That was awful. I’m so embarrassed.
I walked down the damp, unlit hallway feeling small and close to breaking.
What does she mean, “a deliberate little smile”?“It’s creepy”?
There were times when it was better to shut up and smile in order to smooth things over, rather than trying to get your own way by clashing with everyone around you or destroying the mood somewhere by giving voice to your unfiltered feelings.
Times when that was all you could do.
And still she called me infuriating.
Not like I’m crazy in love with her, either.
A scream rose up at the back of my throat, along with a lump of heat.
It was different before. Before I…
“Konoha, you look so happy when you smile.”
“And you’re SO easy to read. Whenever you’re depressed or annoyed or scrambling to get something done, it pops right onto your face. You’re just like a puppy.”
✦ ✦ ✦
If I argued that it was mean of her to call me a dog, she would just giggle, her voice a tinkling bell.
✦ ✦ ✦
“Look, you’re sticking your lip out again. You are way too easy to read. But I like that about you, Konoha. I can relax when I’m with you.”
✦ ✦ ✦
When I was in middle school, there was a girl I liked, too. I was in love, just like everybody else.
Just hearing her voice made my heart beat faster. I treated every word she spoke to me as though it were a special treasure, and locked it away in my heart. Before I went to sleep each night, I would take them out and gaze at them, one after another.
That small happiness filled my days. I was always smiling.
But my love, like the Great Gatsby’s, ended in tragedy, and I learned how to lie.
✦ ✦ ✦
My effort paid off and my “human” act began to be pretty convincing.
The people I know say I’m fun and cheerful and kind.
It was a relief to be degraded and laughed at, but when people told me I was kind, I felt uncomfortable, as if my stomach were convulsing.
I wanted people to think I was good, and so I made babies laugh with a funny face and played with dogs. But when I did those things, my cheeks burned with shame.
Because all of it was a lie. Because I was, in fact, not a kind person in any way. Because I was scamming them.
So every time someone said I was kind, I was overcome by an impulse to cry out, to tear my stomach open and kill myself.
Ignorant of this turmoil inside me, dogs would joyfully wag their tails and trot after me when I patted them on the head. They must have believed I was a kind person.
The girl who told me that she liked me was a little like a dog.
Innocent and cheerful, always laughing brightly. She was very childlike.
How wonderful it would have been to be like that, too.
But part of me hated that peaceful, simple girl.