Love Under Glasse by Kristina Meister

Author:Kristina Meister [Meister, Kristina]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Riptide Publishing
Published: 2019-04-20T16:00:00+00:00

I’m invisible.

The capabilities of the human race are measured in peaks and valleys. Here I am, sitting on one slope or another, but never an example. I’m one of those tiny details lost in averaging. That isn’t who I want to be, but I can’t compete and I’m not allowed to fail, and so I end up this way.

But I suppose, being invisible is a power. I can haunt this place and walk through every secret, because no one sees any reason to keep them from me.

I notice things about R. I can’t tell what caused them, but I can imagine.

She’s lonely. Not the way most people are, not even the way I am. She’s lonely because she’s complicated and exceptional. She’s on the peak, you see, at the very tippy-top, where only one person can be at a time. Other kids our age can’t even conceive of what her life has been, and they don’t bother to put together the details she does share. They find her off-putting, because she is always so unforgiving and real. They think she’s an unqualified snob, because surely they’re better than her, and so she hasn’t any right to ignore them! They’re the “cool kids.” People should let them have their illusions of grandeur and oh my, what a bitch she is for denying them their make believe.

They don’t realize that she’s already seen some truly terrible things, but that’s because they don’t even know how truly terrible it can get. She’s the cool one, the true Big Fish. She’s that, but she never even bothers to mention it to them, because she’s seen horror and she doesn’t want to frighten them.

How do I know?

Because I’m invisible. I see it when they repeat their parents’ politics and her face hardens, or when they won’t shut up about “having fun” with someone and her dark eyes turn to stone, or when sexual assault is casually mentioned, and she breathes like she’s just finished a marathon. I’m allowed to see it, because I am not someone who concerns her. I’m not a threat, because I don’t exist.

Irony, isn’t it? That the person she cannot see is the one who sees the most of her? I’m not sure I’d have it any other way, to be honest. I can’t imagine what I’d feel inside if every time I looked at her, she tried to hide. I think I’d die if one day, she gave me that same fake smile she gives to others, when she’s tired of entertaining them, and just wants them to vanish.

I’d rather notice that her fists clench when she hears racial slurs, as if she is building the strength to one day crush their faces. Or that when she is disengaged from a conversation she finds disgusting, she tucks her chin to her chest. Most people look up when they are trying to dismiss someone, as if looking for permission from God. I don’t know why, but R looks down at her shoes or her crossed arms.

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