So I walk into the cafeteria one day, and my stomach starts to flutter. I’m not sick or anything, in fact I’m starving, but I already know that none of my friends can make it to lunch with me. I start looking around for a place to sit. I do a lap around the tables, looking for a familiar face, and I see a lot of eyes staring at me, but none of them are inviting, and I can imagine them thinking, “wow, doesn’t she have any friends?” They break eye contact. I walk a little faster. There’s a big ledge for people to sit by themselves and eat, known by many names, but my friends and I have dubbed it “Loner Ledge.” It’s right in the middle of the cafeteria. Anyone who sits there is plainly visible to the rest of the diners. There are little booths and tiny corner tables that are more hidden, but all of them are taken, and when I look at the people sitting there, they sort of glare at me territorially, like, “don’t even look at my table.” By this point, I feel like everyone in the entire cafeteria is watching me and pitying me. I realize that I’m going to have to eat by myself.
With a sense of panic, I push against the judgment and set my belongings in front of a chair on Loner Ledge, then I take my time gathering my lunch. As slowly as I can, I meander over to the mashed potatoes and mac and cheese. The cafeteria worker running the station has this look on his face, clearly wondering why this girl is taking so long. I ask him for my food very clearly, pronouncing every syllable like there was molasses on my tongue. With a “yeah, whatever” kind of look, he hands me my plate. I get my drink and silverware just as carefully, just as panicked, because I can see out in the dining area, my seat is waiting there, right where all the eyes can see me. And I don’t want the eyes to see me.
Eventually, I have nothing else to get. I square my shoulders back and slap a mask of indifference on my face and stride through the mix of my laughing peers to plop down at Loner Ledge. I try to strike the balance between eating quickly so I can retreat, and eat slowly so those watching eyes don’t think I’m a pig. As a result, the process of chewing becomes awkward, and every motion in my jaw feels completely unnatural, and I’m absolutely positive that every single person in the cafeteria is watching me struggle to eat like I’m some kind of infant. I get sweatier and sweatier with each bite until I’m shaking, and I’m trying so hard to convince myself that no one will remember this in a week. No one will post about it on social media and make fun of me for being the only one on Loner Ledge today. It won’t matter in the long run. But it feels like it matters.
I finish my lunch and put it in the dish return, and with a sigh of relief I step out of the cafeteria into the rays of sunlight that I’d forgotten were shining. In a matter of minutes, I’ve stopped sweating, stopped shaking, and my worries have begun to fade. I go about my day in relative peace.
But all their judgments were nothing more than my own anxieties.
