In a fit of uncharacteristic sentimentality I picked it. Now of course I did not wish to admit to this-- not even to myself. So instead I gave a murmured halfhearted response, in the hopes that a proper answer would be pursued no longer.
"When I fart, it's the best scent that mixes with mom's burritos..." Well maybe it was more of word vomit than that of a halfhearted response.
In my head it seemed less tawdry. Unable to clear the blockage that was now tightening around my chest and throat, I considered a new option.
"What? Doesn't everybody notice that sort of thing?" I looked around at my companions for some kind of support.
Embarrassed, I stashed the flower among the pages of the book I held, "Daisy Miller." The irony was not lost on me. Giving up on coherent conversation, I fled the scene. I couldn't shake the image of the life being leeched from the daisy into the dried pages. In that moment the sentiment echoed how I felt about my social interactions.
I walked away in a manner that I thought was casual but looked panicked to everyone else. I didn't care where I was going just so long as I got away, to a place where I had no one to answer to. No one that would make me panic and word vomit stupid things that were not true.
I knew my face and ears were probably flaming scarlet as I went straight for the glass study room on the second floor of the library. In solitude but still able to see life pass me by.
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SMH, if any of you read this, I'm sorry.... Haha.
YOU ARE READING
That One Time I Asked My Friends to Write with Me
HumorAs the title said, I though it would be fun then it became a ridiculous romp... and so I'm posting it cause I felt as though others could appreciate it? But, I dunno.
