The Next Week 

It was a slow day. One of those school-days that felt like sludge, stretching on endlessly. For some reason, I remember it as hot and dreary. We were working on a task that was unimportant enough that I did not care. We were being burdened, like we always thought we were. The teachers were too demanding that day, the hallways too loud. I remember wanting to go back home, yearning for rest. I can’t recall a day like that in adulthood, that weariness comes only in the teenage years. I was working alone, the way new girls do and I could hear an argument breaking out. I couldn’t care less, I remember thinking. But I heard S’s voice raising so I turned around. “You don’t understand, it’s weeks of work that you only see once,” The guys are laughing, it’s all a joke to them, always. I can see her face turning pink. I’ve heard it before, people making fun of Student Council, something I know S spends hours on. It’s amazing to see, her arguing. Fearless, that’s what I had thought then. She takes it up with everyone, stands up for what she believe in, for what she wants. I disagree silently, I agree even quieter. So, I watch curiously at how she stands up for her work, wondering if I could ever do that. 

Earlier in the year, she’d stood up against a teacher. I watched in awe then too. I couldn’t believe the confidence she flowed with. She spoke and spoke about what was right. I remembered another life where I had broad shoulders like that. It was a strange feeling, I thought I would be jealous. Envy taking root for abilities I no longer had, but instead I felt giddy seeing her fight. It was exciting to see. Miraculous, that the world hadn’t taken it away from her. 

Still, when we walked to the lunch hall later that day I could tell she felt the weight of their words. I could imagine the words in her brain. The age-old, filled with teenage angst question - is my work worth anything if people don’t see it? Is my life worth living if people don’t see its value? We’re fed images of wealth, and success until we don’t feel useful unless we mirror those images. I talk about futile things for a while. Hoping, I’d distract her but I didn’t know what made her laugh. Strangely, I still remember relaying a celebrity break up to her that day. She was least interested, but I thought she’d care then. Finally, I decided to stick to our pact. 

“The thing is, these people think their opinion matters. They think that they comment on what she does with her life and her work but it doesn’t. Because if she wasn’t important, if she wasn’t successful they wouldn’t be talking about her. Now, it’s her break up and soon it’ll be what she does next. People don’t attack if they have nothing to shoot at.” I paused seeing if she caught on. She had. I remember her smiling, I’ve seen her smile like that three times. Another time, was in school when we got our certificates and the third was my wedding day. I don’t think it was about her at all, I think she was proud of me for saying it.