I don’t know what normal is. How am I supposed to? I just know what my normal is. And my normal is just, you know, bleh. But it’s the first thing the counsellors always ask me, “Do you feel normal?” Like, really, I dunno. What’s normal? And then they say, “Well is your life different or similar to the lives of your friends?” And I just stare at them, usually with my hands in my pockets so they can’t see the frustrated fists that grew out of their stupid questions. My eyes always give me away just a little though. Like, seriously. I don’t ask my friends what happens at home when it’s only them. And they don’t offer me the info.
Why would they.
Like, I see the bruises sometimes on Hayley. And sometimes I wonder why Catelyn wears long sleeves on the hottest of days. But I figure if they want to tell me, well, they will. Sometimes friendship is better without words; sometimes it is better when you just sit together, hang together, none of this deep and meaningful shit. Friendship gives you the space to be free from it. That’s what I think, and that is why I don’t intrude. I figure if someone wants me to know something, they should just tell me.
I hate games.