6 of November
Well friends, the last two school days have been completely hellish. For some reason, my closest friends in the class aren’t speaking to me. The only things I can attribute it to are Daisy and Lily, or the kiss Juan insinuated at the Tepeyak party as we were talking. I went home yesterday with a sense to weep on my mind, but no tears came. Their silent treatment, as childish as that sounds, is killing me. I love many things about Playa, but I have to say what I love most are my friends. Now they are on temporary leave, and I’m suffocating.
Today I pleaded at them mercilessly with my eyes. All notions of complete and utter, isolated politeness had returned (not seen since Alex commanded me to stop being so polite, we’re family after all) and I felt obliged to even be in their careless presence. They are the bigger picture of the only two reasons I still go to Papalote: to learn Spanish, and of course, to be with them. I felt myself slipping down a slippery slope, a garbage shoot perhaps, and when I reach the end of the tunnel, all that will be there is the shattered remnants of my first loves. I say “first loves” because I have never loved anything else so wholly, so unfathomably true in every motion and thought. For Juan to drag me onto his lap and look into my eyes, eyes filled with gratitude and absolute joy at being within the protective arms of my friends as he asks me how my day is going. I just want Sammy to squeeze my knee again in a successful attempt make me laugh and to again smile brightly at my futile Spanish speaking, or praise me for my work and tell me I’ve had quite enough for the day and come sit with him. A gnawing hunger for their love pervades me, and I’ve lost interest in food, in sleep, and in presenting myself in a presentable way. I am struggling to understand why the hand that sustained me has so suddenly withdrawn. Is this a desperate ploy inspired by Daisy and Lily? Sammy won’t even look in my direction, and Juan averts his gaze every time I look back at him. Just look at my eyes, I silently plead, and you guys will know how I’m suffering. I am alone, cut off, severed from my life source. I breathe in sharply as my glazed over, wandering eyes search for a beacon to cling to. The bell jar of brightness and well-being around me is dissolving with my relationships and seeping to my core are my memories of a grand acceptance I no longer possess, fading to a dream. I cannot let them know with my words how their silence is treating me. I want them to see it in the way I wilt, my drawn lips, and the stormy darkness of my eyes. Other than those signs, I will have them perceive my reaction to their shunning is merely robotic. I am a pillar, and I cannot fall to anything, even a silent war like this one I was unwillingly thrust into. Please, talk to me guys. I want nothing more.
I think it’s Sammy that started this- this blatant, cruel ignorance. He was my best friend, and now, unable to call him my enemy, I’ll just call him my Edward Scissorhands. He’s so sweet and good under those vicious scissors he mistakenly raised to sever our relationship. Now he’s using his scissors to sever me in half. Or maybe just my heart.