Introverted Me

Chapter One

"Okay, you can do this. It's just a couple of hours." I've been repeating this to myself for the last 5 minutes. 

I should be out there with my family "having fun," but instead I'm standing in front of a mirror watching a 14-year-old skinny brown-haired boy wrestling with himself. He's hiding in his aunt's bathroom because he doesn't want to go outside and face the sea of people that he calls family. He's like a little deer lost in the wilderness. I feel sorry for him and I am ashamed of him—or, well, of me.

This might sound stupid, but I'm terrified of large family meetings. I don't know why, but they always make me uncomfortable.

Okay, I do know why. It's the endless questions, the forced small talk, and the fact that there are SO MANY PEOPLE. Seriously, I don't understand how I'm supposed to be related to every single one of the persons out there.

If it was up to me, I would've stayed in the bathroom the whole night, but it had already been 10 minutes and my mom was probably starting to wonder where I was, so I washed my face one more time, took a deep breath and braced myself for a long night.

As soon as I left the bathroom, the questions began. My aunt Ophelia intercepted me on my way to the living room and started asking me questions about school. She's a nice lady, but also a bit nosy and judgmental. I tried to be polite and answer her many questions while also trying not to mention anything that might lead to more questions. I didn't want to be rude but I also didn't want to be there, so I tried my best to bore her with dull answers so the conversation could wrap up quickly.

She didn't get the message I was trying to send with my one-word answers though, because she proceeded to talk extensively about how her kids were doing in school. It was my fault, really. I might not be a great talker, but I am a great listener. There's something about me that makes people want to tell me their whole life story. Maybe it's because, unlike a lot of people I know, I never try to hijack the conversation and make it about myself. However, just because I'm a good listener doesn't mean that I'm interested in everything that comes out of someone else's mouth. Still, I pretended to care about the lives of my cousins to keep my aunt happy. I'm not very close with them but apparently, Rita is getting straight A's and Rony was selected to be on the basketball team. She sounded so proud of them. I liked that. I wonder if my mom talks about me with such pride to other people.

She then mentioned how handsome I was getting. "You look just like your father," she said, grabbing my face. If there's one thing I really hate, is people grabbing my face. My de facto response is to immediately push their hands away from me, but I didn't want to cause a scene, so I controlled myself and just smiled—though it's hard to put on a fake smile when all you want to do is run away.

She then proceeded to ask me if I had a girlfriend and to me, that meant that it was finally time to stop being polite and escape. I know she means well, but I don't enjoy sharing details about my personal life with anyone, much less with an aunt I only see three times a year, so if that was where the conversation was headed then I couldn't get out of there fast enough.

"No, not at the moment," I answered. "Aunt Ophelia, do you know where my mom is?"

"In the living room, sweetie," she answered.

I already knew that, of course, but it was the quickest way I could think of to get out of the conversation without being overly rude.

I entered the living room and saw my mother and my little sister sitting in one of the couches, talking to a bunch of my aunts. They were all proudly boasting about their children, trying to upstage one another. I knew some of them were lying, though. I'm pretty sure my cousin Mark, who still has trouble knowing what's 8 times 8, is not "on the fast lane to be valedictorian," or that my cousin Yara, who once asked me why do meteorites always land on craters, is not "definitely going to Harvard next year," but for some reason, they feel better about themselves when they boast about their children. In their eyes, the achievements of their kids are directly proportional to their proficiency as mothers, even when that's not always the case.