Social Popsicle

My hands, a sticky mess. It’s melting quicker than a chocolate tea pot. It’s out of control; dripping down my hands, down my arms. I’m slowly turning purple. I feel like I’ve just committed a crime, my hands stained. This is not at all refreshing, not at all what it says on the label, quite the opposite. I stare at the mess I’m in, I’m a hopeless mess. 

Stood on the edge of the group, the outsider. I’m not but that’s how I feel. I know them, we’re in the same lectures and however much I’m invited, deep down I still feel an intruder, misplaced. They’re all caught up in conversation, with accompanying banter and spontaneous fits of giggles. No one seems to be battling like I am, my purple shape shifter creating chaos at my own hands. They all look pristine, from the pages of a glossy magazine. In stark contrast, there’s me. It’s 34 degrees, that’s hot for here. I’m melting, I wish we could move somewhere cooler. As if scripted, I smile when they laugh, an on cue chuckle. I look how they stand, I mirror their stance, their confidence. I can be normal, I can fit in. Please God help me fit in.

I glance at my popsicle, it’s existence more defiant than mine, more assertive than mine. It’s sure letting me know it’s here, it’s no shrinking violet. Ironic. 

Panic has set in, what am I to do? It tastes like bitter sweet pain torturing my taste buds. I wanted so hard to fit in but this is the price. It’s the wrong bloody flavour. Did they hear me wrong? My voice is a quiet whisper, the internal rehearsing of this day has not helped. Or was it a test? Give me the sour one, see if I accept or decline. Is the vendor laughing at me too?

My day ruined from the start. 

I hear my name, I’m brought back to the now.

I remember where I am. I’m proud of myself for actually accepting the invite. My first outing since lockdown, not that I went out that much before the pandemic, finding comfort in my own company. Other people make me nervous, although I do long for human connection. It gets very lonely sometimes. I’m used to it though. It’s always been this way. My brain has developed differently, since what I saw growing up effected how I connect with humans. I notice things. I observe. I take action with great caution.

My name is called out again. 

I am reminded of the past. When my name was yelled, when it was always yelled out loud. I used to think that’s how my name would always be spoken. 

“Georgia!” 

I blink. I sense that my eyes are watering, that my lips are struggling to hold a smile.

The whole circle of humans are now looking at me. I can’t remember their names, I rarely can, I can’t ask them. How do they remember my name? Do the lecturers even know my name? They all just seem to know each other, and then there’s me. 

The main girl, with the leather jacket and big hoops, she calls me by my name again.

She chuckles confidently. “There’s no need to be shy, we don’t bite.”

She’s inviting me in to the conversation, she’s noticed me. My face reddens, the warmth covering my whole face, my eyes fill but tears are held from falling. I don’t know how to respond. I go to speak, no words come out other than the usual stutter. I smile at them. They all stare for a moment then giggle and go back to their discussion. 

The drama unfolding in my hands is distracted by my embarrassment. I replay it in my head. 

“There’s no need to be shy, we don’t bite.” They stare at me then laugh. 

I think of what I could or should have said. 

“Thank you.” No, that sounds weird. 

“Cool, but I do bite - Muahaha.” No, that’s really weird. 

I could have been honest, tell them I find it difficult making friends, difficult making human connections or that social situations in general scare the living crap out of me that I’d rather shoot myself in the head than have to talk with another human being. Maybe not, I would muck that up too. I stay safe and pick my arms, no one notices me self harming in front of them, probably put it in the same category as nervously biting finger nails. I don’t even notice I’m doing it, until I catch myself in a mirror.

It keeps replaying in my head.

“There’s no need to be shy, we don’t bite.” They stare at me then laugh. 

I bet they can sense my embarrassment, my mind in overwork mode. Everyone laughs at something, I don’t know what. I forget to laugh. I forget to stand normal. My legs shifting weight side to side. My hands shaking fasten the melting mess people call happiness in my hand. How do people find comfort surrounded my people and why do people like popsicles?

My mind is stressing out. I no longer remember what I’m doing here. I look around, see a clear path out of this park, and for the first time see a bin. I can’t wait to get rid of this social popsicle and what it represents. Looking back at the social huddle, mustering the courage to politely say bye but nothing comes out. I turn and leave.

“There’s no need to be shy...”

“we don’t bite.” 

They stare at me.

Then laugh. 

I keep walking, not looking back. I aim the popsicle in the direction of the bin, it falls short, falls to the ground. I wipe my sticky hands on the bottom of my oversized baggy t-shirt. I walk out of the park and come to a stand still on the edge of the main road. I start walking down the path alongside the road. Reaching into my jacket pocket, pulling out my headphones, hands shaking, untangling the wires, entering into my safe place... pressing play. 

I can now breath. 

Calm.