The party held little promise, but then again, she never was one for parties.
She hadn’t seen her high school friends for many a year, not since the incident with the crying on the telephone, that weirded them all out and gave them suitable cause to never contact her again.
If you are friends predominantly with humans of the male orientation, one must never seem over-emotional, she learnt that day. It will scare them and cause them to fly off, like startled doves caught in a hurricane.
But seeing them again was nice, she supposed. Twisting the cigarette between her fingers and gazing out into the garden, she could see them prancing about, mutilating the decrepit trampoline.
It was just a shame she was not the same as before.
It happened with all friendships over time, people grew apart. They would run into each other whilst shopping for something inextricably awkward, like a new vibrator or some fifty-litre bottle of lubricant. The casual small talk was induced, followed by the invitation out somewhere which you knew would not be taken up. Then you proceed to repeat this same experience again in another year or so.
But for once, she thought she would make the effort. Everyone would be there after all.
Although that wasn’t necessarily a good thing, she thought, as she strolled through the door to see Alexandra and suddenly come upon a harrowingly graphic flashback of his overly-hairy arsehole.
But yes, she would only regret a small portion of the evening.
Yet, when she sat down, entering into a conversation with an old friend regarding recent endeavours and found herself being accused of ‘speaking Shakespeare’ for simply using the word ‘harrowing’, she found her will to live abruptly cut short, and instead found herself examining the small portion of books out in the hallway.
Just like every other social gathering, she thought.
Stubbing out her cigarette, she picked up a weathered copy of Thomas Hardy, alongside a can of Carlsberg, and set herself to work.
Here I just felt like writing something, which seems to reflect how many of my friendships tend to go.
As someone who is quite the introvert, going to the effort of meeting up with friends, even ones whom I cherish and love, is often a grueling task that is simply too cumbersome to enact. Plus, we often change and our interests simply aren’t the same any longer.
I think I’ve had maybe about five or six people in my life, who I am actually able to go to the effort of meeting up with, usually just exceptional best friends or romantic partners.
Is anyone else like this? Or am I just a monstrous individual?
Please, give me some validation! >,<
Copyright © 2016 Rebecca Sherratt