I’m sitting there with a little limp mouth and sad jelly eyes and I think, I should smile before someone worries. So I do. The corners of my lips begin to creep upwards. This way I can pretend that I, in quiet contentment, am watching everyone laugh, live, but, actually, smiling is too straining. In fact, it has the adverse affect on my face. Smiling makes me want to cry. I feel sad, small and alone. Every atom feels fragile. My bones feel shrill. I feel like my skin could rip like paper. I don’t want to be tangible. I want to be in this room like a memory. I curl up in the corner and yearn for my teddy bear, my Jeffrey that I cannot sleep without, that goes on planes with me, that shares my attention with every lover. Suddenly, he comes over and wraps fairy lights around my neck and then he strokes my face and sings Sinatra to me. And then another he sits next to me and starts talking to me about something benign because he sees, I think, the emotional moat surrounding me. I hear them blast their hearts out in karaoke and I see her holding hands with him and it all makes me want to cry. I am upset that I feel like this now. I know it’s not my fault and I know (I’ve learnt) that it’s temporary but I don’t want to feel so flimsy and alone here, now. When he asked me what was wrong I said, fine, which is a stupid, lying word, and then he said, you’re going to tell me. Maybe not today, but in two, three, five days, you’re going to tell me, and I reminded myself that I must be doing something right to have such a wonderful friend, and then I thought about how funny it is that, so often, all I want is for someone to see me, to recognise my pain, and then when they do, what do I say? I’m fine. Tonight I had a new thought: I just want to meet a nice guy. As an asshole, I’ve always gone for assholes. Pothead? Check. Alcoholic? Check. Mama’s boy? Check. Schizo/ closet homo? Check? Hip-hop wannabe playa? Check. I don’t want the chase anymore. I don’t want to be put on a pedestal. I don’t want to put them on a pedestal. I just want someone to be there for me, to make me laugh, to know how to handle me and to give me fantastic orgasms.
Oh wow, look- I’m maturing.