She skirted the question. Not consciously. Not so that she noticed. Not even so that others would notice. But I noticed. She never made a statement, but answered each question with a different question. It was this that unsettled me.
There was a way that she walked, a way that seemed abnormal and awkward. Her shoulders were back, yet her arms fell jerkily by her side, and her muscles were tense, as if pre-empting attack. Even her legs seemed withdrawn, as though a puppet master was controlling her, despite her desperate attempts to walk her own way.
There was the way that she talked. Clearly, with an ounce of confidence. But her eyes and nose wrinkled, and her throat kept pausing to swallow. Every now and then, she would stutter, but her eyes, her eyes disturbed me the most. Her eyes darted faster than a speeding bullet at every question that she was asked. Her eyes glazed over at this point, as if her mind was stressing, desparate for a way out, or perhaps another excuse to prevent her from whatever it was she was so afraid of. This girl was a fake. An actor. A lie. But a good one at that, for only I ever seemed to notice.
I always seem to notice these things. Things that separate each individual from somebody else. But one thing is the same for everyone, regardless of the age, gender, nationality, culture or, well, anything. Everybody has suffered pain. Everybody lives in fear. Everybody has secrets. And everybody, more than anything else, wants to be loved and to feel loved. Everybody wants a friend. Everybody wants to feel safe, and non-conflicted. But ultimately. Everybody is conflicted. Everybody hurts. Everybody is let down. So, we hold onto the moments where we feel safe and loved and protected, forever. That is why we take photographs. Why we sit around watching movies and making friendship bracelets. Why we hold onto safe moments for as long as it is possible. These are the moments we treasure, the moments that make everything else worthwhile. These are the times when we don’t need meditation and music, but when we are content simply with being. Breathing. Living. Being.