Murphy

Robin and Him

"Can I ask you a personal question?" said my newly-emo friend Robin, sitting across from me at a worn-down table in the locally-owned, best kept secret of Brooklyn, Castorini's Diner. She's always going through her phases. One week she's hanging out with the preppy kids from our school, the next week the world's out to get her. Whatever the illusion is, the angle is attention. She had on heavy black eyeliner with bright red eyeshadow, all black clothes, with these lacy sleeves, which were actually pretty cute.

"Of course," I said, curious.

"Have you ever experimented with self-harm?"

Well so much for small talk. What the fuck, did she see? I'm always wearing long sleeves, even if it's a light shirt. This was going to be hard to lie my way out of. I glanced around the room. There was one other person sitting alone towards the corner of the diner. It was pitch black outside, something like 1 or 2 by now.

"Why's that on your mind?" I redirected.

"Just wondering whether or not I'm alone in this." she said, in a softer, more slurred tone. "I mean, I cut, that's pretty much what the wristbands are for."

Oh, yeah. She was also wearing a hoard of wristbands on both arms. Obviously going for some sort of damaged look. I let out a brief silent sigh of relief, knowing she didn't really suspect me of anything. That seemed like what the decent parts of my life were coming to lately, brief silent sighs of relief.

"Sometimes it gets really bad," she continued. "Like, three or four times in a day. It feels so good in an odd way, I don't know why."

Fuck this. I'm finding it harder and harder to hold back saying to this girl, one of my very best friends, that I see right through her drama queen bullshit.

"You don't have to ask me a question to start talking about yourself. You can just start talking about yourself and I'll listen, but don't act like it's about me first." I snapped at her.

She looked shocked and offended, gathering herself to respond.

I could tell she had come up with what to say, but she paused.

"You've become so bitter, Murphy." she said in a full voice, on the defensive. "I used to be able to come to you with what's bothering me, and you'd be comforting."

"Let me get this straight," I said, "I don't entertain your latest ploy for attention and I'm automatically bitter? You know, 99% of our conversations revolve around you. Do you realize that?" I was just being pissy now. I knew that, apparently I didn't care.

I didn't feel like waiting for an answer, an excuse, a lie, not tonight. I shot up from my seat and headed out from the diner. Kind of dramatic myself, I know, but I did it gracefully, as not to cause a scene. It's not like I knocked the contents of the table over and stormed out à la Silver Linings Playbook. I'm not that batshit, I don't think.

I turned right once I got out the door and started walking in the direction of where I lived. I broke into a brisk walk down the dimly lit street. I passed by the few modest houses off to the side of the diner, then the bigger, more run-down warehouse-type places surrounding them. Robin didn't try to run after me. I think we were both kind of tired.

Cutting, really? I can tell you right now that if she is actually cutting herself, it's not because she needs it to go a day without breaking down, it's because she's looking for sympathy. She's a pretty good actress, but she doesn't fool me. Using something so serious, so dangerous, so addictive, as a ploy for having someone comfort you - it's desperate and disgusting. I would never do that. Ick. I don't know why she needs this though, she gets enough attention as it is. Robin is beautiful girl. She's got this fabulously silky, chocolate brown hair that runs in long curls, and a porcelain face with striking deep green eyes in the middle of it. I don't know, she must be messed up in the head. Maybe that's why we've stuck around each other for years, we're both broken up there. We'll hang out again, I'm sure of it.