it makes me uncertain. That doubt I feel every time I feel her looking at me has always been enough to keep distant. To focus on spending time with Joey.
Whether she liked Joey or not, the answer seemed small and unimportant now compared to how I’ve felt before. I don’t know much about Margaret, I know her dad died when she was eight years old and her mom sleeps around like it’s some kind of religion. Bad things don’t give people the excuse to be bad people. We don’t have to imitate our past to prove something, we don’t have the right just because it’s the only kind of humanity we can remember, regardless if it's good or bad. She needs a nice boy who will take her on nice dates and do nice things like hold hands and eat nice food so she can go home finally and feel like she had a nice day.
When I didn’t answer, she continued. “This act you’re pulling? Pretending you like him cause it’s the good guy thing to do if you want to keep your friend around? I call bullshit on this entire situation.”
“I don’t care what you think. Joey’s what I need right now.” I found it fairly easy to act like she didn’t have a point. It’s a hard thing, needing people. Even harder, admitting you do.
“Right now?” she mocked. “Just some sort of epiphany.”
“Yes.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“You don’t matter. Don’t talk to me anymore, please. At this point it’s not really worth the time for either of us.” I couldn’t help but grin because she was so ugly and Joey and I weren’t at all.
She rarely found me at school now, I didn’t have to guess why. I looked at her for a long time, taking in everything I could, registering it either as new ugly or old ugly. Her face was tired, emotionally and physically but it was hard to decide which was taking the biggest toll. She was covered in cat hair, I didn’t know she had one. I was a bad friend even before I stopped caring, so I didn’t let it bother me. Instead, it made me want to laugh. Laugh because I doubted anyone cared, not really. I wonder how often she cries or listens to the songs on her i-pod that make her feel things. I wonder how often she plays with her phone, willing for a text from someone, always Joey and then comes the girl she exchanged numbers with last month whose name she already can’t really remember (Anna?), and then maybe her mom or her step dad. I wonder how long it takes her to get ready in the morning, to wake up, to acquire that willpower that lets her out of bed. I haven’t known Margaret for long, a little over a year and well after meeting Joey. She was the kind of person who tried to understand me, but no connection was made beyond that because the way her hair frames her face has always distracted me. Doesn’t make me nervous, it makes me uncertain. That doubt I feel every time I feel her looking at me has always been enough to keep distant. To focus on spending time with Joey.
Whether she liked Joey or not, the answer seemed small and unimportant now compared to how I’ve felt before. I don’t know much about Margaret, I know her dad died when she was eight years old and her mom sleeps around like it’s some kind of religion. Bad things don’t give people the excuse to be bad people. We don’t have to imitate our past to prove something, we don’t have the right just because it’s the only kind of humanity we can remember, regardless if it's good or bad. She needs a nice boy who will take her on nice dates and do nice things like hold hands and eat nice food so she can go home finally and feel like she had a nice day.
When I didn’t answer, she continued. “This act you’re pulling? Pretending you like him cause it’s the good guy thing to do if you want to keep your friend around? I call bullshit on this entire situation.”
“I don’t care what you think. Joey’s what I need right now.” I found it fairly easy to act like she didn’t have a point. It’s a hard thing, needing people. Even harder, admitting you do.
“Right now?” she mocked. “Just some sort of epiphany.”
“Yes.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“You don’t matter. Don’t talk to me anymore, please. At this point it’s not really worth the time for either of us.” I couldn’t help but grin because she was so ugly and Joey and I weren’t at all.