The act of communication is something that continues to perplex me.
Of course, on its own, it is simple; pushing noise from your lips in an attempt to form bonds with other organisms, be they humans, or animals that, all things considered, have no way of responding to you.
If it is so easy, then why is it so hard?
Everyone else at my school is more than capable, in fact, excelling, in the act of speaking. They form clumps that wander across the grounds. Their members have incalculable behavioral patterns; some speak in hushed tones, others shout at each other despite the small distance between them, some push, some hug, others do nothing more than follow and observe. Some shift and float between groups, belonging everywhere, and yet belonging nowhere, with no set location.
But I belong nowhere. I am incapable of belonging.
The main reason for this may be the fact that I never speak. Do not misunderstand; my vocal chords do function, but I fear that they may be growing dusty from lack of use. On the blue moons in which I speak, my voice is condensed to a whisper, barely audible. People always ask for repetition; it tends to irritate both me and the person I'm "speaking" to. I speak when spoken to, a philosophy I've lived by since birth, but due to the fact that I don't have a friend to my name, people rarely talk to me.
I have a longing, a desire for human contact, but I have placed an emotional wall between myself and others, for fear of rejection. It would be rather embarrassing to greet someone and be turned down, much more so in front of the rest of their groups.
But, to be truthful, what do I have to lose?
I have heard their opinions on me. Overheard, never to my face. My label is "ice queen". Unoriginal, but it still manages to sting. They think I have too high an opinion of myself, too overcome by pride, ego, narcissism, to talk with them.
But the opposite is the truth. They know nothing.
My parents thrust me into therapy for my "problem", my "label", of social anxiety. I feel that despite their extensive length of an hour, every day of the week, no progress is made. My therapist drones endlessly in a dull yet soothing voice about the joys of friendship and human contact and self-expression. I am apparently very good at pretending to listen, as she continues to drabble on despite the fact that I find the fly trapped in the window far more interesting. Perhaps it is because the fly and I are alike in different ways; both of us trapped-it behind a wall of glass, I behind a wall of introversion.
I continue today through my rut, my routine. I walk to school, alone as usual, my striding feet all that is in view. It is winter; everything around me is cold. I am a cloud of warmth. My breath creates mist in the air.
Its flow ceases when I feel another cloud of warmth beside me. The cloud speaks.
"Hello!", it says cheerily in a deep voice. A man's? "Are you walking to school as well?"
I crane my neck to the figure beside me on the sidewalk. He is tall, though his appearance gives the impression that he is my age. His hair is so light that is barely blond-almost white, especially in the bright light of the morning. His long beige coat and scarf drape over his frame, and he wears a kind smile. His eyes, I am surprised to discover, are the same odd color as my own; a light violet. The purple eyes are bright, demonstrating happiness. He's... Handsome.
For the first time, I find myself smitten.
And I hope that the blush blossoming on my face isn't so noticeable on my pale skin.
I shake myself lightly to wake myself from thought. I smile weakly and nod. The boy extends a gloved hand to me.
"I'm Ivan", he tells me, "I just moved here. What's your name?"
I pull my hand out of my pocket to return the gesture. My heart flutters from the contact, and I'm glad he's the one to pull his hand away first; I don't want to let it linger.
"I-I'm Madeleine", I reply shakily, "It's n-nice to meet you, Ivan".
His smile grows and our similar eyes collide. As we walk the rest of the way, we make conversation, our topics wandering and shifting. As the conversations continue, my confidence grows, shining brightly in my chest. My stutter ceases, my slouch straightens, my smile becomes larger and I even make eye contact with Ivan. His laughs are true and warm, ringing beautifully in my ears. I find myself laughing too.
After the walk which felt like a blissful eternity, the school day continues as normal, but with one major, welcome change; Ivan. After the teacher introduces him to the class, the rest of the students greet him in a single voice. He returns their welcome by nodding, matched with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. I could also detect the insincerity in his voice as he answered a barrage of questions. I remained leaning against a wall, away from the crowd, waiting awkwardly for him to exit the clump. My ears focus on the ticking of the clock as the minutes inch slowly by for lunch.
Months pass, and the bond between Ivan and I grows. My infatuation for him grows along with it. My status as "ice queen" remains, but I'm too intoxicated by bliss to pay any mind to their chides. Ivan gives them cold looks as we pass them and hear their passing comments, but, as far as I know, he has done nothing to defend me besides that. I prefer it this way; I don't want to cause a scene over something so petty.
After the obnoxious ring of the bell, I rush to my locker to put my lunch away and grab my coat to go outside. I exit through the double doors leading outside. I notice that Ivan is nowhere to be found, so I thrust my hands into my pockets, turn my eyes to the pavement, and wander in silence. I hug the wall as I walk, my shoulder grazing it lightly. I peek my head around the corner of the building and notice that Ivan is sitting in solitude beneath a pine tree. His neck is turned upwards so that he is facing the branches of the tree above him. After a few moments, he turns his head back down in front of him. His irises shift around and land on me, our eyes meeting. He grins and waves his hand as a signal to go over to where he's sitting. I reply to his gesture and sit next to him beneath the tree. After a few seconds, he looks up from his lap with a raised eyebrow and begins to speak in a low whisper.
"Madeleine, I have something to ask you..." he says, "I've noticed that no one really talks to you besides myself... Do you know why that is?"
Ah, the question I'd been hoping to avoid. If I told him about my disease, what would he think of me? Would he no longer see me as a fellow person, instead as something to pity? Would he assimilate with their opinions and cut ties with me? No, I'm over-thinking this; he's too kind to do something so brash. I confide in him. I decide to tell him, as a sad smile plays at my lips.
"Um... Everyone seems to think that I don't talk to them because I think I'm too good for them or something... I'm shy, see? It's called social anxiety, what I have... As far as I know, that's the reason that no one talks to me."
His eyes widen slightly at my explanation. His mouth, now closed in a slight frown, opens a crack and I brace myself for his response.
"Madeleine, that's terrible..." he whispers solemnly, "It's a shame that they don't know the truth..." He pauses for a moment. He reaches an arm up from his lap and moves it in the direction of my own, which hangs idly beside me, my hand resting on the patch of grass lying between us. He gently tangles the fingers of our hands together, and gazes deeply into my eyes. I quietly but sharply gasp at the contact. Before I can reply, he continues.
"A sweet girl like you should have many friends..."
I can't believe my ears. Surely, my auditory senses are simply malfunctioning. Or this is a hallucination. Or this is a dream.
Or this is real.
Since meeting him on the sidewalk so long ago, I had harbored a petty crush on Ivan. My affection farther than merely his appearance; it was his kindness, his intelligence, his wit, his warmth that allowed my crush to bud and blossom into genuine love. I had always feared, however, that my love was unrequited; there were so many other girls prettier than I that seemed to like him, albeit on a superficial level.
Now I know he loves me back.
And I can't help but smile.
"Thank you, Ivan...", I reply softly, "I appreciate you saying that."
His charming smile, which has disappeared upon his earlier statement, returns proudly. He slings his arm over my shoulders, lightly but protectively, and inclines his neck so that the crown of his head rests on my temple. I relax my muscles and allow myself to lean further into him. Looking over, I notice that a light pink dusts his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose, akin to the blush on my own face, a pink angel spreading its wings across it. I turn my attention back to what's in front of me, and we fall into a comfortable silence. Suddenly, I see a black bulb dash past us.
A fly, fluttering happily around the fields.
And once more, the fly and I are alike in different ways.
It is free from the wall of glass.
And I am free from the wall of introversion.
A/N:
Hello! Well, this is the first thing I've posted to this site. So, I guess I should just say a quick hello to the community.
As a quick side-note, this is actually a short story I wrote for school. I just winded up using Russia and Fem! Canada's names in it and, thus, figured it'd be something I could post here. I don't like gender-bending, personally, but thought it'd be sorta weird if I wrote a kind of love-story between two guys for school. Just a thought.
Also, I do actually have social anxiety, but not this severe, which made this easy to write. The thoughts at the beginning are actually my own personal observations. I'm better about the whole thing now, but still find communicating with new people a bit difficult.
Anyway, I hope you like it! Thanks for reading!
-Prinny