My hands grip the hard plastic of the lunch tray as I survey the cafeteria. There it is, nestled in the corner- my table, the only one that doesn't already have at least one occupant. I quickly rush over, hoping to get there before anyone else does. Even though I had sat at the table nearly every day since the beginning of the year, some people still sat at it if they saw it empty while I was still in line. This frustrated me immensely, why couldn't they just stay at their own table, the one that they had sat at every other time my table was occupied by me? No matter, and least today I would have somewhere to sit, and wouldn't be reduced to eating lunch in the bathroom as I had a few times before because I couldn't find a seat.
I sat down at the back of the table, near the wall, as I always did. This provided the perfect vantage point for observing the other cafeteria-goers. It was a foreign land out there, filled with strange creatures whose social customs I would never understand. None of them seemed to seek solitude like I did; instead, they seemed to travel in packs. Some of these groups only consisted of a few members, but others had ten or more, each one vying for a place at that one table. Chairs were frequently dragged from other tables, and brought to the tables that didn’t have enough chairs to compensate for the large amount of people that wanted to sit there.
There the members would all sit, squawking to each other in their loud, raucous voices. Their cries filled the room, bouncing off the walls in an unintelligible hurricane of sound. It had been overwhelming the first few times, but I had eventually been able to sort out snatches of understandable conversation from the tables surrounding me. Most days I was perfectly content to sit back and observe while I ate, and listen to the drama of those around me. Some days I grew lonely, however. It seemed like I was the only one sitting alone, the only one without a pack of friends to provide them with constant stimulation. They all looked so happy there, enjoying each other’s company as they chatted about their days. There were spats among the groups of course, which often resulted in the offending member being banished from the table, forced to sit somewhere else until amends were made. Still, despite the troubles, I sometimes wondered what it would be like to, well, belong. Loneliness is a terrible feeling, it creeps up on you and fills you up until you can't feel anything but it, just this great, big negative that serves as an annoying reminder that yes, you are alone, and no there's nothing you can do so you should just sit and feel sorry for yourself. I had a solution to the loneliness, though. Whenever I felt sad, Bert would appear.
















…

Bert first showed up when I was in second grade. During recess, while all the other children were off playing games together, I was away by myself, looking at pretty stones or searching in the grass for bugs. This suited me fine most of the time, but I did grow lonely and often longed for a playmate. I found one in Bert. He appeared one day when I was sitting on the swings, by myself, hoping and wishing I had someone else to swing with, when I turned to look at the swing beside me, and there he was.
Bert’s a funny guy. He only appears when I want him to, and when I don't he's gone, off to who-knows-where. None of the other children can see him, they don't even know he's there. They can't hear him either. Bert very rarely talks, but when he does, he always has the right thing to say. He wears the same clothes every time I see I him, tan suspenders over a loose brown shirt, and a dark floppy hat that's too big for his head. He's a good listener, considering he doesn't talk much himself, and he's always interested in what I have to say. He remained with me throughout elementary school, appearing in an empty desk across from me or an empty seat next to me. My parents would always wonder why I never hung out with children my age, and would always arrange play dates for me in the hopes that I would make friends so I wouldn't be alone at school. How was I to explain to them that I wasn't alone, that Bert was the only playmate I needed? They couldn't see or hear him either, there was no way they would ever believe me if I told them about him. Bert remained my little secret. However, as time went on, my feelings about him changed.
By the time I had entered middle school everyone else had real friends that they could talk to, while I was by myself, still stuck with silly old Bert. I began to shun him in, taking the opportunity to try to talk to my peers, and, as a result he began appearing less often. At first I felt bad about it, worrying that I had hurt him in some way, but he didn't seem to mind, and he was always there when I really needed him. He was my safety net, whenever the stress of socialization pushed me off the edge he was there to catch me and soften my fall. Still, I felt as if holding onto him was holding me back, like he was an old relic keeping me tied to my childhood, an anchor keeping my ship from sailing off into the perilous seas of adolescence. If I kept relying on him, I would never be able to go out on my own and make friends, experience, school, live life. So as hard as it was, I let him go, tossing him aside like another childhood toy in favor of a new life of independence.
While I did feel bad about leaving him, I also felt liberated somehow, like it was finally the time I could go my own way. This good feeling faded soon however, when I found that however much I was ready to finally accept my peers, they weren't ready to accept me. Try as I could, I couldn't make new friends. Perhaps this was because everyone remembered me as the strange little girl who talked to herself and played alone at recess, and wanted no part of me, for fear that my strangeness might rub off on them and they, too, would be sentenced to a life alone. My eagerness to make friends soon faded, replaced with a bitterness that made me even more unappealing.
I began to stick to myself again, avoiding contact with others at all costs, which wasn't hard of course, because no one ever sought me out. Those were times when I really longed for Bert; even his company would be a step up from this isolation I had inadvertently thrust upon myself. And eventually, he did come back. He was less of friend though, and more of a punching bag, as I took my anger at the world and myself out on him. He would sit patiently as I ranted and raved about all manners of things, and would think nothing less of me when I was done. It was a way to blow off steam, at least, but it really did nothing to solve any of my problems. I still longed for friendship, but I had no idea how to achieve it, sitting and feeling sorry myself was much easier anyhow.
Eventually, the anger and sadness did fade, replaced with a kind of neutrality. I had come to accept my life the way it was, Bert's presence and all. It didn't make me happy, but I was no longer upset about it, at least most of the time. Instead of taking on life, I became a casual observer, living vicariously through the friendships and experiences I witnessed through other people. Bert remained ready to show up whenever I needed to him, although I didn't have much to say to him anymore. Simply sitting in silence with him and knowing that he was there was enough.
















...

Bert was with me today, sitting in the seat next to me. His presence did provide somewhat of a comfort to me, simply knowing that there was someone sitting with me, someone who would acknowledge me and even talk to me if need be, helped slightly dispel my loneliness. I wasn't in the mood for talking to him today, however, and I continued observing the people in the room. Nothing much was happening today, so I began to space out, until I was jolted back to reality by a voice.

"Hello!"
I turned in the direction the voice had came from, coming face to face with one of the girls that had been sitting at one the surrounding tables. Was she really talking to me? "I noticed you were sitting by yourself," she addressed me with a smile, "and I wondered if you would like to come sit with me and my friends?" I was speechless. I had been sitting alone at this table for months now, why had she only now noticed me sitting by myself? Did she really care about me, or was she just trying to play nice and pretend to care about the poor lonely kid, who she really had no intention of ever befriending? And what about Bert? I looked back him, still sitting there. There were only two empty chairs at her table, one for her and one for me. There was no way I could take Bert over anyway; I knew if I went with her, I would have to leave him behind.
The thought frightened me. I wasn't sure if I was ready to face a table full of strangers all by myself. Bert's eyes moved to look at me. He gave a small smile, opened his mouth, and uttered one syllable- "Go." That was all he needed to say, his message was clear enough to me. I turned back to the girl and, mustering up my courage replied. "Sure, I'll come and sit with you."
"Great!" she smiled, and lead me over to her table, her friends waiting for us. Sitting at the table was a whole new experience for me. Being surrounded by people -real people- talking with me was something I had rarely done before. It wasn't bad experience at all. Although I didn't have very much to say, simply feeling that I wasn't alone for once was good enough for me. I wondered why I had never thought of going up to a table myself, and my first thought was that it had been Bert holding me back. But then I realized that it was Bert that had got me here in the first place. "Go" he had said, and I went. Bert always knew the right thing to say.