Every day, in my mind, I watch the world burn, hotter and hotter, and I wish I could just finally close my eyes, because it’s torture.
I began to cry. “Am I going to jail? Are you going to tell on me? Am I going to be on that TV show? Will they play the ‘bad boys bad boys, whatcha gonna do’ song?”
I repeat: He walked away. Leaving me standing there, clueless and drowning inside of a Burger King shirt that was 4 sizes too big, with a growing line of impatient and hangry customers staring me down.
Being touched made me so uncomfortable. I felt like the awkward recipient of a gift I didn’t know how to hold properly. But soon, those feelings of discomfort turned into intense cravings. I longed for my friends to hug me and hold me, because suddenly, it felt wonderful to be the recipient of platonic affection, and I knew it was something I couldn’t get at home.
“But that’s the thing,” she said. “Because you didn’t know what the ‘limitations’ were, you had no limits.”
I didn’t want a sneak-peek into his world anymore.. the cursory view that hundreds of others got; highlights here and there, and occasional showcases of the big, mention-worthy things. I wanted to know what he’d had for breakfast that morning.. hear what new, favorite song he’s been playing on repeat all week long.. and see what Marvel-themed t-shirt he bought at Target last weekend. Shit I don’t have a right to know anymore; shit I shouldn’t care to know about, see, or hear anymore.
I opened the door to the cafe, invited him in, and then pulled him aside. “We were supposed to have mornings and evenings together,” I reminded him, shaking my head in disbelief, “so what the hell is this?”