“Are you mad at her?”

I gave him a look, “yes, I am. How did you know?”
I hadn’t made it THAT explicit. I had dropped very few hints.

“We were talking about it yesterday. Why?” he asked again.
They’re surprised because I never get mad. I’m the always-smiling one. I don’t get angry.
Perhaps I’m not human either.

I shook my head, “They need to know that themselves. I want them to understand why. At least they got the hint now.”

“You’re… you’re a character.”

I laugh with grief.

They’re there, I wanted to say, they’re there to talk about Silly dramas. They’re there to talk about Homework and Dances. Boys and Girls. High school, College. Parents and Rules. Movies and Music. He Said That and She Said This. But not now. Not for This, the death of silliness.

Yes, I am mad. Because my mom thinks she’s dying. Because my dad is overstressed and overworked. Because my sister is burning inside. Because my family is now a play of sorts, that even Shakespeare would hate to pen. And because, because I feel alone, stranded in a place where future and present collide, slipping on either ends. And I am an actress too, molded into a character I do not want to be. All smiles and no play. Made-up, dolled and alone.

Friends, a figment of my imagination.
I’d have been there for you. Why aren’t you here for me? Why can’t I talk to you? Why can’t you listen? Is this what friendship means?

In that case, I abhor that too.

———————————————————————————————

“Perhaps this is just punishment for those who have been heartless, to understand only when nothing can be undone.”
— Khaled Hosseini (A Thousand Splendid Suns)