How to Exist

short story, memoir

I met a girl once. She changed me. Let me live, vicariously, through her soul.

She was a quiet girl. It wasn't because she had nothing to say. It wasn't because she hadn't lived, seen, experienced. She didn't think she deserved to be heard.

 She didn't need to justify the silence that captivated her. The way others did. "The more you know, the less you speak"... No. Her silence wasn't condescending. It was agitated, uncomfortable, painful.

"Why?" she had once asked, "is it so hard to just... exist? I fell like, it feels like I have to earn it. Do something. Deserve to be alive. I don't think I do. Everybody else does. It is easy for them. It's easy for them to speak, to walk, to smile." 

It was easy for me. I liked talking to people. I liked meeting people. I'd never worried about whether I deserved to live. I was born, I was here and... Wasn't that enough?

She did have friends. She laughed, perhaps even more than anybody I knew. She smiled. She never knew what to say.

She was beautiful. Not in the conventional, advertised sense. It was the fear in her eyes, her insecurities, her desperate search for words... 

"People complement me for modesty. For being humble. Not knowing what to say. Modesty is the most imprisoning quality you can ever have. I'm not modest. It's not, it's never modesty for us, for those who are never satisfied with what we do. With who we are... Anyone disguised as "humble" is only somebody who doesn't care about anything, any success, accomplishment, nothing. He is just trying to justify why she is alive. He is trying desperately, to prove himself that he has a place. His life is a constant state of discomfort. The only way he can hold on, is through what other people think of him. He is different. You like to be liked. He needs to be... "

That was the longest she'd ever spoken. It was her birthday, 18th. I'd taken her out for a couple of beers. She always got comfortable after two. Never chatty... Her discomfort would evolve into tranquility. 

Everybody liked her. Everybody had to; that was the only way she could survive. She'd never found herself. Her story was one of constant strive to please. Just as she'd put it "it was the only way she could hold on, through what other people thought of her."

I knew people judged her. I'd heard people judge her, and had kept my silence. It wasn't my responsibility to protect her. It is easy for most people to socialize. It's natural. We even need it. We don't think about what to say, or regret it right after we do say it. We aren't afraid to laugh, we don't worry about being laughed at. We expect everybody to socialize, interact the way we do. She couldn't to it. She wasn't an outcast, she would talk. She hid it well, most of the time. When she knew she couldn't, she just pretended it was a choice. That she didn't want to talk, that she didn't care. 

Another day, another two beers had made her say "It's funny, I know I can't be the only one. It's this hard, for so many people. I know they have to be out there. How do they hide it though? Or do they never socialize? Speak?"

"I don't understand you." I'd said. We judge what is alien to us, what we don't feel. She was alien. I didn't understand. So I'd judged her that day. She was seeking my attention. Nothing else. Perhaps even trying to show me how deep and philosophical she was. 

"Never mind." 

"Want another one?"

"Yeah."

"So did you send in your last application?"

"Yeah"

I don't know how we'd gotten close. A group of mutual friends, couple of group projects, months of Whatsapp texts perhaps... I'd found her interesting.She'd captivated me, somehow. I'd felt her desperate longing for love and she'd fed off my attention. It was strictly business for us, for a while. 

She was smart. Driven.

"I only study because I need a distraction. I don't want to think. I need to hold on to something, work for it, dedicate my whole energy to it. Otherwise I think. All meaning, all purpose disappears. I'm scared, of what is going to happen when I do reach my goal. When I do, you know get in college, or win this or that award. When this race is over... I'll just have the whole time in the world to think about my social impotence. You know what the hardest thing in the world is. Ok, not in the world, but in this tiny little whole that I have imprisoned myself in... It's wanting to make a change, in the world, and not having the courage to do it. To even speak up. And its hating yourself for it." 

She'd challenged herself later, after she'd accomplished what she was afraid of.

"I've spent four years working for this. Now I feel nothing. What do I have to look back to. Nothing. No memories made, because I was so afraid. Afraid to embarrass myself. Afraid that people wouldn't like me. They don't like me anyway. And the thing is, I still am afraid. I can't say f**k it. I just can't. Even now, that I have nothing to loose. I know I'm going away, in four months, and still. Nothing."

Author's Note

I'm not finished yet, but this is a first draft. Any comments would be appreciated

Reviews

[RenMc]

This was amazing, stunning, beautifully written. I am blown away. It kinda made me feel like you were in my mind, it has taken my breath away. I honestly wouldnt change a single thing. I am in love with this peace. Great work
With all my heart, Ren