my consistency is wavering

By emilyxjames

Mid-March, 2006.

Tonight I sat with Spencer and Renee in her car, parked in front of the Starbucks I used to work in while Renee takes her 10 minute break. We smoke cheap cigarettes and they talk over David Grey. I'm in the passenger seat with Spencer half-sitting on me. His pelvis digs into my thigh but I say nothing. They’re slightly animated, fawning over arty Polaroid’s and I might as well be sitting on the curb. I'm not here. Am I? Am I. I can see my reflection in the window, my hair still wet from walking in the rain, curlicues and tangles. Spencer and I had spent the last 45 minutes trying to find an AA meeting for him to attend. No one knew where they were, no one could help, and we, slowly drenched, took it as a sign that we weren't worth saving tonight. We walked to my car, drove to see Renee instead. I focus again on my reflection. I look tired. Exhale. Drop the filter. Drum my fingers on my damp thigh. In ten minutes I’ll drive home.
This is typical.
I am beyond this.
This is Nashville. I often feel that this is not my city. Where am I supposed to be?
Every few months, I end up with a new crowd. And I always feel like a constant outsider in a group of close friends, complete with inside jokes I’ll never get. Half-hearted hugs and drunken cheek-kisses. I love everyone after a pint of rum and I’ve loosened-up enough to not worry about appearances or if I fit in. But I have to drink to get to that point. I love the things we do: our drinks at clubs, our dinners together [potluck or restaurants], our spontaneous parties, our dancing in basements, our shared cigarettes and sampled drinks, our secrets. But it's not me. It’s a lie. And I’m afraid of being found out.
In those pictures we take, with our arms around each other, I smile and look fine. See? There’s proof that I’m fine. But I feel like a glossy imposter sometimes.
The only thing that is constant is my inconsistency.

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my consistency is wavering

Created: Jan 23, 2010

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