index | archives | notes Friday, Oct. 21, 2005 4:42 p.m. << [ Extirpation ] >> I've weaseled my way out of rehearsals for today. I tell the student director, my friend, that I feel sick to my stomach. This is not the whole truth; I leave out the part about how the reason I feel like vomiting is because my close friend of seven years is in the room and has refused to so much as glance at me in two weeks. She gives me the okay to leave, and behind me I hear, "Wait, Amanda." I turn around. It's the teacher, interrupting his conversation with said best friend turned cause of destruction to say to me, "Have a nice weekend." This is the man who yells at me for being loud in his class, and for swearing. Who doesn't like to see me involved with things. Who made me cry three days ago. So I stare at him. "...Thanks," I finally manage. And I turn around again. "Hold on," he says, "wait, wait, wait." I turn around again. "How come you get all weird when I say stuff like that?" I pause, and stare again. I thought it was pretty self evident. "Because you hate me." I don't know if my friend is paying attention anymore, all I know is that I want to be anywhere but here right now. "What? I don't hate you! Why do you think I hate you?" Before I can even stop it, it comes out. "Because you're mean to me." So eight years old. "No I'm not!" With each passing moment this becomes less like a teacher-student relationship and more like rivalry on the playground. "Okay," I say, and I leave. I have no idea where I am right now. He feels guilty. << | x | >> whatiscopyright.org