Filmmaker & Artist

Musings

Fickle: A Short Story

All of the sudden, I did not want my friends any longer- well this group at least. Frankly, I was not so sure if they even wanted me around either. I knew when we started hanging out the way we did with fickle libations and hourless evenings that we would peak and plateau almost all at once. Well, I can only speak for myself. 

Everyone was filled with such ecstasy and over-emphatic enthusiasm I wondered how could this be sustained? It is not that I fall in an out of friendship easily, it is more so that I fall hard but under separate pretenses. Once I sense even the slightest bit otherwise from even just one person, my fortress is built. I will say, I am not without guilt. I certainly know I could be seeing all of this through fogged lenses. I have spent many a night being too loud, too brusque, too inebriated, too unconscious, even too boorish yet we all said it was "ok" and embraced the personalities that comprised the band.

One day, I began to sense I had been "kindly invited" rather than integral to a plan. By all means, I see friendship as a casualness of allowing friends to do as they please however I detest the feeling of never being "needed" and "wanted." I truly feel as if I were to disappear (or never call back) that I would be mourned with a mere shrug. This type of thinking lead me to more terrible thoughts. I became angry- thoughtfully volatile. I thought about my "so-called" friends and their faces, their laughs, their style, etcetera. It all made my stomach churn. I feared if one of them touched me I would turn into a pillar of salt. Perhaps, I was a bit absurd. I had already sat well with my desire to no longer vie for their presence but it was not until one day in the efflorescence of Spring they decided we were all to meet in Central Park. 

I had no intentions of joining on any outing to the park that be yet four train transfers later I was headed to my handcrafted sarcophagus. After a combination of delayed contact and abysmal directions, I slithered throughout the western to eastern pockets of the man-made trough. Mind you- I also despise this place. It is no park. It is like an amusement park without the roller coasters, all the smells and even more people walking with no ambition. The better half of my brain told me that although I had already come thus far that it would be better for me to return home than to deposit my attitude of dismay on top of some idle hill among idle company.

Anyhow, by the time I made it, it became quite clear within the moment of a mutual hand wave that I was no more wanted than I wanted to be there. I cannot even recall if I received a "hello." I can attest that I did not receive any remarks from my fondest friend yet I believe I am at fault for only making mention of the faulty directions and a bevy of my frustrations- all with a smile but of course! Silence fell quickly and was only broken by a weak offer for me to join on the overcrowded blanket. In these moments, I could have still walked away unscathed. Nobody would have given notice. Oh, did I fail to mention the buxom, raspy toned friend of a friend- a stranger!- that lay with them? I digress...

I sat on the remaining slivers of sunlight; A reminder that there are good things everywhere no matter how tight a grip my mind has on me. All I crave is to be free of them and for them to not even bother. But I may change my mind. For all one knows, one day less trivial matters will crowd my conscience and I will laugh at all of the follies of yore. 

 

 

Kelli ReillyComment