(no subject)
I knew that when she finished that cigarette and finally turned from the window where she was hiding her disgusted look she’d reach into the console and grope for gum. She smoked for the same reason she did most things, to give her something to do. On this trip we weren’t talking because I’d been tired and not said much from the beginning, and she was sitting there in the driver’s seat, thinking of the many false reasons I could be angry with her, and mulling over all the injustices I’d spewed upon her from day one. I was looking indifferently straight ahead, knowing she was silently going crazy, and not saying a damn thing. Our stubborness was the same. She wouldn’t say anything the entire ride and I, knowing her ridiculous feelings, would leave her to suffer. Later, when she couldn’t take it anymore, she’d finally ask me what was wrong in an overly concerned manner, and I’d tell her that I’d stayed up late the night before and just didn’t feel like talking, and everything would be back to normal. We were friends in a cyclic wheel of neurotic paranoia. We were the same person minus a few unfortunate circumstances bestowed on her, and for that I thought I was better, and for that she hated me.
She was a character and an actress I watched her with interest as she played her games. Don’t think I’m being low when I say she played games, she knew what she was doing just as well as I, and I say games in the most admiring of ways. I watched her gain the trust of everyone she talked to. She could charm the ring off a married man I’m quite sure, and I won’t deny it was an alluring skill that I couldn’t figure out. Meet her once and she knew your entire life, not through coercion but because you simply told her everything, completely willingly.
We were friends because her boding confidence made things happen, she could make even the mundane exciting, she could bring to life the juiciest gossip and could give compliments that made you want to sit near her, just to hear your own name said in such a light. Flattery, I suppose, was part of her appeal. But still, even as you sat by her and she told you everything you ever wanted someone to notice about you, you realized what she was doing and didn’t care. A game, yes, but not a petty one. Anyone can play petty games, her games were skilled and practiced.
She was driving too fast and erratically again, and I glanced at her and she smiled. “You think I’m crazy, don’t you?” she asked. I smiled because I did, but didn’t care. I was sure one day she’d come through and be who I wanted her to be, but she never did.
She was a character and an actress I watched her with interest as she played her games. Don’t think I’m being low when I say she played games, she knew what she was doing just as well as I, and I say games in the most admiring of ways. I watched her gain the trust of everyone she talked to. She could charm the ring off a married man I’m quite sure, and I won’t deny it was an alluring skill that I couldn’t figure out. Meet her once and she knew your entire life, not through coercion but because you simply told her everything, completely willingly.
We were friends because her boding confidence made things happen, she could make even the mundane exciting, she could bring to life the juiciest gossip and could give compliments that made you want to sit near her, just to hear your own name said in such a light. Flattery, I suppose, was part of her appeal. But still, even as you sat by her and she told you everything you ever wanted someone to notice about you, you realized what she was doing and didn’t care. A game, yes, but not a petty one. Anyone can play petty games, her games were skilled and practiced.
She was driving too fast and erratically again, and I glanced at her and she smiled. “You think I’m crazy, don’t you?” she asked. I smiled because I did, but didn’t care. I was sure one day she’d come through and be who I wanted her to be, but she never did.