Sunday, November 5, 2006

Portraits of Agatha C.

It seemed to her that only in English did she not feel like thinking. In all of the other classes, she was joyful and friendly. Only in this class was she quiet and aloof. And it seems to me, she thought, that I haven't felt like thinking this whole week. Maybe it's just my moods taking over, she reassured herself. She looked at her black nail polish. It suited her well. Since she could think of nothing else to do, she opened her notebook and started writing about it.

When she had awakened, she remembered that today was Friday, and that tomorrow would be Saturday. She got up and started to dress. She stepped outside at 7:15 and started walking to school. Today, I have Choir. Better get ready, she reminded herself. She dislodged her tongue from its comfortable place at the back of her throat and started to sing.
"Standing on the bridge, waiting in the dark, I thought that you'd be here by now."
The cold wind entered her mouth and chilled her throat. But she kept on singing.
"There's nothing but the rain, no footsteps on the ground, I'm listening, but there's no sound." (1)
When she arrived at school, she ran her tongue over the top of her mouth, and got ready.

When she arrived home, she called her mom, ate, and settled down to do her homework. She turned on her Ipod and started to listen to it. When she finished her work, she turned the volume up higher and listened until her mom came home. They ate in silence and then she went to bed. The next day when she awoke, she realized that it was still dark out, and she remembered that it was Saturday.

"When I was in sixth grade, I was the last one to be picked for any team."
Instead of feeling sorry for her friend, M-- laughed.
"Ha, ha! Leftover!"
She had wanted to cry when M-- had said that, but she refrained from doing so and swerved her attention to the board.

What had always puzzled her was the fact that she was friends with M--. It seemed to her that M-- was an insufferable girl who always thought that she was more mature than she really thought she was. When she was excited sometimes and was talking fast, M-- always cooled her down with an abrupt,
"Shut up."
When she offered criticism, M-- turned her head away and ostracized her. And when someone had insulted M--, she just glared at them with a glare filled with daggers, thinking that if she stared at them long enough, her hate would make them melt.
Sometimes, she wished that she could slap M--, tell her to shut up, and be done with her. But she knew that M-- would hit her back and continue hitting just because she felt like it. She just couldn't abide the truth.

She loved the feeling of loneliness, but at the same time, abhorred it. She didn't like to be around people, but at the same time, she was lost without them. When her mother came home, she felt like staying in her room and just shutting the world out, but instead, the smiles were pushing, until the mask sprouted from within.
So, when her sister insulted her role model, she just couldn't take it anymore. She knew as she slammed her door that she should have stayed there and gone on with the conversation, showing no signs of emotion. She also knew that this moment would be recorded by phone to everyone in the world.
"Oh hi Kristen, do you wanna go to hang out next Friday? Ok. Oh, wait. Oh my gosh, I just have to tell you what Agatha did..."
But on the other hand, she knew that she couldn't have held back the tears. She wasn't that strong.

She dreamt herself to sleep. She dreamed of future situations, where she would meet her favourite celebrities and dreamed made-up characters she liked to call "my angel and my demon". She finally realized that she wasn't that mature after all. She was saying fancy things that made absolutely no sense just to make herself feel more important. The only place she was slightly mature was every night before she went to sleep. Her dreamland was her escape.

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