Cheap furniture is something that doesn't quite stand out and doesn't commmit to memory the way colorful decorations do. I camoflague with the blurry motions of society while others wish nothing more than to stand out. I blend in for my safety, for my sanity, for my anxiety. My teachers are used to my tardiness to classes and the way I back into a wall when confrontation approaches. I've never been the most active or social.
I remember when a blond girl with bright, blue eyes and a lively voice plopped down next to me and my nearly empty lunch tray. She began rambling on about some sort of outing and asked my politely if I wanted to come along with her and her friends. Of course, if I wasn't so awkward, I would have accepted happily. Instead, I stood up so quickly I was overcome with vertigo. I mumbled some half-wit excuse from nowhere and swooped up my bag before jogging away. I have the chance to make what we call a 'friend', but my nerves transformed me into an anxious wreck.
Now I stand with my head half-burrowed into my locker like a confused ostrich. I breathe in the cleaner air and close my eyes. I feel the rush of other students behind me and the occasional brush on my lower back with a shudder; I try to ignore the contact and grab a textbook without reading the spine. I don't bother to actually bring my Math textbook, but just snatch one up and slam my locker. And with that I blend in once more like furniture in the corner of a cluttered room. I am out of place, and yet unnoticeable in a crowd of roudy yet anxious, loud yet silent teens.
My house is towering and dark compared to the others on the block. I always hated this especially for some odd reason. I tend to be so self-conscious about so many things, that I develop unrational fears that make absolutely no sense. This always caused me to shiver as I crossed the threshhold. But at the sight of my father on the couch laughing along with my mother at an obviously hilarious joke, I tip-toed up the stairs silently. Confrontation becomes difficult even with my parents. Locking my door, I pull out a book with a black cover and crack it open. Outside, the world bustles and moves at the same tempo as usual, while mine speeds up and takes me to a place where only my book and I exist. That is all I need. I am not furniture. Now, I am the heroine that dominates all evil and takes the world for a wild ride, not vice versa.
I am the highlight of the room, not the cheap furniture.