The Real Me

All of us are made up of different parts. We are different things at different moments.

I am a dutiful daughter.
When I play this part I listen intently as my mother complains about my brother. I try to console her and convince her not to worry. Everything will be alright. I do as I am told and get the oil in my car changed. I drive hours for family events and get togethers. I help clean up after dinner. I watch the dogs. I watch my brothers.

I am a teacher.
I pretend I have confidence. I hide the fear making my quake inside. I turn the butterflies in my stomach into energy. I crack jokes to ease tension. I send misbehaving students to the principals office and give out detentions. I dread calling parents but when pressed by students I act as though calling their mom is no big deal to me. I listen intently to what other teachers have to say in the teachers room and I keep my mouth shut.

I am a good girlfriend.
I cook dinner. I clean the apartment. I offer to rub his back and shoulders when they hurt. I do the laundry. I make his favorite meal to cheer him up. I bring him his lunch so he doesn't have to worry about it the night before. I tell him I love him. I sit and enjoy his favorite things with him.

I am a best friend.
I offer advice and comforting words. I encourage. I praise. I thank. I hold her as she cries. I say nothing when my advice is ignored. But when it blows up in her face I say, "I told you!" I laugh. I joke. I make funny faces.

But this is me around new people.
I watch as they laugh and play. As they crack jokes. I hear the witty banter. But I am counting the minutes until I may leave. I am counting the minutes until I may return home. Home to my cat and my love. To the place where I am free. Every minute of pretending to be me is painful. Every laugh, every joke, every smile feels forced. I am forever playing a part while the real me cowers inside.