I don't get their jokes, they don't laugh at mine. I've been trying to smile more anyways, as if I could fool them into believing I found them amusing...I don't.
Still, in Lowell, I remember belly-aching laughs. Tirades that would last for months, become user-names, and facebook groups, and work its way around campus until you heard someone you had never met laughing about it.
I don't go to Church. I've been twice, maybe. Once for a funeral, once because I slept over a friends house on a Saturday. I've considered lying to my peers and telling them I was Jewish just so they would give me that same sad, sympathetic look they give foreigners. I may as well be a ghost, or the shell of a human walking about without a soul.
"You're a bad-ass, like me," Tim assured me in the parking lot. Great.
Still, I remember the glass crashing at my feet and the smile on that fiery red head, the Alaskan Fisherman. Afterwords, I thought he might come back to the store a second time. I realized later that that had been wishful thinking. I'd get on better anywhere else but this place. Every time I remember what it's like the get along with people, it tears at my heart. But being alone is okay too, I guess. I can't wait to go home.
No comments:
Post a Comment