Photo by Zi Ting Tina He

For a while now, I haven't been speaking. But just because I am silent doesn't mean that I am not listening. In fact, I am probably paying more attention than anyone at this table. Except not to their words, to their actions. I notice the nervous tick in Kitty's eye as she listens carefully to the words that Jackson is saying. I think he is talking about politics. Kitty silently disagrees. I silently don't have an opinion. Or I silently don't care. Maybe both, I haven't decided. All I can now focus on is how Kitty's face is turning more and more pale with every word Jackson says. She took off her glasses for the third time in ten minutes to clean them with the help of her brown cashmere sweater. Her breathing hitches after hearing something Jackson said. I think he asked her about her opinion on the topic. Again, I am not paying attention to what he is saying. Kitty, after deciding that her glasses are finally clean, began to fidget with her hair. As she attempts to finger curl her wavy brown locks, which are held in place by a red headband with a bow on the left, she quietly tells Jackson that she doesn't have an opinion. After three minutes of playing with her hair, she finally decided to eat. She begins to slowly unpack her lunch out of her black beaded lunch box. She revealed today's neatly packed lunch- sushi. It's the second time this week that she is eating sushi. She paces her eating in a very elegant way, eating a little at a time. I become a little self conscious of the messy way I have been eating my grilled cheese sandwich. After about thirty minutes of eating and conversing, the bell rings, and we begin to go to class. I walk Kitty to her next class like I do everyday, and I can't help but notice how close to me she is as we walk. 

"See you after school, Ximena!" she said when we arrived at her class, and I began to make my way to mine. 

          Kitty and I made our way to her house, battling the harsh winds that blew past us on our way. With every blow, I felt it electrocute my face and blow through my shoulder length, jet black hair; blowing through the thin fabric of my jacket, chilling my skin. I began to shudder. Kitty, however, doesn't seem to have the same issue as me. The wind barely touches her face, as the thick scarf she wears acts like a protective layer. Her thick coat and furry boots do a superb job protecting her body and feet from the cold. 

          We cross the bay at the bridge as we enter the upscale part of Brooklyn, Brighton Beach. We walk a couple of blocks till Kitty's house comes into view. Her house is at the corner of the street, right across from the beach. I notice through the window that the light is on, and its three in the afternoon, when the sun is in its prime. I guess the Meyers arent big on conserving light. Kitty pulls out her keys to unlock the door. I notice her numerous keychains, all from different countries and cities she traveled to. I see Italy, France, Spain, England, and a couple more. Interesting how she only travels to Europe. We make our way into her house, and even though I have been there many times, I always manage to admire it for its size. To my right is a huge living room with beautiful paintings and velvet couches. To my left is a kitchen where I find Mrs. Meyers sitting at the kitchen island typing away at her laptop. 

          "Katherine! how was school? Anything interesting happening?" She was going to ask another question but she was cutoff at the sight of me. 

          "Ximena." She continued with a sigh. I know she doesn't like me, but she tends to make a habit of showing it. I can't even remember the last time she smiled at me. Not since kitty and I were little. Maybe the beene and overall messy look gives her the feeling that I might be a bad influence. Or maybe it's because I smell a little bit like weed. I wonder why she never attempted to end the friendship. 

          "Mama we'll be working on our English project upstairs," Kitty said quickly before she grabbed my hand and led me upstairs to her room. 

          "What project?" Mrs. Meyers asked, but Kitty pretended not to hear; she was already half way up to the second floor. When we entered her room, she let go of my hand. I didn't even notice how fast my heart began to beat when she grabbed it.  

           In the next fifteen minutes we were sitting on her bed, taking turns reading the book assigned to us by our english teacher, "Hamlet" by Shakespeare. It was her turn to read, and she read softly, under her breath: 

          "Doubt thou the stars are fire, doubt that the sun doth move, doubt truth to be a liar, but never doubt I love."

          Her lip quivered a bit as she stumbled at the last word, and she looked up at me sitting across from her. At that moment, I couldn't help myself from leaning into her and pressing my lips gently against hers. It only lasted a couple of seconds before I realized what I did and quickly pulled back. I began to apologize and she grabbed my face in her hands and began to kiss me back. I wanted the moment to last forever. But it didn't. Her mom walked in. 

          "Katherine I brou-" Mrs. Meyers began to speak, but was interrupted by what she saw, and the shock began to spread across her face. 

          "Mom-" Kitty began.

          "Ximena, I think it's time for you to go," said Mrs. Meyers, looking down at the floor, and I silently agreed. I quickly got up, and packed my copy of Hamlet into my backpack, and left the room, Mrs. Meyers walking me out. I silently and swiftly grab my coat and close the front door as I make my way out of her house. 

          I called Kitty three times the next day, but she didn't pick up, so I spent the next three hours of the peaceful Saturday morning listening to music on the roof of my house. I felt the soft November breeze blow my hair out of my face, giving me a clear view of the rows of small houses in my neighborhood of Sheepshead Bay. A twenty minute walk to my left is Kitty's house, in the direction of the beach. The pale blue sky was concealed by the thick grey clouds, which allowed weak rays of sun to shine through. It caused the sky to look uniform in color, a bright, yet dull grey. I began to pay attention to the words ringing in my ear as my favorite song began to play, and for the first time, I begin to understand the idea incorporated into the music. It is saying that it only gets harder. Each morning you get up, you die a little. Until you can barely stand on your feet. You take a look in the mirror and begin to cry. As the lyric plays, I feel the tears form in the corner of my eye. I can't keep living in this prison cell. This closet. And neither can she. A closet is no place to live. With that thought on my mind, I get down from the roof and make my way to Kitty's house. As I walk to her house, the breeze blows stronger, almost as if it's telling me that this is a bad idea. Maybe it is. But I push the thought aside because obviously the breeze is getting stronger because I am walking to the ocean. I walk faster than usual. Past the small houses in my neighborhood that seem to become larger with every block as I near my destination. When I do, I knock, even though there is a door bell. I just seem to forget it's there most days. Mrs. Meyers opens the door, and gives me a look of shock. 

          "Katherine isn't here," She says quietly, looking down at my shoes. "She is with her grandparents in Connecticut." 

          "I - I know. I'm, uh, here to see you," I say, stumbling through my words. 

          "Oh. Come in then. Ximena," she says, taking a deep breath of air in before saying my name. She leads me to the kitchen island, where I take a seat across from her after she sits down. We haven't spoken for five minutes. Silence is usually comforting for me, but this time it feels awkward. 

          "Do you want some coffee? Tea? Water?" she asks politely, trying to ease out of the awkwardness. 

          "No thanks. I'm, uh, good," I answer, knowing full well that it won't do. I came here for a purpose. For the first time ever I am going to speak my mind.

          "Kit, uh Katherine is um..." I begin, unsure of how to phrase the words my brain is spitting out into sentences. Mrs. Meyers notices my struggle to speak, so she takes over. 

          "When Kat's father left, I felt like the perfect life I had built for myself had been ruined. I had wealth, education, and pretty much everything. Anything I wanted, I got. When he left, I realized that I married the wrong person. No matter how much I loved him, he didn’t love me back. And it was the worst kind of pain. One that I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy, let alone my daughter. I want her to have the perfect life I failed to maintain. I want her to be happy. I want her to find someone who will love her as deeply as I love her." At the last sentence, she began to break down. Silent tears began to fall down her face. I have never seen her cry like this, but then again, I never made much of an effort to see her at all. 

          "Don't you see Mrs. Meyers? She already has." I whispered as I got up to leave. 

          The next day, I heard nothing from Kitty. She still didn't return my calls from Saturday. She didn't even text me. With each passing minute more worry filled me. Is she mad at me? Is she not allowed to see me? Is she ok? Is she still in Connecticut? Is she in New York? Millions of questions filled my brain demanding answers that I don't have. Mostly, I am disappointed with myself. I failed yesterday. I wanted to speak my truth. The words that have been on my mind for years now. I love all the wrong people. I do all the wrong things. I never speak. I dont have the ability to voice my opinions. I am afraid of the vulnerability that would follow after I do. The feeling of nothing in front of me to protect me from the winds blowing in my way. The thing is, after I take off that layer that protects me from the world, the scarf that protects me from the wind, I am bound to experience one of the two things. A warm breeze, filled with love, appreciation, and acceptance, or a brutal, strong, cold wind that blows me off my feet. I will never be able to take off my scarf because I am always living in constant fear of that second brutal wind that will inevitably blow me away. I numb the vulnerability to avoid it. The occasional bottle vodka I take from my dad's cabinet to mix with the water I drink in the morning. To give myself that delusional happiness that I need because I know that I will never get the real feeling. It's all I can do to keep myself from falling apart. And Kitty. Kitty who doesn't know what marijuana smells like. Kitty who has never submitted her homework a day late. Kitty who has never even tried an alcoholic beverage. Kitty who handed out candy to every one of her classmates on halloween. Kitty who writes a new birthday song for me on her ukulele each year. Kitty who sings soprano in her choir. Kitty who can talk all day about nonsense that would still pay attention to. Kitty's nervous ticks. Kitty's wide smile. Kitty's innocence. She keeps me from falling on my worst days. She keeps me company when I'm lonely. She is my good influence. I know she will call me. She will talk to me. She knows that I only talk to her. She wouldn't leave me. No matter how hard I try, I never deserved her. She always gave me space and silence when I needed it. And now it's my turn to do the same, so I stopped calling. I know that she needs time to think about what happened, and that's ok. Frankly, so do I. And somehow, I know that we will work it out.