Collywobbles

It’s hard to say why people do things. I myself would never be able to tell you why I joined the Party. 

It’s been two weeks and I’m still bumfuzzled, unsure of my place here. That’s to be expected of a college student but it’s still disappointing. I regularly find myself peering from the corner of the room, imagining how others may think of me. I typically see myself as that leering, eavesdropping creature that no one wants to talk to, but in reality I’m much more likely the lonely girl who has intelligence in her eyes but a rubber band in her mouth. Open it too much and it snaps back at my tongue or teeth or soft gums that line the roof. I sit in meetings and take notes, simply hoping to remember all the issues we’ve discussed. Nobody asked me to take these notes but I see no other task for myself besides it. My place is in the dark corner where I can be as leering or as lonely or as mysteriously intelligent as I want to be.

Still, the thing that I take most note of are the relationships surrounding me. I observe enviously of those people who talk so casually to each other. They hug and laugh as if they’ve known the others for years, and feel entirely at home. Occasionally I risk the snap in order to acknowledge another person, perhaps even grab their attention, but I quickly revert back to my previous state. Occasionally, I watch a particular somebody watch me. We have a somewhat understood notion of each other. He doesn't seem to belong much either, but I can’t think of a single person who dislikes him. The difference between us is that he doesn’t give a shit about his rubber band. He is loud and his shoulders are always thrown back in a show of confidence. We make eye contact when he makes a joke, and since smiles involve no snapback, I’m quick to lend him some of my own.

“You’re Gemma, yeah?” I’m startled out of my careful note taking when the Watching Joker approaches me. His face is, as usual, full of the infuriating confidence that frequently leaves me floundering, and I can only manage a nod and an awkward laugh. I recognized that laugh as one everyone does out of sheer necessity when a situation has left no other way to let that anxiety and awkwardness out. I sit up straight, mimicking his stance, and try to feel the confidence within myself.

It doesn’t work.

“Yes, I’m Gemma.” My voice comes out much higher than normal but I’m determined to keep going. “Uh, what’s up?”

He grins. It’s always easy for him to grin. I think that the word grin was invented entirely for him.

“I’m Peter.”

“I know.” Pause. “I mean, not because I’m a stalker that was a very direct statement I’m so sorry it’s just that you’re in two of my clubs and a class and so of course I’d know your name not that I totally expect you to know mine.” The rubber band kept snapping, snapping, snapping.

I was pissed at myself because I am good at making friends. I’m fantastic at it, actually. I had plenty of friends back home, but in college I’ve found myself becoming more and more of a recluse. I couldn’t see myself fully fitting in anywhere, and it didn’t help that I decided to go to school across the country. With Family Weekend coming up, everybody would be out with their parents and showing them all of the things they were proud of, but I had no one.

“I’m really sorry. I think I’m out of practice.”

He laughed.

“Out of practice at what?”

“Talking.” 

“Yeah it definitely seems that way. Can I ask you something?” 

I clutched my notebook tighter to my chest, feeling the edges of the paper digs into the pads of my fingers. I hoped I wouldn't get a paper cut, but maybe that’d help bring me out of this god-awful moment.

“Why are you always taking notes? Like, what is it for? I never see you without that notebook, and I’ve always wondered what you put in it.” I let out the breath that had been tormenting my lungs.

“Oh, that’s easy. I want to be a writer, and the best way to start is by writing about everything around you. I have about three notebooks full of shitty ideas.” He lit up.

“That’s nuts! I’m writing for our school’s sports page.” 

I flinched and scrunched my nose up at “sports” out of habit, and he laughed again.

“Yeah, I get that reaction a lot. What do you want to write about?”

“Political activists. I would love to write about Michelle Obama, but I figured I’d start small with the College Progressives club.”

He took a moment to look impressed, then suddenly bouncing up and down with an idea.

“Come on, meeting’s over. Time for you to have some fun.” He walked over to our brave and fearless leader. The small conglomerate of people she was with migrated with Peter to me, and a few of them excitedly gave me hugs and welcomed me to the group.

“Hi! How are you? I haven’t had the chance to talk to you much.” I nodded and we began chatting. I felt the rubber band stretch but it hadn’t snapped yet. I peeked above her head to see Peter watching on with a self-satisfied smile.

“Y’all ready for food?” They began filing out and I caught up with him.

“What’s happening?”

“Dinner. Duh.”

The dining hall was a beacon of light at nine at night. Things seemed to slow down. In a moment I could see my entire future for the next four years. Two kids in front of me were skipping ahead of everyone else, shoving into each other for the lead. Peter walked next to me, glancing at me every once in a while to make sure I haven’t snuck off. The others were strolling at their own pace, casually chatting or spacing out in their own worlds. It was the end of summer, and the sun was still barely out, just peeking above the mountains that surrounded the university and the breeze held relief and anticipation for the colder months. I found myself once again excited for winter, but this time it wasn’t solely for the embrace of home.

“How you doing?” Peter asked as I thought all of this.

“I’m good. I’m just wondering why you decided to invite me out.”

He stopped and turned to straight at me. I stumbled to a stop along with him. His pursed eyebrows gave sign to a serious conversation coming up. I prepared myself again, feeling the rubber band tightening again.

“Why wouldn’t I?” His smile snuck back onto his face. I opened my mouth to reply but ended up pushing into him instead. He chuckled and shoved back before we continued our walk to the small beacon.

An hour later we’re the only two left. Everyone had trickled out slowly, each taking their time with goodbyes. Somebody had found the piano upstairs and I could pick out the soft puttering of keys and uncertain notes above us.

“We do this every week you know?  You can come along whenever.”

I nodded with eager bruhaha. Now that it was time for our goodbye, I fished for words and felt myself coming up empty again. The bubble of collywobble was making its way back up but a look at Peter’s face told me that he felt the same, and the tension in my shoulders released a bit. We exchanged unsure smiles and each laughed that awful, awkward laugh, only this time it didn’t feel quite as painful as usual.

“I’m gonna go now. It takes a while to get back to my apartment.”

I nodded again. He shuffled on his feet for a second and I waited for him to leave, feeling the awkward moment feeding itself and extending as we both refused to leave without some sort of closure here.

“Wanna hang out this week?”

I surprised both of us by asking, but he flashed the smile that was slowly growing into something familiar and, this time, it was his turn to nod.

“Sounds scrumdiddlyumptious.” I rolled my eyes at that but felt the victory all the way to my toes. “You’re a real interesting one, Gemma.”

“Yeah, I am.” I spun on my heel and walked away, head held high and proud at finally being the one who got to leave.

It took a lot not to immediately start hopping up and down from excitement. There was the whole making a new solid friend, sure, but it was more than that. This was the first time I had to go out on my own; I had a hard time knowing who I was without my family. Maybe I hadn’t found a new family here yet, but I know that someday I’ll be able to, and that’s enough for now.