Alone

Okay, so I'm trying to get better at writing by trying new things. This is my attempt at two things: writing in the present (fully) and writing about "real life" (as opposed to fantasy or period pieces). You know the drill: read and comment.

...

I never feel more alone than when I'm around other people. I'm not crazy. I know I'm not crazy. In fact, I'm quite brilliant at times. But no one knows that except my closest friends and family who've known me for years. I'm not too good at meeting new people.

I have what's called Social Anxiety Disorder--ironically becoming the acronym SAD, which is how I feel most of the time after being forced to meet new people.

Dr. Clark said my "condition" causes me to feel panicked in social situations with large groups of people, especially if those people are strangers. She continued by giving me a long speech littered with medical jargon and lawyer two-face talk but I stopped listening after a certain point (There was a bird hopping on her outer windowsill that held my attention). Our first session ended with her telling me because there isn't much known about my disorder, there's no clinical reason to medicate me.

I guess the problems started in college. I had always been a little shy in high school but I still managed to make some really good, life-long friends. So I never thought I had any trouble with new people. But once we graduated and dissipated to different cities, that all changed. I stayed close to home and went to the state college, thinking that maybe if I stayed close to my roots, I'd have more in common with the people I'd encounter. I was wrong.

Move in day was hell. As I tried to learn the campus on my own, I was constantly bombarded with tens of new, smiling faces asking me if I needed help. They wore bright red shirts with JUST ASK ME printed in bold white lettering. They may as well have been holding flashing neon signs reading STAY AWAY. I guess they were just trying to be friendly. But, to me, it just came off as creepy. Every time one of the red shirts approached me, I could feel my heart pounding harder. When one particularly overly-friendly girl came up to me, waving wildly and flipping her bleached blonde hair about, I literally thought I would faint. "Are you new?" she asked me. Before I could answer, a slew of new questions flew from her mouth. "Freshman? Do you stay on campus? Which residence hall are you looking for? Here, let me show you on that map you're clutching!" I politely shook my head, dropping my eyes back down to the ground and continued to my dorm.

It took me twenty minutes to find the right building. But I was glad to be free of the welcoming committee.

That was about six years ago now...

I share a nice, three-bedroom apartment that overlooks the park with some girls from work. The company owns the whole building and HR works very hard to place people together that share something in common. Connor, a guy I met junior year at college who also interned for the company and eventually got a job there like me, ended up sharing his apartment with guys who had a passion for football. And every Monday night, like clockwork, their apartment is a roar of laughter and cheer. Other than being female, I share nothing with these girls.

Angela (or "Angie" as she insists I call her), the girl whose room is just down the hall from me, is a very attractive and fun-loving woman. She has friends from all over the country who come to visit often, which makes me a bit nervous. But I never say anything because she lives there too, and I feel it's a bit selfish to deny her the joy of having friends over just because I have trouble making new friends. Meg, our other roommate, usually finds some excuse to leave the apartment for hours when Angie's friends are over to avoid the whole awkward situation of being introduced as a butch lesbian--which Angela let slip one very drunken night when Meg returned to get her wallet.

Tonight, Angela's friend Tony.. Tommy..? Todd... Ted... someone is coming in from Seattle and wants to "just swing by for an hour or two before catching his flight in the morning." I look over at Meg, who's already checking movie times on her iPhone.

"What about you, Jeannie?" Angela asks. I've told her thousands of times it's Jeanine. But she has this thing about nicknames.. I can't figure it out.

"Yeah, sure, it's fine." I say, wondering if Meg wants company for her movie.

"I swear it'll only be a couple of hours. Tim has an early flight out tomorrow morning. But we haven't seen each other in two years. Oh, he's going to be so excited!" She flutters off to her room, dialing Tim on her way down the hall. From the kitchen, Meg and I can hear her giggling like a schoolgirl as she invites him over.

Meg sighs. "In that case, I better make that a double feature."

I pray it won't be that bad.

When seven o'clock rolls around, I'm in my room with the door open (a simple thing Connor told me to do to "show the girls I was more open") reading a book. After knocking, Meg pokes her head in. "Angie's painting on her face," she inclines her head towards the bathroom. "Last chance. Sure you don't wanna join me? I was thinking of getting some dinner at that place you told me about last week. You know the one."

Poor thing, she's trying so hard. Since I've never brought any guys over other than Connor that one time, I guess she thinks she has a chance. "No, thank you. It's only a couple of hours. I'll be fine. Jodi and I can manage until then."

Meg frowns a bit. "Picoult again? Suit yourself." With that, she turns and leaves the doorway. I hear the door open and shut right after each other. I wait until I can hear the jingle of her keys lock the door back before returning to my novel.

Click click click click click. Angela flies down the hall wearing a black dress that leaves little to the imagination, a face full of make up, and bright red heels with a matching bracelet. Click click. She backtracks to my door. "Oh, you're still here. I thought I had the place to myself tonight. Is it alright if we use the living room and kitchen tonight? Tim wants to make me something he picked up in Italy. And then we'll probably watch a movie."

I nod, wondering how that would take "only a couple of hours." Damn, I should have went with Meg.

There's a knock at the door and Angela moves quickly--too quickly for someone in heels and a dress, if you ask me--to answer. "Shit. He's early." The door opens and I hear not one, but two male voices.

"I hope you don't mind, Angie, but I brought along my buddy, Robert. We met at a sports' bar downtown. Turns out he's in Chicago on business as well." says the first voice.

Angie clears her throat. And though I'm all the way in my room, I swear I can hear the fabric of her dress being pulled down as she realizes the night not going where she originally planned. "Oh, sure, the more the merrier! Robert, is it?"

"Anyone as pretty as you can call me Robbie." His voice is like silk. He's a smooth talker like so many of the men Angela parades through the apartment. Perhaps the night will go well for her after all. They all laugh hardily and the sound of three pairs of feet move across the living room floor. Angela offers the guys wine and they both accept.

Forty pages later, Robbie has become a regular Adam Sandler, sending both Angela and Tim into fits of laughter with sentences that just make me roll my eyes with their simplicity and vulgarity.

"Say, Angie, where's your bathroom?"

"Oh, just down the hall." I hear the sound of her bracelets chime as she extends her arm. There's the shift of a bar stool and I hear footsteps approach my door. "And don't you go poking your head in my room!" she calls after him.

"Got something to hide? Hm.. I think I may need to take a piss, too, now that I think about it." Another bar stool shift, followed by the click of Angela's heels.

"Don't you dare!" More laughter.

I intentionally bury my head further into my book, wanting to avoid contact with Tim at all costs. He's a stranger. And, worse off, he's been drinking. Heavily. He passes by my door without saying a word. Good. The toilet flushes. I wait for the sound of the faucet, but it doesn't come. The bathroom door swings open and he returns to the party.

Robbie and Angela stop whatever they were doing quickly because the living room becomes eerily still. "You got a roommate?"

Her voice is lowered but I can make out a "yeah" and something about shyness. Taking the cue, Tim lowers his voice too and says something about rudeness. Robbie, seeming to forget his manners at the bottom of his glass pipes in. "Well, hell, there are more women here! Oh, Angie, I'm offended."

My heart begins pounding. I start trying to calculate the speed of a 20-something year old male with an impaired sense of mobility against that of a 23 year old female. If I could just make it to my door before him... But before I could throw my book on my nightstand, there was Robbie at my door. He leaned against the door frame a bit for support as he examined me. "Evenin'," he says, his voice not as smooth when he's slurring words.

"Uh, hi."

"I'm so sorry," Tim appears in the doorway tugging on Robbie's arm. Now there are two strange men at my door. Lovely. "Please forgive my friend. He's drunk. I'm sorry. He won't bother you anymore. Come on, let's go."

"Wait just a minute," he says taking his arm back, "Now, I believe you owe us any apology, missy."

I don't like this. Where the hell is Angela? Can't she control her guests for God's sake? My hands are shaking, I can hear the pages of my book rattling in the wake of all the motion.

"And why is that?" I ask, trying my best to sound confident even though I'm quite sure I'm suffering from a minor heart attack at the moment.

"Well," he says trying to take a step forward into my bedroom but is thankfully held back by Tim. "Here you are, keeping all that cuteness to yourself while we suffer in agony up there."

"I heard that!" Angela calls back. "Leave my poor roommate alone, you two. She obviously doesn't want to come out and play." Oh God, she's drunk. Either that or she's doing that giddy-girl thing that she often does. It's hard to tell with Angela.

After some coaxing from Tim, Robbie sighs and begins backing away from my door. "Alright, alright, I'll go. But the offer still stands, little lady." He winks at me.

I shake the dirty feeling from my body and quickly shut my door, turning the lock. Their voices are muffled now. Ten pages from now, they will cease to exist in my mind. Dr. Clark tells me it's good to escape, to try to imagine myself in a far away place when I become panicked like this. It's worked so far. I return to my book, gladly welcoming the soothing sound of Jodi's voice in my head as I scan the words on the page. Goodbye Angela. Goodbye Tim. Goodbye Robbie. Goodbye Chicago. Goodbye fear.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.