Worked It Out (Letter #3)

Dear Bekah,

I've worked out what it is. Why you don't want to hang out with me or talk with me or be with me like you used to. I've finally worked out what I'm missing and why you don't see me in the same light.

I'm not cool enough.

That's what it is, isn't it? I'm a freak. I spend my free time writing, playing music and dancing. I don't live in the same world as everyone else because I'm not interested in boys except to find out what books they like and how could they are at dancing; I don't watch TV except Doctor Who because I can't fit it in around Protagonize and my dance classes; I'm not interested in make-up unless it's for a dance show and clothes unless they're dance costumes.

I'm not cool. I'm just a freak.

We used to be outcasts together, playing our little games and holding secret conversations  which nobody else understood. You used to read my stories, the ones I wrote on paper in that black and green notebook, and you'd say they were good.

Now I'm trying to work out when the moment of transition was. I can't quite see when it was that you first moved away but I can see the trails going right back to that first parting. Maybe that's when it started. 

We've had those times when I've felt that I am superfluous. That you don't need me because I'm just a child. Sometimes I'm with you and I feel that I'm clinging, I feel that I'm vying for your attention and you don't really want to give it. That's been going on for a long time now, Bekah.

Do you remember last church weekend, and you said you were going to meet with the others? You'd already promised to me that you would come with me. We were, after all, sharing a room.

"You're always with the others." I think that's what I said, or rather cried. You tried to comfort me but I could tell you didn't care. You said something along the lines of, "If I want to be with the others I don't see why I shouldn't." And I cried even harder.

Then you wanted to go and spend the night in their dorm, and I refused. You tried to persuade me, saying that it would be fun. I pointed out how small the rooms were, how nice ours was. I said I was tired, that I didn't want to spend all night talking. I didn't want to be on my own, either. I thought you'd stay with me.

You went anyway, but you came back well before midnight. You didn't stay all night. You said it got boring. Well, I did warn you.

That's just another example of how we split over the years. There were other things that weekend, good things, things I enjoyed...but that was not a night I would count among my favourite times.

But even though you're cool, you've got a job, you hang out with the cool people and act like I'm dirt...I'm still your old friend.


The End

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