kaboodling
Gears, like the ones in clocktowers? The turning, metal structures that keep the hands turning--it must take experienced builders to do create something like that.
I've never been good at building, myself. In artistic group projects, I label my partner as the engineer and resign myself to coloring--I'm decent enough at staying within the lines to do that.
We have a teacher, Mr. Gardner. My brother used to draw comics on his board every morning, before his class even started. His comics usually played off of his name.
Gardner. Gardener. A middle-aged man with wooly gloves, working tirelessly to pick strawberries from a small patch of land. An, honestly, kind of terrifying guy slaving away at what many stereotype as a woman's pastime.
Everyone can be made into something not so bad, even the weird history teacher down the hall.
And my mind is blank.
I've always wanted to hate you.
The things you do. The person you are. You're too nice. You're too perfect. Your eyes see too much value in every individual--your smiles reach a little too far.
I can't hate someone like that. I can't dislike you when you stop in the middle of busy crowds in order to pick up stray wads of trash. I can't roll my eyes when you volunteer every few nights just because you're free and it's the right thing to do. I can't hate you because you're better.
I guess the word I'm looking for is jealous. I'm jealous of you, and that, I can hate.
It isn't always something I want. It is, however, something I will always need.
I yelled at you yesterday. You were pushing me, asking me questions that I didn't feel needed answers. Although you told me you weren't bothered, that I could handle my own future, I know my failures upset you. You wouldn't have cornered me in the living room at eleven o'clock at night if they didn't. You don't trust me; I like to think you would have dropped the subject at "I'll take care of it" a year or two ago.
I've come a long way from skinned knees and teary eyes at the thought of standing up in front of a class full of students. Remember that.
I'm supposed to be clever.
I'm supposed to be witty and quick and ready to respond to anything at any time, just like you were. I'm supposed to be a genius, carrying record-breaking test scores on my back, just like you did.
I'm not you.
People are monsters. All of us. You are, I am, the person in the chair beside you is.
We all are. No exceptions.
You may not carry ulterior motives with every favor you deal. You may not drive too fast or make risky decisions. You may not be morally bad in any perceivable way, but you are a person, and people make mistakes.
That is what makes us human, and that is what makes us monstrous.
I'm not sure.
It's the thing I've built over years of fighting without a sword.
Hard, chiseled plates that cover my weak points. Where I formerly could take nothing, I can now take armies.
It's something that I recently discovered that I am absolutely horrible at keeping in one piece.
One shout is all that it takes. Yell at me, and my chainmail breaks apart from the inside. I could never handle criticism well, and yours pierces right through me.
"Get your little sixteen-year-old self and your smart ass out of my room."
Yeah, thanks. I've been trying to.
I've never been good at hiding my emotions--you told me that, once. The words passed through your lips as mine quivered. I was crying.
I've always been a crybaby, haven't I?
You told me to stop. Crying signifies weakness. Weakness is the portal through which people will travel with kind words and bad intentions.
I didn't stop, but you didn't leave, as I expected you to. You stayed. You helped, when you needed to. You made me stronger.
I hadn't realized that you packed ulterior motives in your back pocket. I didn't notice you stalk through the door that my tears opened with destruction in mind. I never knew how bad you were for me, that is, not until our friendship turned into whispers and chilling smiles.
And it's funny, really; I've never been good at walking away until now.
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writing since 2016 · 15 entries · 15 days shown up
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