Unsaid

Before she knew it, it was February and she was just as unemployed as she was in December, when she finally graduated from college. And just like in December, she was hanging her hopes on a possible job that wouldn’t start before April, even when that job was a little less certain than she felt necessary and a lot less satisfying than her 16-year-old self had desired in 2000, before she knew enough to know better.

“But it pays well”, the 22-year-old keeps telling the teenager inside. It pays less that she had wished for herself, but the mortals that surrounded her let her know it was above what they were hoping for themselves. It’s real life, my dear. And you’re just another of those mortals.

Having lunch with her friends, her whole outfit — shirt, shorts, flat sandals and a small messenger-like purse — sums about 5,60 McBucks (the most international currency: 1 McBuck is the price of one McMeal of BigMac, fries and soda). The restaurant bill, split by four, was a little more than 1,50 McBucks each. The girls count their coins because they’re underpaid, but don’t count their coins for real because the four of them have a father backing their life up.

The cheerful conversation that covers the food loses its color when the subject reaches the dangerous zone of their careers. No one is happy. She’s not happy. She feels that she should be — one of the girls doesn’t have a job waiting for her in April, the other slaves on weekdays and weekends and the third is underpaid by a terrible boss. She feels that she should be happy. She’s not.

What she feels is concern. Being with people always leaves her wondering if they were happy to be with her or if they were relieved when they broke apart. The good days were nothing but a rush followed by a void.

“I don’t understand how come you like dogs when you don’t even like people”, said one of them, laughing. The comment and the laughter have replayed on her brains so many times since this afternoon that she’s not even sure if the details of the scene she’s seeing were real or added by her imagination.

“The others think you’re a sociopath”, said another, in a different day. She stores quotes of what’s been said of her like trophies. And, on the outside, she laughs.