Georgia … Asia Lavay

by Asia Lavay

How embarrassing... ...to tolerate your youth.

Georgia sat upright in the school hall, listening to the sounds of those around her. There were too many voices. Teenaged voices. Voices that irritated Georgia’s mind and heart as they all spoke of forged joy. They were foolish to think that anything mattered. Surely things would one day start to matter––most likely when she reached the age of eighteen. Or, when she finally left the place she grew up. Or even when she cut off the people who so dreadfully bored her. Georgia was sure that was when things would become worthwhile. For now, she did the best she could to tolerate the days and the voices.

How embarrassing… … to prefer class periods over lunch.

In class, it was easy to tune out what others said. The occasional idiotic comment didn’t bother her; she had gotten used to it. Sometimes she feared that would be a problem––that one day their stupidity would make its way to her brain and she would be just like the rest. What’s wrong with being just like the rest? So many things. Georgia did her best to focus on other things while in class, whether it be her imagination, her future, or the actual subject being taught to her. For a while, she chose her future and dreamed of the life she wanted for herself and her family. When that got boring, she opted to learn,

and found it surprising when she started to enjoy it. Education was fun… in some ways, which added a small light to her day. With her new love of knowledge, her powerful imagination skills, and her ever-present curiosity about the future, it was safe to say that being in class was pleasant. But, what always ruined her day, five days a week, was lunch. School lunch was horrid, especially at her school, where the teenagers sat haphazardly around the campus. There weren’t enough tables, so half of the kids had to sit on the floor, either by the classrooms or by the lockers. Unfortunately, this isn’t what made school lunches such a pain. It was the voices. She missed when they disappeared in class. Class was better than lunch because there was silence.

How embarrassing... ...to be one-sided.

All her peers talked. And they kept talking, but they never truly said anything. Georgia would listen and respond with such grand levels of enthusiasm, you would forget she’s struggling. But she never forgot. She was reminded of it every single time she talked to the people that were supposed to be just like her. They were supposed to be her friends, her confidants. But they weren’t. No one ever was. Maybe on paper, they were. They spoke to each other. They laughed at jokes. They complained about teachers. They texted. They sat near each other. They helped each other. They comforted each other. But did they understand each other?

Georgia understood them, or, at least, she thought she did. That’s why they called her “best friend”. After all, she spoke to them. She laughed at their jokes. She complained about teachers with them. She texted them. She sat with them. She helped them. She comforted them. But did they do the same for her? No. The “they” was usually just “she”.

How embarrassing... ...to lose a title.

As the divide became clear, Georgia’s laughs became quieter. Her responses became shorter and her eyes lost passion. She stopped speaking in the mornings, finding it too hard to muster words to the people she once celebrated. Her lack of participation made lunches all the more awful; since it was clear there was something wrong. Georgia’s friends, who didn’t care to understand, mistook her silence for brattiness. Slowly but surely, the friends dropped the “best”, not liking the new Georgia. They still allowed her to sit with them at lunch, finding new ways to use her newfound negative energy. Mostly in the form of complaining or gossiping, two things Georgia regretted participating in. It was simply a waste of time and a vessel for more hopelessness to enter her brain.

How embarrassing... ...to not have any friends.

Here Georgia was, eating in the outside halls with her peers. She did her best to eat slowly. Eating slow gave

something to do and distracted her from the conversations around her. It also made it easier to not respond. Her peers silently begged her to join their foul-mouthed discussions, but eating was the perfect excuse to just nod. Georgia used to look her peers in the eyes while she ate, but soon enough, her focus shifted to the concrete. And as they spoke, she cursed herself for finishing her meal. Now she had to engage, but she had no energy. What was the solution? Throwing her trash away and walking to the bathroom. She always left without a word and never actually had to use the bathroom. Standing in front of the mirrors, she looked around at the pink walls. There was a roach in the corner. Somehow that was better than eating lunch.

How embarrassing... ...to have one friend.

There was only one good thing about school lunches: its mere existence meant that the school day was almost over. This meant that it was almost time to see her friend. Her only friend. The friend that listened to Georgia. The friend that heard her heart, even when it was hardened by emotions. The friend that gave refreshing hugs and spoke only of spiritual optimism. The friend that made Georgia’s eyes glow with relief upon seeing their gray car parked outside the school. The friend that wrote notes on her school lunches – a simple gesture that meant more than a thousand novels. This was her only friend: a woman struggling in ways too intricate to include, yet still managing to love in ways too vast to explain.

Creative Pieces… 54 She was Georgia’s brightest star. She was Georgia’s mother.

How thrilling... ...to have a mother that loves.

As Georgia heard the bell indicating the end of lunch, she sighed. Things would get better; her brightest star told her so.

How embarrassing... ...to pretend that Georgia isn’t me.