Are You On Insta?

Biting into my sandwich, I began to chew despite the choking sensation. I should have made it lighter, fewer slices of cheese perhaps, but then again, how lean can a sandwich be before it’s just bread on bread? I forced down the bite with a small sip of water. 

The whoosh of the Keurig along with the intoxicating aroma taunted me from across the lunchroom. My coworkers casually chatted while selecting their K-cups from the spinning rack, their easy banter keeping me seated in silence.  I made a mental note to order a variety pack of coffee online. 

Sitting alone at the small table I felt both relieved and incredibly awkward until a group of women crossed the room heading towards me. I knew them casually from various departments on my floor. This would be okay, I thought, glancing at the clock. My lunch break was more than halfway over.  I could finish up quickly and return to my cubicle.

“Excited for tomorrow? You have to let me know what to bring.”  Linda from sales reached the table holding a steaming cup of coffee.   

Tupperware containers and plastic utensils clattered onto the table as I moved my uneaten sandwich aside and folded the aluminum foil over it.

“Just bring yourself,” Kate answered, “I have way too much prepared already. We’ll have leftovers for a week.” 

“Do you have a gut feeling? Boy or girl? What’s your guess?”  The banter continued between the women.

“I keep going back and forth. I don’t know. We’ll see tomorrow when that balloon pops.” Kate placed her hands on her belly, beaming at the group.

“I can’t wait!” Linda and Jen said in unison, laughing as they continued their lunch.

The women glanced over at me, a pause forming in the air.

I placed one hand under the table gripping the edge of the cold metal chair and waited.

“You got the evite to the reveal party, right, Jenny?” Kate broke the silence.

All eyes turned to me. Although I did see it in my inbox weeks ago, I chose to leave it unopened. I imagined the guests gathering around, coffee and cake perched on laps comparing stories of childbirth and beyond. The host would think I hadn’t received it if I didn’t open it. I knew how these evites worked, keeping track of all clicks. I could be surprised having missed it on Monday, showing my feigned disappointment. 

Feeling a flush creep up my neck, I blurted out, “I’m so sorry I can’t make it. I have plans this weekend.” I glanced down at the remains of my lunch knowing it would go into the garbage despite my hunger pains. 

“The old ball and chain. We really have to meet your husband soon.” Jen commented, digging into her salad.

The women laughed good naturedly. They were a pleasant group, I realized. Maybe one day I would actually join them in their never-ending social events. 

“Yes, we have to get together.” I smiled and rose from my place at the table, gathering my belongings. “In the meantime, I hope the party is amazing. Show me pictures on Monday?” I tucked the metal chair in, grimacing as it scraped against the floor, anxious to step away.

“I’ll post them over the weekend. Are you on Insta?” 

I froze. Social media. The endless stream of photos and comments overwhelmed me, made my head spin. The only way to cope with it was to stay away from it. How would I explain that? My feet sprouted roots digging deep into the floor. Would today be the day I had a panic attack at work? I fought so hard against the constant threat just trying to get through each day. 

I thought of the Instagram account I had set up in the past attempting to keep up with the Joneses. When was the last time I posted anything? Did I dare go back to fluff it up and add some pictures? Of what? My thoughts raced. I had to answer, I had to say something. Am I on Instagram? 

“I am,” I stammered, feeling my mouth become dry as sandpaper.

The display of photos depicting my lonely life marched past my mind’s eye like a parade without a crowd. Caught in a candid shot at my sister’s wedding, I sat alone babysitting purses and name cards abandoned for the dance floor. Stark beauty of the season’s first snowfall was captured in black and white as I hiked the trail in perfect silence and solitude. The bestseller ordered from Amazon was excitedly unwrapped and photographed before I opted out of the book club meeting last minute. These photos, these memories, clicked by like a slideshow in a dark empty room. 

Could I share those moments with the group of women waiting for a response? Their poise made me feel like a clumsy fool, amplifying everything that I was not and could never be.

Standing in complete silence with all eyes boring into me, I attempted to continue, “You can find me at . . .”

I could delete my account, claiming to have been hacked, leaving my privacy intact. 

The roaring in my ears was deafening. The back and forth internal dialogue shut the channel to the outside, blocking any words from finding their way out. The unwavering attention was unbearable as time stood still. I became keenly aware that the endless pause grew more and more unsettling. How long can one remain frozen until it’s inappropriate? When would their expressions turn from expectation to pity? Despite my best efforts, my inner self threatened to appear, revealing the true misfit that I was.

A sudden burst of laughter from the crowd at the Keurig popped my nightmare bubble. All eyes turned away as one. Taking advantage, I fled.

***

Back in the safety of my cubicle, I sat quietly recovering, thankful for the dividers blocking me from the masses. Switching on my monitor, I brought up a document to appear engrossed in work. I stared unseeing at the words in front of me, thoughts ricocheting around haphazardly, my heart pounding erratically. 

Bits and pieces of conversation floated around, hovered over me and calmed me down. Not feeling left out, but rather, finally I became comfortable in my invisibility. 

I recalled the comment about my husband, the ball and chain. I hadn’t said specifically what my plans were and was relieved they filled in the blanks for themselves.

***

Closing my apartment door behind me, I exhaled, relief finally washing over me. The painful tightness in my neck and shoulders eased as my muscles unclenched. The tinges of an oncoming headache dissipated.

Removing the simple gold band, I placed it on my nightstand and glanced over at the pillows placed neatly in the center of my bed. I changed into the clothes left hanging on the hook in anticipation of a restful weekend. Thinking of the tasteless lunch I had choked down, I opened the refrigerator, taking out the dinner prepared before leaving for work.

My thoughts went back to the ball and chain remark. It was fine that they assumed the ball and chain was a husband. They didn’t need to know the actual ball and chain was my social anxiety.