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Seventy Cents : 11.06.03 @ 10:13 pm

I don't know what to do.
My stomach is protesting the dinner that consisted of just a bowl of rice. I could give in and veg out right before bed, or I could be strong. Beat the damned stomach repeatedly until it cowers in the corner and doesn't speak up again - ever.
Maybe then my reflection will please me.

*
I went to my school's production of Rumors tonight. It was an amazing play, quite well acted and really funny.
When it was over, I wanted so badly to go back stage, like I used to after musicals, and congratulate them all. They did so awesome I just wanted to buy them all roses.
But it's not my place. I don't belong backstage anymore.
I don't really belong anywhere.
This guy was introduced to me and he sticks his hand out - as if to shake it - and I don't quite know what to do, but I give him my hand - as if to shake his - and he does that weird sliding thing I've seen kids do.
I've never done it, obviously.
The little hand gesture made me question why I've so vehemently isolated myself from many of my peers and their pop culture. I find talking like they do, acting like they do, and dressing like they do, unappealing, but I'm the one that's sitting alone during B lunches, and with people who wouldn't care if I wasn't there during D lunches.
I'm the one who spends her Friday nights at home, alone.

*
At lunch today, I was sitting alone - as mentioned. I left my book right next to the tray, as well as two completely untouched cookies and half a bowl of soup, to go get a drink.
When I came back, they were gone. Not the book, just the food.
The janitors go about throwing trays away the moment they think you're done, even if you're not. Many a person has had their food snatched up the moment they looked the other way.
I said something. I was polite about it, but I still said something. The only janitor putzing about, snatching trays, was an immigrant of Asian decent. His English wasn't good, but he apologized profusely and held out eighty five cents so I could go buy [part of] another lunch.
I didn't want to take it. I said it was alright, but he moved his hand closer, palm upturned, coins shiny against his dark, dirty palms.

I didn't want to take it.
I bought my cookies, already feeling like scum.
I hunted him down. Gave him his change back.
I didn't want to take it.
The cookies turned bitter in my mouth.
I shouldn't have said anything. Seventy cents is nothing to me, and its not like the two cookies is a vital part of my lunch.
Seventy cents might mean something to him, or at least more then they ever meant to me.

The cookies, such a selfish indulgence, became two stones rattling inside my stomach.
I didn't want to take it.

/A

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