The Room

The feeling of an outsider, of me looking through a window of a room full of chattering mouths and roaring laughter and flailing arms and tapping fingers, will always be locked in inside of me. I can't help but wonder if there is something wrong with me. Believe me, I'm trying. Sometimes, when I take a step closer, to wipe off the fog that is building up because I can't see clearly -- because of my heavy breathing, or rather because of the snow outside -- the room goes silent. Hundreds of heads turn toward me, with eyes somewhat piercing through me like a thousand blades. The chattering stops abruptly and I feel like I could hear a pin drop. I am still standing there, I can't look away, I can't move away. It feels like an eternity, as if I'm physically frozen and frozen in time. I finally lift my leg up and take a step back. The talking heads go back to face each other and stuff their ears with sounds and noise and throw it back out through their mouths. I can feel relief rush through my body. My head is no longer wrapped in rubber bands, waiting for a science experiment to happen. I am now, again, one step away from the room. I have no plan whatsoever -- but the room intrigue me to no end, I feel like I have to go in. I still wonder how to get in without those people trying to render me defenseless again. Will they finally risen from their leather chairs and stab me with a silver fork? Or will they clap their perfectly manicured hands together in a spectacular manner -- welcoming me?