We had quite the tight-knit group of friends when I was growing up. The core group consisted of about 6 kids but as we grew older and made new friends, it ended up topping out at about 14.
We used to gather on weekends and watch movies and eat popcorn and while I was the youngest, I always seemed to end up the responsible one give or take a time or two. There were always one or two couples in our group and when there weren’t, someone was always trying to get the attention of someone else.
I won’t say that I didn’t try because that would be a lie. I just didn’t succeed. I was different than everyone else. It’s possible that some folks were afraid of my father, but it’s also possible that I was just an untouchable. So I sat on the sidelines. And I watched as people connected and I was left alone. I was always the friend, never the girlfriend. I was everyone’s little sister but nothing more.
While the girls were running around in their t-shirts and undies, I was there to protect and make sure nothing too bad happened. I was dressed the same as they were, but somehow I was the Madame of that crazy house. I got respect, certainly, but affection, not as much.
There was a night in which I lost it. I just couldn’t take the lonely anymore. I locked myself in a room and played the same depressing song over and over, crying my eyes out. Various people came in after forcing me to unlock the door. They asked what was wrong and when I couldn’t provide an answer, they left me to cry. Only one person stayed to talk to me, to see what was really wrong, to make me open up. By far, that person was the one I considered to be the best of all my friends.
