The Bluestocking 2022-23

Anonymous Like an Otter

I have the unrelenting urge to say something—anything—around people I don’t know well. In my head, awkwardness grows thicker with every unspoken second passing.

Not with Liz*, though. Neither of us is particularly extroverted, though she hides it much better. Before she became my friend and when she was just another classmate, I thought she was this outgoing, talkative person. She was someone I had the urge to say anything around to avoid silence. I think she felt that too. Eventually, we became closer. Close enough to easily exist in each other’s company without always speaking. Sometimes, Liz scrolls through some form of social media on her phone while I sit next to her and digest her screen. Neither of us speaks, yet no awkwardness grows. These aren’t exactly my most treasured moments with her, but they’re certainly a few of the most peaceful ones. In a way, the near-mindlessness of the activity makes it comforting. During one of these sessions, she came across a post of an otter. She tilted her head to look at me and said, “You remind me of an otter.” She didn’t give any reason and didn’t want to when I pushed for one.

I wonder what it is about me.

* For as long as I’ve been swamped with activities, I have been able to tell people

that I’m tired with no questions asked.

I had no reason to explain why I was taking a nap after school despite already

falling asleep in class.

I had no reason to tell anyone that during the summer when I could sleep in,

I’d still take naps in the middle of the day.

I had no reason to be sleeping so much.

Well, no reason except one. It was less of a reason than it was a problem—a disorder. It was one that made

me feel like I was drowning in the most soundless way possible.

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