Enigmatic Friends

My story starts years ago, nine or ten years ago.
Let me take you back to the time I was six.

"Mamama, who are these people going to be? Are they nice?"
"Yes, Siobhan, they're one of Mamama's best friends, her name is Vatsala. You can call her Vatsala Auntie, okay?"
I smiled and nodded as my Papupa pulled up to the house.

It had a wide yard and it was the picture perfect white house with the red shutters and a glass door with an intricate design covering their wood door painted some vibrant color. The house was protected by some private alarm system and it had a white and red gate leading to the backyard. I found occupation by balancing myself on the rim of their perfect, golf course grass and stopped when my grandparents caught up to me.

"Go on Siobhan, knock on the door."
"No."
"Why not?"
"It's scary."
"The door is scary?"
"Yes."

Mamama giggled and I knew she found real amusement in my fear of this door because whenever she laughs- if she means it- she'll do this thing where it sounds like she's slightly hacking up a hairball and by the end of her giggle she slightly stuck out her tongue, bit it lightly and her face reverted back to normal when the door opened and I saw a woman with dark hair and an outdated haircut, though I didn't know it at the time. I just smiled up at her and she kneeled down to eye level, though that wasn't a long journey, and asked if I was interested in a brownie. I feverishly nodded my head to the point where it was about to just pop off. The woman chuckled and lead me further into her perfect house with the gleaming white tile shining at me, trying to blind me. The woman handed me a brownie and I happily chomped down on it, that was the beginning of so much more. I heard somebody trample down the stairs, calling out.

"Moooooom! Where are the brownies you just made?!"
"Here Keith! This little girl is Siobhan"
I looked at the kid. He wasn't too much taller then I was, but he was much darker. He nodded and stole a brownie from the tray and ran back upstairs.

Vatsala Auntie had then poured me a glass of milk and I sat down at the small round wooden table which was only a few feet away from a table meant to seat eight people. It baffled me why we were sitting at this little table when we could be at this grand table. I began to inspect the house. Not a thing was out of place, at all. I was searching feverishly for dust, food that was left out by accident, an imperfection- a flaw. My search was unsuccessful and disappointing, it scared me- how is it possible to be this perfect? At the same time it was a refreshing change from my house, where things weren't terrible but sometimes it just got a be a little out of hand, but my parents would yell and scream at each other until one of them initiated cleaning.

I was sick of scaring myself so I tuned into the conversation that the adults were having, quietly munching away at the brownie that seemed to my only friend right now, so I ate it slowly, not wanting to kill my only friend.

Mamama was telling Vatsala Auntie about the fact I was scared of her door, it's apparently culture for both Vatsala Auntie, Mamama and Papupa to talk about people as if they weren't even sitting there. After another ten minutes or so a tall pale man with a beard that scared me to no end walked in. In his uniform, monotone voice he said 'hi' to everybody, that was when Vatsala Auntie opted me to go upstairs to Keith's room to get to know him. I just finished my brownie, in hopes I'd be getting a new friend soon, ventured up the flight of stairs, paying attention to all the eccentric artwork at the top of half of the flight. Then I noticed the stairs were soft and carpeted, 'I wouldn't mind falling down these.' I recall thinking.

When I got to the top of their stairs I saw two already open doors and didn't see anybody in them. There were another two closed doors to my right and a computer to my left that was currently shut off. I decided to knock on the closed door what was on the left. I heard a 'Come in' so I slowly turned the knob and walked in, noticing it was an empty bathroom.
"Hello?" Keith had exited his room, that was located next to the bathroom I was currently in. I sighed and walked out of the bathroom. He looked down at me, I didn't read a mood change on his face or in his eyes. He sighed, walked back into his room, sat down on the floor at the foot of his bed and picked up the control- all in one fluid motion. I stood there and blinked, unsure of what I should do. He looked at me like I had five heads and patted the space next to him. I smiled and ran in too, closing the door behind me. I spent hours watching him race, play football, transform into a Dragoon and cast spells.

This was the start of something so much more to me.

My parents were at work, often, working their butts off. Mom wouldn't get home until six thirty on her early days, and I remember one time she was supposed to get home at three, and I was so excited so I ran off the bus and down the street- hoping to see mom pull in. It was Midwinter and I was sitting on my front deck, because the door was locked. I remember sitting there, I looked at my watch the first time and it read 2:50, I recall thinking it was early. I looked again and it was 3:30. "She's just a little late." I said to myself, convincing myself she hadn't forgotten. Finally at 3:46 I saw the first snowflake of the beginning of a snow storm fall and hit me in the nose and I began to cry. The woman that lived across the street ran out and asked what I was doing, and just as she sat down, letting me cry into her shoulder, I saw the blue Saturn pull in. I knew I had to stop crying, so I did. I smiled and ran to mom's open passenger window.
I waved and she asked how long I had been waiting. I told her not too long, and it was true. I saw mom rub her temples and she said "I meant to be here." I nodded and said "It's okay, I know you have things that are more important." I smiled and my mom began to tear, she leaned over and cupped my face with both of her hands and told me that nothing is more important than me. I didn't think I had hurt her as much as I did, and to this day I feel terrible.
So that was mom.
I recall times not even seeing dad for a full day. One time he even got snowed in at the city and had no way to get home, so I hadn't seen him in three days straight.

I had nightmares at night, which they wouldn't come home. That my parents just would give up working their ridiculous hours, and in every nightmare I'd put up 'Wanted' posters- you know, the ones you'd put up for a lost dog?- Yeah, those. I'd put them up with their picture, and stick them up. I'd wake up in a cold sweat every time, and then somebody would wake me up for school.

Regardless of how scarcely I saw my parents, I saw Dad less then I saw Mom, so I took her for granted, and I was really mean and cruel to her: most of the time I was with either one parent or the other because my parents fought so often. One of the fights I remember goes like this.
My dad got mad at me, yelled at me and slapped me. The yelling was always worse then the physical pain.
I ran up crying to my mom, in her room.
She assured me everything would be okay and that she'd go talk to him.
She walked downstairs I heard yelling and various sounds.
Mom came back up, crying and holding me.
Then we heard tramping up the stairs that Dad does when he's angry and he rammed the door open screaming at me to get out and then he slammed the door after I left.
All I heard was Mom screaming "No! Gerry!" Right now, I know what happened, then … I didn't.

When my parents weren't home, which was a lot of time- Mamama was over. We'd watch Judge Mathis from 2:30 to 3. She'd tech me how to make some vegetarian food which she always prepared at home. From 3 to 4, Dr. Phil was on. 4 to 5 was Oprah. 5 to 6 was Eyewitness News, She could watch it for two hours because Eyewitness News ran from 5 to 11, but she didn't like the news anchors from 6 to 7. So we'd flip the channel to Wheel of Fortune which ended at 6:30 and it was followed my Jeopardy, which Mamama usually left midway into because that was about the time Mom came home.
I remember hiding under sheets- thinking Mom couldn't see me, that I'd fool her into thinking I had left.

In the midst of this, I had few friends. I had a grand total of four friends at that time. I had Jason, Taylor, Nicole and Keith.

Jason, to this day remains my best friend.

Taylor moved to Albany.

Nicole got mad at me over a bike.
So that knocks out two friends.
Then there was Keith.
Keith made it a point to torture me every time Mamama wanted to go over Vatsala Auntie's. I went for Keith and the brownies. The brownies this woman made were wonderful, I had come to develop a love for them- or my sweet tooth had. And I developed this complex to always try to impress Keith, because I had come to the conclusion that he'd never truly think of me as a friend. All I wanted was a friend, that's all I ever did. He'd insult me daily, to the point of tears, every time I went over. All I ever wanted was that boy's acceptance. I even used to have a little crush on the kid, but that faded all too quickly. Then he grew up, and got more vicious. I'd go time after time, dealing with the insults with the scars that I thought would heal, but never have.

Until I hit ninth grade.
In ninth grade, he seemed to be more willing to be around me.
I came to realize it was because of my parents.
My parents are awesome people, and they've both matured a lot and become even better people from when I was six.
I love them both and know I'm blessed to have them.
But until seventh grade- nobody wanted to know me until my parents would show up. People would want to talk to me so that they could see my parents again. I remember people referring to me as the 'Girl with the awesome Dad' or 'Girl with the really pretty Mom', and while both statements were true, that shouldn't be the sole reason for somebody's friendship. I still only had Jason and whatever hope I was clinging onto for Keith to be my friend. Keith had taught me how to be mean, through his actions. Keith would always tell me how many friends he had, I figured if he got friends by doing what he did then I shouldn't have a problem either. I'd shown people cruelty and torture, questioning why people didn't like me. I'd just get meaner and meaner; coming to the conclusion the methods were futile. In seventh grade I changed my direction entirely, and thus- gained friends, some fair-weather friends, of course; but more then I thought wound up being great friends that I still talk to this day. But it was my greed, sheer greed that compelled me to still make Keith like me, I wanted him to want to be my friend as much I craved his acceptance.

Ninth Grade:
I had terrible problems with Math, I still do.
It's a shame my stupidity brought me more time, but I truly didn't understand some things: to the extent I'd be there until eleven at night.
More or less, I understood Integrated Algebra by the end of the year.
In our little sessions he'd talk about his friends, mutual friends, teachers, school, courses and he'd advise my future plans and who I associate myself with. I felt that be cared, for once in his life, he cared.

In tenth grade he helped me some too. Geometry never registered in my head; when would I ever have to prove angle ABC congruent to CDE, and that because of their congruency triangles BDG and FHI are similar? Really, what is that? When do I have to use that? "Oh well your 41K is failing to produce an income because the angle of the bottom left corner of your 41K isn't congruent with that of the angle of the upper right angle. Sorry; but due to this, you're doomed to have no retirement to lean on and you'll be doomed to live in a cardboard box for the rest of your life. Yes, sir, I know that you have a wife and four children- Good luck to you sir!" *click*

Sorry.
Anyway.
In Tenth grade he really seemed to open up, he'd let me in on his personal life. His past and present girlfriends. His friends. His hobbies. Everything.

Because of the age difference between the two of us, he was graduating his senior year of high school when I was finishing my sophomore year.

Three years ago, my grandparents had moved back to India. No more Mamama and Papupa unless one of the parties wanted to take a twenty three hour flight to the other side of the world. Which they had done twice and we have done once.

Their last visit began the March of this year and ended late June of this year.
My grandparents are big hearted people, and have loved Keith like he was their own. They decided to throw him a graduation- get together. Vatsala Auntie, Uncle Mark, Mom, Mamama, Papupa and I had all decided to go to Charlie Brown's steakhouse to celebrate Keith's graduation and acceptance into some prestigious college- but no less was expected of Keith. I envied him, he was so smart, he did so much, he was destined for greatness and nobody let him forget it. At the same time, that's a lot of pressure.

At Charlie Browns, I was sick, or something. Sick to the point where I hadn't eaten three days prior to going out. I just didn't feel good. And an hour into our gathering I had the worst headache from the table of twelve fat people. The loudest one's name was Patty I had soon discovered because they were so loud I couldn't hear anything but them and the rhythmic beat in my head that reminded me of hard trance techno music, except with each pulse I felt a deeper and deeper pain. The pain was so severe I had gotten up, excused myself and locked myself in the bathroom for ten minutes. When I was ready to leave a mom had walked in with her kid saying, 'Don't worry nobody's in here.'
"But Mom, are you sure? I don't want to pee if other people are in here."
I had then quietly lifted my legs off the floor and kept them at lock-level with the door so that even if the little girl looked under the stall gap, she wouldn't see anybody- thanking god I did karate and my abs could handle it, even though I was shaking because my only means of balance was the edge of a toilet seat, and there was nowhere for my hands to go.

The girl did her business and left with her mom. I let my legs plop down, curing the kid for taking so long to pee, and realizing I could've put my hands on the wall. I got a text from Keith asking if I was okay. I simply sent back a reply saying I was fine and apologizing for making a scene if I had. I sighed at my stupidity and stood up, washed my hands and returned to the table. When I sat down Keith asked if I wanted to share chocolate cake with him. I didn't feel good, knowing I wouldn't eat it, I nodded- it was his graduation celebration. Let him have this night. I had half a layer of the six layer chocolate cake and Keith had devoured the rest.

The night came to its close, and I was personally thanking god because the pounding in my head had almost reached its breaking point. When I had been in the car and thought my eyes could take the harshness of the light up screen on my phone in the total darkness surrounding me and the calming buzz of the civic engine in the care, I flipped the phone open and texted him telling him I was sorry for leaving for a bit and hoping he wasn't mad at me. He had told me he only went to the steakhouse out of respect for my grandparents and that he'd rather me be okay then have a party. And that, in itself, is the nicest thing he's ever said to me; one of the nicest things that anybody has ever said to me. I felt that it meant that he was starting to think of me as a friend, like the friend I had always seen him to be.

Even if it was a lie…

A couple of weeks later, this girl, had asked me out.
My first thought was to ask my parents how to reject somebody, nicely.
They had withheld things from me.
"Can I have that?" "No."
That was the case sometimes, and I'd just say 'Okay' and carry on with life. I glanced at the clock in the bottom right hand corner and it read 11:49.
It was eleven, almost twelve, and I had already left my parents' room. I knew they were wiped due to their day at work. Dad's days getting more eventful and Mom was stressing herself out more and more over this stupid girl at her job that she felt was going to cost her the present position she held.
I thought about who I could talk to at midnight and memories of the steakhouse night had come to mind, so I thought it'd be a good way to start our friendship, asking for advice.
I texted him, asking how to reject somebody.
He called upon retrieval of the message.
"Who is this?" he asked in a harsh tone.
"Uh- Siobhan. Yo, Asshole, you called me."
"No you moron, who's asking you out?"
"Uh…"
"What?"
"You can't tell anybody. It's embarrassing for me and this girl has no reason to be embarrassed because of her sexual preference."
"Shut up and tell me."
"There's this girl, she may or may not have asked me out."
"Oh. Well I have a question, be honest with me and yourself."
"What is it, retard?"
"Do you bad for that team?"
"Keith… ew … that's disgusting. Hell No."
"Do you bat for both teams?"
"No. Ew. That's worse."
"So you bat for one team alone?"
"I bat for the team that likes penis."
"Okay. Now, just tell the girl that you like her as a friend and that you want to continue being friends with her…" He went on to say more, but I forgot because the next morning I called the girl and told her, knowing I'd never have to retain that information again.
The rest of the conversation lasted until 12:30 and we talked about our friends, how he'd be going to hell, and his past girlfriends.

July 5th was the date set for Keith's graduation party, which my grandparents couldn't attend, which meant that Dad would.
Keith clung to my dad like flypaper and stayed in the front most of the time. I went to my parents when I was sick of the people around me.
But, apparently, as I was doing Keith's job and speaking with one of his dull relatives and conversing with people with the same amount personality as a wet rag, he was conversing with my parents, about me.
Keith and I have always compared ourselves to each other. His man-ego made him think that he could beat me in a fight, and I'd let him live in his fantasy world, until the day he crossed me: July 5th.
Apparently the conversation took a turn to something along the jist of
"I could take one of her [my] hits."
"Eh, she can deal a lot of damage."
"Nah, she wouldn't hit me, I have blackmail on her."
"Like what?"
"She bats for the other team"

And from there both of my parents were devastated and took me home;
Which led to a conversation into another conversation within a conversation, accumulated I spent four and a half hours in my parents room.
And in the midst of this, they questioned my sexuality.
I've already thought about this stuff young, when I was twelve.
I was abused through middle school and the first year of high school, as well. Everybody thought I was a lesbian, except for my friends, and … the fact that my parents asked me the same things that those stupid twelve year old kids did … really, genuinely hurt. That they even had to ask me, it was painful.
I knew what sex was by nine, I experienced puberty at ten, I thought about sex at eleven and at twelve I was questioning myself- as everybody, I'm sure, does. I thought about it long and hard and came to the conclusion I had to be straight because I've never been sexually attracted to a female. I know when a female is pretty, gorgeous even, and I can see why guys would like certain girls, and due to my best friend's constant weird questions, I knew what girls I would date if I was a guy. But I have never thought about a girl, sexually.
And within this, they began to question one of my very good friends' Veronica's sexuality.
Veronica's been going out with a boy named Ike for seven months- maybe more- and she'll always talk about how madly in love they are.
I'm waiting for nature to run it's course and for them to break up. It's freaking high school, sorry kid- you're not in love.
Whatever, Veronica's never thought about a girl, never done anything with a girl or anything else. And I have a thing for attracting freaking lesbians, if she were a lesbian- she'd hit on me; and she never has, and probably never will. Because she's STRAIGHT. Her being one of my best friends, I go over a lot, and I never saw anything wrong with that, because I would never be doing anything at home either; and doing nothing's always more fun with somebody else. It stinks because I know she's straight, but because she didn't SAY that to me, I couldn't tell my parents that she was. I mean, obviously she was, she had a boyfriend, I told my parents she was straight and they questioned it. Veronica became very … attached to me and we'd never be out of contact; either by text or by phone, we'd be talking. I saw nothing wrong with it, and I still don't. We're teenage girls … isn't that just what we do? I'm usually not one to talk on the phone or text twenty-four hours a day, but I'm willing to adapt, especially for a close friend. Yet, due to people's lies and obsessive behaviors, my friendship with her suffers. It just hurts that my parents want to keep me from hanging out with a good friend of mine because they questioned my sexuality. Congratulations Keith, you've demolished what I desperately clung on to as 'our friendship' aaaand my friendship with another friend of mine. A TRUE friend who had no part in this jumbled mess we call life.

The fact that all of this happened, because I thought somebody was a really good friend, and that they, too, wanted to be my friend- just shows my stupidity.
It's my fault; he's never given me a reason to think of him as a friend. He's never liked me. It's my foolish hope that made me cling to what I mistook for friendship. I wanted that friend, and even though I have great ones like Jason, Clarissa, Julie and Veronica … I'm just greedy, I guess. I've sort of always wanted him to accept me. It'll never happen I guess. It took almost ten years to see that, so this is entirely my fault for being so dumb for so long. He's always had friends, real ones. I was just a bother that he tolerated. I just wanted another honest to goodness friend.
Sorry, for my greed.
My pride.
My selfishness.
And sorry, that I ever trusted you.I've come to realize it's the people, such as yourself, that bring others down. I suppose that's the only real way to survive in the merciless world nowadays, but don't think you feign maturity because you've managed to hurt others. Don't think the fact that you can bring pain to somebody like me means you can make it in the real world. Don't think people are as stupid as I am. Don't fool yourself, you're doomed to a life to ignorance and arrogance which I hope is soon forced out of you when you suffer a mental breakdown when you discover how the world really works and how there are people who retaliate. Your parents won't always be there to protect you, for you to go running to. I would never wish bad things, but I don't wish you well. Thank your impudent god that tonight, you have your legs. Wouldn't want to see a tear on that pretty little face, now would we …?

…

And do you want to know what sucks the most? What aggravates me to no end? The fact that you'll still be ten times more successful then I'll ever be, because you've been spoiled in the indulgences of life, while I can sit, rave, rant, even break your legs; we both know you'll turn out to be making lots of money leading a successful life. But I know you'll screw the wrong person over one day. I know you'll ruin the wrong person's life and revenge, oh sweet revenge will claim you and make you his own.

Many times Ive tried to tell you
Many times Ive cried alone
Always I'm surprised how well you
Cut my feelings to the bone