How Hard is That?

  “Come on Brandon, you just need to eating with someone else. How hard is that?”

  I glanced at the words that my older sister had texted me before contemplating my reply. To be honest, eating with someone wasn’t that hard, but I’m sure that’s not what she meant.

  “Come on Brandon, you just need to make friends and socialize. How hard is that?”

  My fingers tapped at the keys with a degree of expertise, and I began to furrow my brows.

  “But Lisa, what’s the point though? I’m perfectly fine with eating alone. Humans as a whole are social creatures, but that doesn’t necessarily mean all of them *need* to-”

  I took a brief moment to pause, scrolled back, and delete what I had typed. What was I doing? Even without hearing her directly, I could sense the frustration embedded in her texts. I was clearly doing nothing more than riling her up at this point. Besides, she was correct in a sense. How hard could her request be? I just need to sit next to someone, and we just need to mutually pretend that we’re interested in each other’s lives while we eat. Pointless, but not difficult.

  I stared blankly at my screen, waiting for the “...” to disappear, indicating that she had finished typing out her message. Even before she did, I already had my default reply prepared.

  “Come on Brandon. It’s high school. You’ll be with these people for the next 4 years. Just try to be social.”

  “Come on Brandon. I’m worried about you. You can’t possibly stay alone for all 4 years of high school. That’s not normal.”

  With a defeated sigh, I sent out the reply I knew she wanted.

  “Fine.”

  Stuffing my phone back into my right jacket pocket, I walked into the cafeteria and plopped the usual soggy pasta and under-salted fries onto a white styrofoam tray. High school lunches weren’t much different from middle school ones it seemed. After grabbing a fork and a napkin, I pushed past the cafeteria door and scanned the crowd for a spot to sit. Several people had already grouped together along the walls or around tables like oversized bacteria in a petri dish. Cliques, I believe, was the term people used for these groups. Quite an elegant word considering the definition itself is not much different from an animal herd.

  How hard could it be? I just needed to find a group and introduce myself. Soon enough, I happened to lock eyes with someone from my band class. His name started with an E. I think. Perhaps out of pity or courtesy,  he waved me over.

  “Hi,” I said with my best forced smile. “I’m Brandon.”

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  “Yeah, I know.” He said with a chuckle. “I remember meeting you in band class. Wanna join us?”

  “Sure,” I said, still smiling.

  Damn. Of course he knew. There was a moment of silence as I placed my tray down to his right, sat, and set my overloaded backpack down next to me. Was it Edward? Eric? Earnhardt? No. Those didn’t sound right.

  “Oh, could you sit on the other side? Matthew is sitting there. He went to go get his food first.”

  “Sure,” I replied amicably. I’d have really appreciated it if he told me that before I settled myself in, but on the other hand, maybe I should have asked if the spot was open. After all, he did say “us” despite the fact that he was alone. Regardless, it looked open. Leave a jacket or something behind to mark your rightful spot next time Marcus. Or was it Matt? I picked my tray and backpack up, swung around to the spot on the left, and sat down.

  Jabbing my fork into the grimey pasta, I slowly mulled over my mental list of “names starting with E” while I chewed. After a few more seconds of silence, I worked up the will to ask the dreaded question.

  “Sorry, what was your name again? Ethan?”

  “Jacob,” he said. A momentary grimace flashed over his face before returning to a smile.

  “It’s alright.”

  So it started with a “J”. I was close. Was that disappointment derived from the fact that I couldn’t remember his name after one meeting? No, I shouldn’t think of myself that highly. Why would he care if someone like me remembered him. I mean, I barely even know him, and he barely even knows me. And despite the maximum half hour conversation were about to have, I sincerely doubt that will change. Isn’t it more of a surprise that he remembered my name in the first place?

  I continued smiling. Maybe I should look a bit more apologetic or else he’ll think I’m being spiteful. He said it's alright though, so maybe he doesn’t want me to be apologetic? Wait, but maybe he showed me that expression on purpose. Not even 5 minutes in and this already seems difficult. Goddamn it Mary, you filthy liar. Nevermind my expression, I just need to start a proper conversation. How hard can that be?

  We exchanged pleasantries. What classes are you taking? How are you enjoying them? Are you doing any clubs? What middle school did you come from? Like a two way interview, we Q&A’d back and forth in attempt to know each other superficially. The conversation had long since grown stale, but we talked to ward off the silence.

  After a few minutes, Matthew came back and Jacob’s face brightened up. It didn’t take long for the two to begin talking about a club that they shared. Soon enough more of their friends trickled in, and they begin to converse amongst themselves about last night’s football game or the new TV show that they followed.

  It didn’t take long before I stopped talking entirely and silently finished my lunch. Every now and then, I laughed along to a crude joke, or made eye-contact and pretended to smile. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that several other people in the group attempted to cut into the conversations several times before silently pulling out their phone. No one else seemed to have noticed. The bell for class rang, so I got up to throw my tray away. I said, “Bye,” but no one replied. The ones staying behind were all engrossed in their own conversations.

  I headed off to class. Mary was right. Totally right. Today I ate lunch with another individual and pretend to connect until they were tired of pretending. Aren’t you proud of me dear sister of mine? Isn’t this what you wanted me to do? And in the midst of this neverending superficiality, I just faded into the distance and pretend that I was still part of the group, that I still belonged. That wasn’t hard at all. Not hard at all.