She Likes to be Alone by Rachel Arruda

She Likes to be Alone

by Rachel Arruda

She likes to be alone.

That's what they said about her. When she passed by to a table by herself. When they made small talk with her, and then walked on to their real friends, explaining why she wasn't invited.

She likes to be alone.

She had told them that herself. Why? To help. To save the discomfort of being new and out of reach. They had looked so relieved. "Oh," they had signed out in relief, thanking her with their smile. Thanking her for letting them off the hook for her loneliness, freeing them of the guilt of her solidarity. "Oh," they sighed, understanding.

She likes to be alone

It was more than that though. She hadn't really said it to ease a stranger's conscience. She had one it for . . . protection? Yes, a kind of protection; a wall. A wall that shielded out curious glances and prying eyes, hanging a sign up outside declaring that she had chosen this. Because if she hadn't chosen it, then why was . . . why?

Why would anyone choose this? To be in the center of noise and activity and have NONE of it directed at her. To be a birch among oaks. Skinny branches splayed, reaching out into empty space. While the old oaks grew above her, branches extended and twining into each other, making a seamless connection from tree to tree. An endless network of touches and tangles.

She likes to be alone

She looks expectantly into a familiar face. Sometimes they turn away, pretending they hadn't seen her. Sometimes they smile, hesitant or radiant, they are always the same. There is no invitation behind them. She straightens up and assumes a comfortable and confident air. She was doing exactly what she wanted, she told herself

She likes to be alone.