The Outer Rim

The dock sways beneath my feet, throwing my equilibrium. I don’t mind.The beauty in how it reflects the unbalance inside me pushes away the fear of falling. With my eyes still cast downward, I keep walking towards the water. I can’t help but smile as a pair of voices emerge just ahead of me. The first is happy and cheerful with a deepness to it that lets me know there may be something broken. The second voice comes across more carefree, a little too eager, and has enough energy to spare. I don’t have to look up to know who these voices belong to. I reach the end of the dock in time to catch the tail end of the conversation: They aren’t lake people.

At the edge of the dock I look down at the brown, murky water. I can’t see a damn thing. A fear bubbles up inside me. I’m not a lake person.

A new voice comes up behind me and asks if I’m going to join the others. Like the previous two, the voice is happy but carries a more serious and distinctive tone. I look back with a smile and nod. Most of my friends are already out in the water. I listen to their laughter as I walk to the other side of the dock. My fear subsides as I make way into darkness. I find the warm water comforting. I grab onto the nearest flotation device, which my friend’s dog just happened to be sitting on. She brought me a little more solace. Again, I look across the water to where the group had conglomerated. Their voices drifted back, allowing me to catch pieces of the conversation. They prefer the lake over pajamas. My smile disappears and I look away. I tread the water with my new companion. We float in silence. She puts me back at ease. When I look back over, however, my eyes make connect with another’s. She motions with her head and mouths at me to come over. I exhale thoughtfully. She was looking after me. Trying to include me. I doubt she’ll ever fully realize how much I appreciate her actions.

Sometimes I like being the observer. Silence is my comfort zone. It helps me learn more about those around me, as well as myself. Today I learned I prefer kindness and maturity over the lake.

Hours pass. The sun’s torturous glare has long disappeared. I find myself sitting in a cold basement. People are scattered here and there. An intense conversation about college ensues. I fiddle with a set of blocks as I listen. The exuberance that drips off of each word becomes amusing. How are they all so confident? The voices lulled as the conversation turns somber. This is one of the last times we’ll see each other. My tower of blocks starts to lean left. I chuckle when I hear a voice say we all ended up where we were supposed to be. I don’t know how many times I’ve said that before. Maybe people do listen. My tower begins to wobble. The conversation drifts to more serious topics. Since when did these voices know about drinking and sex? The tower collapses. My friend looks over to me and smiles. She had done so several times throughout the conversation. I can’t help but feel both put at ease and angered. She was looking after me again, but I am not a child. Nonetheless, I force a smile back. She shouldn’t have to do that.

I look down at my fallen tower. This I mind. I resent how perfectly it symbolized the change before me. I put the blocks away, refusing to build a new tower. I don’t know where I’m supposed to be.

People ask me why I don’t talk more. Most of the time I blame it on being introverted. Sometimes I just don’t know what to say. If I’m being honest, I’d say I enjoy listening to people. Hearing the different intonations in their voices. Observing their actions. It can be peaceful and sometimes a little amusing. Being quiet isn’t a bad thing, but it isn’t all good either. It’s both a curse and a blessing. I’m not obligated to throw my opinions around. People listen when I finally have something to say. I’m brushed off. Pushed over and stepped like a doormat. I get left behind. As I sat in that basement watching my friends battle to get the next word out, I realized things are changing. They were growing up while I was sitting on the outside observing.

Sometimes I don’t like being the observer. So I swam over to my group of friends. I put the blocks away. I looked at my friend as we parked in my driveway and in my mind said to her, “Thank you for pulling me back from the outer rim.”