The Morning After

The Proverbial Shoes

6/18 6:34 PM
They were late.
We sat together in the otherwise empty apartment, occupying the singular sofa. Bea stretched easily across it as if she owned it. Her very presence exuding confidence.
This part of her personality I did not understand, constantly questioning how she could so seamlessly adapt to any situation, deftly acclimating. I'd come to decide that it was because she gave herself away. Bea had no secrets or reservations, and she refused to second-guess herself. She shared everything she had of herself with the rest of the world, and although this intimidated me in a way I could not describe, I still admired it.
I attributed these trait differences as the main reason our relationship worked; We were each other's keepers. Bea constantly encouraging and assuring me, and me, in return, making sure she never crossed the line in what she said. It was a seesaw, a balance game- but we were managing, we made it work.
My stream of consciousness  was interrupted by the sound of shouting voices, and for several disorienting seconds I thought it was coming from inside, but this too was disrupted when I finally came to the realization that while the noise was in the apartment, it was coming from Bea's phone and not the rooms surrounding.
I listened intently as plans were re-worked. We were already an hour past the initial projected leave time, and the other half of our group was still absent. The voices on the line spoke too loudly and all at once, a contributing factor to the difficulty of affirming plans. It was during this cacophony, that finally we concluded on a time and a place: ten minutes, Caesar's apartment.
This, perhaps, should have been a relief to me, knowing that things were still running smoothly. But I still felt the anxiety looming over me, never quite managing to make it out of the woods.
I picked at the skin surrounding my nails as Bea and I waited out the final stretch of delay. She was not in a mood to be vocal yet, I presumed saving her energy for the night ahead. That too, loomed over me, and again I stared at my shoes. I'd worn them only a handful of times before, but by Bea's encouragement (read: demand), I'd chosen them over my sneakers. I questioned that decision as I sat there, metallic surface of the shoe glaring back up at me. I disputed them, unsure if they (I) were (was) capable of handling the evening at the fore. I'd no idea that a pair of shoes could be such harbingers of anxiety and doubt, but I was learning.
It was because of these shoes that I relished in the sound of the door opening, glad to be drawn away from thoughts of the prominent silver.

. . .

I don't know what exactly I had expected, but it was definitely something more than I got. In my head I assumed that my arrival in the group would be something of a feat, that I would be greeted and inducted.
Instead I found myself packaged tightly in the middle of the backseat, encased by Bea and a boy named Levi. It was a struggle to bring myself up to date on the topics of conversation, and I had little to no connection to their mutual friends, so I observed.
Caesar drove, long, idle fingers perpetually tapping against the wheel, and next to him a girl I recognized from school, but had only ever spoken to in passing. Her name was Tate, and she changed her hair more times than I could count, today sporting shaggy, jet black locks. She had a septum piercing that I greatly admired, and talked and laughed vivaciously with Caesar about some aspect of work as we drove.
Levi I knew as well, citing him as an old friend, but he was not staying with us, so I payed no mind to him other than to take note of his uncharacteristically long hair and try to keep myself out of his lap as Caesar swerved violently, and frequently, across the yellow lines.
It took twenty minutes, but eventually I got something I could work with.
"Fuck Anna!" Tate wildly proclaimed, slamming her hands against her knees. "I hate that bitch, and I'm glad she's not coming."
Finally, I thought, this was a conversation I could appreciate, or at least participate in. I felt guilty, being excited about the imminent bashing of this stranger, Anna, but this was the only topic Bea had prepped me for, explaining in her own words that "Anna is cheating whore, and we hate her."
    I needed no more, instead choosing to listen again as the story of Anna was more accurately relayed to me, damning her every time the comment seemed appropriate. I decided against dissecting this behavior, knowing I would only be condemning myself if I thought too much about it. I needed this, this mutual ground, even if it was at Anna's expense (Who, for the record, was a cheating, lying, whore).
    It was worth it, in the end, because it was that conversation that got me in. After that point, I started to understand their dynamic and my place in it.
    Levi abandoned us somewhere near the foot of the mountain, and the only mind I payed to it was as I savored the valuable leg room he left behind. From there, we began our ascent to the city, climbing up The Grade with every window rolled down as we watched the last of the evening light brush against the trees.
    If there had to be a moment I singled out as the one in which I stopped worrying, it would be that one; The one where the music was loud and my hair was in my eyes, the one where I climbed in a car with near strangers, and listened with a mixture of fascination and perplexity as they recounted tales of their sexcapades.
    I don't know why it's that moment, why it stands out to me so profoundly. But it does. Perhaps because it was then that I realized what a vast world I lived in, finally understanding that my norm was not that to everyone else, and while I may have previously attempted to block out the descriptions of Tate's sex life, now I understood that it was these experiences that shaped her, and she felt no shame in sharing them.
    I don't know why it's this moment that I have marked as so pivotal, but I do know the whole while I was staring at my stupid metallic shoes, and I decided that I no longer wanted to be concerned with such mundane obstacles.
Of course it is not as easy as simply deciding to change, but it was something.
And as we entered the city, I resolved that I would lend my mind only to the night ahead. I solidified this by turning my phone off as a final flourish when we pulled into the parking garage, taking note only of the time.
It was 7:57.

____
disclaimer: I wrote this entire update in like 3 hours and did not proofread at all, because I'm lazy and probably a bad person.
What I'm really trying to say, is that if you see any mistakes, feel free to point them out and make fun of me/them mercilessly.
Anyway, thanks to all who have read this far, you are brave souls.
Lastly, I realize this talks a lot about shoes, but I wanted to highlight all of the weird, little things that can bring on anxiety.