Everybody Else But Me!

You’re not entirely sure what to think staring down at your coffee. Downtrodden, alone in a coffee shop at 7am in the morning. The truth is, you didn’t manage to get much sleep last night. Your week-long session of staying in bed has finally caught up, forcing you awake, despite the static and prickly feeling in your body begging your mind to shut off for the night. 

So now here you are, wearing a wide white brimmed hat, sunglasses that cover half your face, and an expression that could only parallel an angry alley cat. Drowning your misery in a cup of coffee you now only realize has gone cold. You drink it anyway, and you find the taste a perfect match to your mood - bitter. 

You're soothed by the ambience of the coffee shop, it’s enough to ease your anxieties, because - my god - you’ve been experiencing the highs and lows of a mania you thought you overcame long ago. You drink the rest of the coffee sweeping chug. You’re wasting your time here, you decide. You should be back at the house tidying up, making sure everything gives absolutely zero hints to your mental state. But that’s the last thing you want to do. Ever since Barbie invited herself over you want to take the next vacation cruise out of Malibu and disappear wherever it docks. 

You let your mind wander in your great escape fantasies, particularly enjoying a daydream about someone massaging the ever living crap out of your back, you note that thought down as a sign you should go to a spa at some point to decompress. 

Someone takes a seat in the booth next to you. The noise of him putting down multiple plates of food and an overflowing latte make you hunch your shoulders higher and higher with each clatter of coffee house crockery. You’re about to let loose a tirade of snarky comments but the second you and your noisy neighbor register one another you both freeze.

Usually, this scenario would have been a shining golden moment for you. You’d jump into his arms, invade his personal space, cling onto him as if you both were star crossed lovers. A routine you’d rehearsed and played out more times that you’d care to remember. Ken has a talent for being kind yet blatantly honest with you, which is why you don’t blame him for looking absolutely horrified to see you, with his teeth bared in some sort of smile. 

“Is Barbie with you?” You ask, expecting the answer to be a ‘yes’ and shrink into your massive hat in an attempt to hide your face. 

Ken’s alarm bell expression vanishes in an instant. “Is she not with you?” 

You poke your head out like a turtle - that wasn’t the answer you were expecting.

“Hey, Kenny-boy. Sis.” Your brother takes a seat across from Ken and picks up a brownie from one of the many plates. 

“Whaaaaaaaat,” you drawl and dip your sunglasses down to get a better look of the situation. It was weird, like seeing your brother without his leather jacket and guitar and big ego weird. 

“Oh, did you want some?” Ryan extends out his half bitten, crumbling mess of a brownie. You grimace and lean away from the offer. The only thing on your mind right now is how you’re going to pull off an escape of Raquelle-esque proportions, because this is getting seriously weird, but your brother says something that throws you for a loop.

“Where’s Barbie?” Ryan asks. He wizzes his head around the café as if she’d be standing somewhere by the pick-up counter waiting on a decaf mocha latte. You picture it too, and imagine that she’d like a caramel shortbread to go with it. 

“I haven’t seen her… yet.” 

Ken tilts his head a little, like he’s trying to unpack all the information he can get from your briefly lived sentence. “That’s weird, she said she was going to see you today.”

“Yeah, later today,” you admit. Ken catches onto the groan accompanying your statement. Now that the subject of the sleepover has been sprung upon you, you take it as a sign that you should probably start thinking about cleaning up the house. Thank you, universe. 

“Someone doesn’t sound very excited,” Ryan teases, and you withhold a response. Instead opting to slink further back into your seat, the hat falling crooked on your head. 

“I guess I’m just…” There’s a word there, floating around your head. A fly of a word you're trying to catch but annoyingly out of reach. 

“Nervous?” Ken suggests and takes a prolonged sip from his cup.

Nervous - the word hanging a bit too heavy, like hot gum melting and clinging to the back of your throat. The last time you ever felt really, nauseating, heart shaking-ly nervous was during your performance as lamp #3 at your school play. An acting part you nailed, by the way.

“Raquelle doesn’t do nervous," you say and blow your hat away from your face. 

Ken and Ryan did not look convinced at all, and to be honest it sounded a bit ridiculous when it left your mouth. 

“Sis… not to break the news to you but Raquelle does do nervous.” 

Damnit. Maybe he’s right. You’ve certainly been carrying around your nerves since high school. You’ve somehow warped your anxiety into a conflicted, inflated, and sometimes ugly, air of self confidence. You thought no one could see through it. But that messed up air of confidence is slowly but surely fading away. Where does that leave Raquelle? Who are you without the mask? You’re not ready to answer that and opt to bury it deep, deep into your brain. That's a problem for the future you. The coffee must be working its way through your body, because you didn’t notice you were tapping a dent in the table with your gel nails. You can’t seem to catch your breath either. 

You quickly say goodbye and stand outside the coffeeshop. The sudden sun warming your aircon chilled skin. Just before you feel ready to move your legs again the coffee shop bell rings and Ken’s got you by the shoulder. 

He looks pensive.  “Um, could you do me a favour?” You want to ask what it was before committing to anything, but you weren’t sure what to think with Ken actually reaching out to you, instead of it being the other way around. "Can you keep an eye on Barbie?”

It didn’t seem like a big ask at all, yet it felt a bit too weighted for you. And Barbie can most definitely handle herself. “I guess? I’ll keep an eye on Barbie for you.”  

“Not for me,” he quickly corrects. “Just keep an eye on her. Like, hang out and stuff - like you used to.” 

“We always hang out.” You bite back. It’s half true. You’re at least a little aware that spending time with Barbie is more of a case of you show up to events and hanging around, all the while thinking - oh, is that Barbie and her friends? Guess I'll stay!

“You know what I mean,” Ken says and begins to head back inside. 

“Fine. But, you owe me an answer as to why you’re ‘keeping an eye on’ Ryan." 

“He’s helping me out with something,” he says plainly and heads back in. “Thanks, Raquelle!”