Current Date: November 24, 2023
Character: Kazumi Eto
Race: Human – Meta
Age: 33
Current residence: Port-Vila, Vanuatu
How did things tumble out of control the way they did? It has been a few months already and I still wake up in the morning and wonder how I did not see it. For years, we had been doing fine. For years, I had been the one they vented to as needing it—their friends were not truly friends and only seemed to see them as a butter of sorts; they were the one who offered for us to share living accommodations though I had already had the house I had been renting and they moved in with me since it was bigger with a larger yard.
For some years we lived together. I felt that they loved me as a friend would and I found myself returning that sentiment. We had been drawn together as we had been from the same school. There were—still are, as far as I am aware—a few others who also went to the school we did, who came here. I have no idea how it might happen; the school was not huge by any means, but it does seem as though we are drawn to our own.
Not that I spend any time with them. Their behaviour with my friend—ex-friend, I guess now—made it clear that I wanted little to do with them and I know that with my selective mutism, they would have seen that as the perfect excuse to try and get away with even more things that would not have ended well for me.
Instead of thinking too much about the fact that the house is now as quiet inside as it was when I first moved in—something I find myself not minding as much as I could, though I do somewhat miss the companionship—I spend more time in the garden as I tend to always do. It is my place and I still tend to it as it deserves; it is that one friend that will never truly leave me.
We were sitting around the breakfast table, and I was bringing them the usual plate of breakfast that we shared every so often; I set the plate down, offered them a smile as I’ve done thousands of times before, and I turned to go and get the two cups. Coffee for them, tea for myself. I barely had time to pick up both of the cups that they snapped at me; they told me that I had best keep my sappiness away from them until they’d had that first cup of coffee.
Now, there have been times when they have been grumpy in the morning. There are nights—were nights—when sleep was elusive for them, and they struggled to get a good bit of rest. The other times, it was because they did go out to locations that mattered little to me and did come home smelling somewhat of alcohol. I never held that against them.
On that morning, things didn’t happen quite in the way they had before and even without so much as an explanation, they went on a tirade about how I’m too touchy—I’m not, not really, the only times I might have brushed against them or touched them was while offering plates of food or helping with tasks—and about how I was just using them and—well, there was a whole lot to their anger that morning and I couldn’t understand most of the reasoning behind it.
Most of the things they accused me of were things I didn’t do. One of those accusations was about how I talked too much, too loudly, too crassly. It’s hard for me to even form words and here, at home, my selective mutism had eased somewhat, but just barely and only ever so while I was in the garden, and they were the one to initiate the discussion.
I don’t know what came over them. All I know is that within a few hours, they had packed up their clothes—everything in the house was mine—and they were gone. I didn’t even really have time to try and wrap my mind around anything. How was it that I was accused of being too sappy—I was bringing them their coffee—and how did that set everything off?
In a way, I suppose I may never know. I think that I might have expected them to come back just a few days later; maybe a week or three so that they would have time to blow off the steam that had clearly accumulated inside, but no. They’ve been gone; they haven’t reached out and I have no idea if they even still are here at all.
What can I do, truly? It feels like a betrayal of sorts, but I deal with it, at this point. I have work to do and while it isn’t truly work since it involves the gardens at a few different places, it still is work and I cannot spend my time brooding at home. I can live by myself if I have to.
Works of JD Beckett 