Seamless Vanity

The silence was mortifying. Her thoughts struggled to form, beckoning some sort of interaction, some proof she wasn’t alone. The class was always inevitably empty, all but the computers that with their many viruses and crashes and lack of dependability seemed more human to her than any flesh and blood companion. And so she saw her life pass, floating away on that Windows logo that seemed too 1995 for her taste. The irony of her isolation. She could reach the far corners of the world through a simple phone jack and yet she was the epitome of that sad old tune they play in elevators. Eventually, that tune is going to get so stuck in your head that monotony leads the chorus.

Perhaps that’s a tad harsh. She had friends, but they seemed to hear with deaf ears. Whatever she said meant nothing to them for truly does it ever lest it involve them. Then, the gates of hell couldn’t stop them from gossiping like rabid housewives without TV. Who said what about who and who knew what about whom and planned on blackmailing their boyfriends for the combination to who knows what. It was pointless repetitive crap that while she never forgot, she wished every day to have the same ignorance as her peers if it meant some peace, quiet, and serenity in that old classroom.

The classroom had everything she’d ever wanted: a reliable spot in front of the corner computer in the far distance, a printer, the occasional addictive cup of coffee or chocolate-topped, cream-filled donut, internet access to her many faceless admirers, and of course that old newspaper. She didn’t care who read it. It was like a child playing with putty, trying to fit every column and every picture and every caption into just the right spot. It was harmony… It was a job.

The calm that came with it was a wonderful retreat from the hectic mobs and lines of people and countless feet seeking to, no matter if they’re on the other side of the courtyard, step on her new shoes. It’s like dogs to raw meat. They smell feet and they run for the chance to scuff.

She played along with the drama nonetheless. The who’s who? She fed off it like a banshee and she loved it, mainly because she saw herself disconnected from it. It wasn’t so much she thought herself above it all but just the dose of them hanging off her every word that made her seek companionship. They were so gullible. So trusting. They were the most easily manipulated group of dumbbells she knew and yet as part of her secret life, her self-actualized hypocritical attitude towards them, it would make her career. Every word, every scuffle with family, every car accident or stupid joke or unexpected pregnancy thanks to the mailman, she remembered, and as soon as she left that room, she was going to write it down. She was going to show everyone the true vanity of their existence, the inconsequential obsessions and quirks of their lives.

After all, they’ll drool over anything with their names on it, whether they seek the hidden scorn, or listen with deaf ears.

But then again, that’s if she ever leaves that room, for whether she knows it or not, she has made her cell and vanity has made her jailer. She was sure she heard laughter outside the bars, behind that door, but she wasn’t ignorant enough to find it.

It hid… under all her hypocrisy, false promises, and endless self-imposed solitude, the true cause of her valiant jailer.