Would you tie my shoelaces? [ENGLISH VERSION]

02. Wouldn't it be..

I felt dizzy. I always got dizzy when I was in cars. And their smell didn't really help at all. I had no idea why I was in this place, or the fact that my mother had changed her mind and was taking me to Martina's party right now, at this very moment. Just three hours ago she had clearly said I couldn't go! This rarely happened.

She never made sense. Nothing made sense. I just act like I really understand and know everything, but at the end of the day I'm just one of a hundred teenagers going through and thinking exactly what I'm thinking. Not everything had to revolve around me. Nothing should or had to, there just had to be that need to kill the boredom. The phrase "I'm one in a million" didn't have to come true. Nothing had to come true.

The car soon pulled up and parked carefully. My mother now turned to look at me, and after a long while her gaze shifted to Ingrid, as she stood in the back.

"You'd better behave yourselves. I don't want to hear from a mother that Ingrid was in a corner alone the whole party, or that you two were just arguing. Got it?" The same look, phrase and voice she used before she said goodbye to us, no longer had so much effect because of the use she already gave it so much. She frightened, fed up, irritated, etc. So many things she decided to make us feel that before one could realize it, she could no longer convey anything to us. Or at least to Avis.

"Yes mom" that irritating voice, Ingrid's, was the only one that my saintly mother apparently managed to hear. Because it was only a whisper that she apparently believed and wanted to pretend to have heard from me. I didn't always use to speak softly; it's not as if I had a hard time saying every sentence. Ingrid had heard me, she just pretended to be deaf. 

"Got it" I replied loudly once her gaze had lingered on me for so long. She was driving and I was on the passenger side of the car. Ingrid in the back, and she still managed to hear me. Ironic or pathetic? Both. The irony was always pathetic from the day of its birth. To be born; no one commanded it, no one wished it or created it for them what curiosity they had. It was simply born and soon hated like the rest of humanity and population.

And now, pitifully, I was already walking to the arranged place for Martina's birthday party. How awful. Why was I even here? I wasn't supposed to be here, and yet, everyone was staring at me. By everyone I mean my classmates, but saying this to the four winds sounds pathetic; like I was drawing attention to myself like all the other weirdos. I soon noticed my friends, and the mothers who gossiped so much about their children or their family in general. I felt sorry for them. Each and every one of the human race, just like all of them, right?

They all detested each other. And if they didn't, they weren't human.

I walked over to where the mothers and snacks were, and boy was it a big mistake, because before long I was surrounded by so many mothers and old, wrinkled ladies, that I could no longer escape. Uncomfortable questions would be thrown at me, I could feel it. And my intuition almost never failed.

"Avis, I love your hair, is it natural?" One of the mothers, Juliet's mother, started playing with my reddish curly hair. It was common for many to do that, but responding to them was never easy. As for difficult, that was for me. 

"You're super tall, girl!" Marcos' mother came up to me and measured us. I could tell that she was 1.45 cm tall.

"And skinny, woman!" one of my teachers blurted out that very, very uncomfortable question to me. As if she expected me to tell her the whole truth about why I was doing this. "Have you been eating well?"

"She has changed a lot since last year, hasn't she?" someone blurted out, a mother no doubt, but I was no longer paying attention to who was saying such a thing. My smile, with which I had arrived hoping that no one would suspect how weak and false it was, was breaking. "Less fat and chubby" that made me feel as if I was breaking inside. She had gone too far. Valentina's mother was the worst, while her daughter was plump —according to what many said— and sweet like no other girl, her mother was completely different.