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I wish I could talk to you.

The inner turmoil of a socially anxious girl seeing her long-time crush at a concert.

By A. B.Published 3 years ago 3 min read
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Image by StockSnap from Pixabay

The lights are bright; the music, delightful. I can see you there but I won’t be able to speak to you. Somehow, the words don’t come out or sound incredibly clumsy, rather like pointless babbles than actually sensible conversation. I really wish I could sound sensible right now.

You have seen me now. I am not sure what is going through your head. Your group of friends know me well and I have travelled a long way to attend this concert. You politely say hi whilst a nonsensical stream of niceties spurts out of my mouth. I really wish I could be sensible right now.

Somehow, I feel really drawn to you. I glance your way. Now this is creepy. I am trying to distract myself by speaking to various members of the group. At least I am not tongue-tied with them. But I still struggle to be myself. Every word I say seems rehearsed, then analysed. I think people can pick up on that. The vibe changes. Did I say something wrong? Is it just me fabricating this?

I make my excuses to go to the bathroom. Ten minutes of respite before going back in the ring. Why did I come in the first place? Alone? It seemed like a good idea at the time but now I am starting to doubt myself. I know we have so much in common. We used to speak, once. But now, I can’t even string words together without feeling incredibly awkward. We both have similar passions, but I have always been scared of really pursuing them properly. I have also always been terrified of living, really. However, you seem to really embrace it.

It’s funny, but I realise that I don’t really know you that well. I know a version of you, mostly through brief encounters. I know your passion and am a big fan of your work. Maybe that is what it is. I am star-struck. Oh dear.

Concentrate now. How am I going to re-join the group? I might just shuffle back next to the guy I had just been speaking to. He’s really friendly. I hide behind my glass, sip quietly on my straw and move a little to the music. To be honest I have danced properly at concerts before but I feel really self-conscious today. I think of all the times we have spoken one on one; times where I have not been able to tell you why I can’t seem to speak to you now. I feel like you would like to know why too. But then again, it could just be me attempting to mind-read people again.

‘What are you drinking?’. I am taken aback. He actually spoke to me! ‘Apple and mango’. No alcohol in this drink; I am way too out of my comfort zone to even think about getting drunk. However, I admit, the charm of being able to say ‘didn’t mean that, I was drunk’ does appeal at times.

The final song. Already? It has been a great concert; shame that I wasn’t able to be ‘in the moment’. I always seem to think about what I’ve done in the past or become anxious about what is about to happen now, in a week, in a month…

I hazard a ‘it’s been a great concert,’ trying to do some small talk. I am so bad at small talk. The lights come back on; it’s time to leave. I say bye to the group, making sure to give eye contact to everyone. Yes, even him. My stomach tightens. I find my way to the exit.

Again, I wasn’t able to talk to him. A gush of disappointment washes over me. I know I will thinking about every single detail of tonight’s encounters: what I could have said or done differently. What they all thought of me. What he thought of me. It doesn’t matter now. My chance has gone… until next time?

The end.

Short Story
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About the Creator

A. B.

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