You’re sitting there. She sits next to you, with slight brown hair and only a sliver of emotion on her face. You’ve never seen her before. But then again, you’ve never seen half these people before. They’re all confusion under the brilliant strobe lights and music that must afflict schizophrenics to no end, with its obtrusive, auto tuned voices. The bat mitzvah is boring so far.
Suddenly she looks lonely, and you wonder what would happen if you said hi. She’s sitting just a foot away. You can picture it all in your mind.
You say hi, and she says hi back. You start talking, and you find each other pretty interesting. You get her number and you start hanging out every other week. Soon you’re sleeping over at each other’s houses and laughing how you met through a joint friend at a bat mitzvah where neither of you had any friends. You become best friends and keep in touch through college, going on double dates with your boyfriends. You are each other’s bridesmaids and through pregnancy, childbirth, and middle age you keep in touch. Your daughters and sons become like cousins, and you are like sisters. You sit on a weathered old porch sipping margaritas and laughing about old times while the kids run about and your husbands talk in the house. You are best friends, best friends forever. Until death.
You make up your mind to say hi and lean forward, about to tap her on the shoulder, when suddenly she stands up. You watch dumbfounded as she prances away beneath the strobe lights, toward the ice cream sundae bar. The line looks intolerable, but at least there is a sweet reward.
Suddenly she looks lonely, and you wonder what would happen if you said hi. She’s sitting just a foot away. You can picture it all in your mind.
You say hi, and she says hi back. You start talking, and you find each other pretty interesting. You get her number and you start hanging out every other week. Soon you’re sleeping over at each other’s houses and laughing how you met through a joint friend at a bat mitzvah where neither of you had any friends. You become best friends and keep in touch through college, going on double dates with your boyfriends. You are each other’s bridesmaids and through pregnancy, childbirth, and middle age you keep in touch. Your daughters and sons become like cousins, and you are like sisters. You sit on a weathered old porch sipping margaritas and laughing about old times while the kids run about and your husbands talk in the house. You are best friends, best friends forever. Until death.
You make up your mind to say hi and lean forward, about to tap her on the shoulder, when suddenly she stands up. You watch dumbfounded as she prances away beneath the strobe lights, toward the ice cream sundae bar. The line looks intolerable, but at least there is a sweet reward.
PJD17
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