Envy

I involuntarily scofff and roll my eyes as I watch them jump out of the minivan in a hurry. One by one they squeel and wave their hands above their heads in a lame attempt to ward off the misting rain. As they dart the ten feet from the vehicle to the cafe entrance I get the feeling that a little moisture coming in contact with their perfectly constructed hair-do's would truly be the most upsetting thing to happen to any of them today. What a life. I assume the driver of the minivan is one of their parents who will also come back at a moment's notice to pick them up. Door to door service. A personal chauffeur to take each of them home.

Home. That tiny word encompasses an enormously comfortable way of life, yet these girls don't even know it. They will think nothing of crawling into their warm, dry beds tonight. Maybe they will have a snack first, kiss their family members goodnight, pick out their clothes for tomorrow, and plug in their cell phones to charge for the night. They will probably brush their teeth and wash their faces with nice, warm water and creamy facewash. They will do these things automatically, without any appreciation.

I am perched on the curb across the street, gazing in the large window as I observe them sit down in one of the cafe booths. I imagine myself sitting with them, laughing and gossiping about whatever normal teenage girls gossip about. Maybe clothes, boys, or celebrities. Maybe the blonde one has a crush on a football player who already has a girlfriend. Maybe one of the brunettes can't decide on a dress to wear to the school dance. My heart aches as I daydream of a life where such trivial things hold value.

A puddle has formed under my feet and I feel the fallen rain creep into my torn sneakers. The sweatshirt has gotten so wet that it has begun to transfer onto the t-shirt I am wearing underneath. The shirt was acquired years ago from a shelter, but the sweatshirt is new. Well, new to me. The temperature started dropping last week, so I stole a few things from a thrift store a few blocks away. I ducked behind a rack and threw the sweatshirt on before I noticed that it was three sizes to big and smelled of cigarettes. But atleast it was warm. I pick up the plastic bag next to me filled with other treasures I have collected and retreat to the other side of the sidewalk where there is an overhang. It is getting cold as night sets in, but I try to distract myself by returning my attention to the cafe and daydreaming some more.

The dark-skinned girl with straight, beautiful, shiny blank hair appears to be telling a story. The other girls look at her intently and then laugh in unison. I wonder what was so funny, then I am suddenly annoyed at them for having something to laugh about. Here I am, cold, wet, and all alone on the sidewalk at night. I don't think there is anything that could make me laugh right now. Even if I were sitting with them, I'm sure I would not have laughed at whatever was just said. I know too much about that world.

It must be so nice not to have memories of experiences like mine. These girls have been sheltered and loved their whole lives. They have never had to contemplate where they will sleep at night. They never worry about where their next meal will come from. Hell, even if they decide against the abundance of food that is surely on hand at their homes, they can galivant down the street to eat at a cafe. A meal funded by loving parents, no doubt.

The stomach growls as I watch the waitress come over to take their order. I haven't eaten anything since last night, when a kind passerby offered me a granola bar. No doubt, I greatly appreciated the gesture, but it made me feel small. I always feel that way when people show me pity. However, it is better than the alternative. Most people will not even look me in the eye. They just speedwalk by with a peripheral glace. In my mind I concoct the meal that I would order if I were with the girls inside. A hot turkey sandwich with french fries and chicken noodle soup on the side. Once the meal warmed me up I might order a chocolate milkshake for dessert. The ordering process seems to go on for hours, or maybe I am just hungry. Finally, the waitress collects the menus and walks away and the girls immediately go back to talking energetically.

They look like they are having such a good time and suddenly I feel a heated pulse of anger. What have they done to deserve such a life of luxury? What have I done not to? It is not fair that our circumstances can be so starkly different just because of where we were born, or who we were born from. I hate feeling this way. I know jealousy and self-pity will not get me where I want to be. But, sometimes it is so hard not to hate them. Sometimes I dream of hurting them, robbing them, or forcing them to live a day in my shoes. But, this darkness inside scares me. When I feel the envy turning to rage I know I need to leave. I better walk away now before their food comes.

-KK