Alone Amidst A Crowd

A/N: This was written barely a year ago my freshman year. The sentiments had swirled around, but mostly this was a creative exercise in mood control, imagery, and 'selective memory.' 

I stand alone in the gym of people. Hundreds surrounded me. They said we have 700 in our class. I don’t know, but I stand in the midst of them, alone amidst a sea of faces. The freshmen welcome party they set up in what they call the activity center, which is a giant awning over a cement slab. And on that slab, scurrying like a colony of ants, are the new students for my college. And I am one of them. Truly, I am alone. I stand behind the bleachers that are situated in the center of the picnic area, watching all the bodies moving past me. How can I be alone in a group of so many people? There are more faces that I can count on both hands standing no more than 5 feet away from me. I know at least a good handful of those faces. One of them is directly in my line of sight. But no one talks to me. I stand silence, and observant, watching all the new students interacting with one another, as I stand here. Thoughts of the societies they had run past us at the beginning of the event niggle in my mind. A group of people I’ll be forced to join at some point, one of them, any of them, but I must join nonetheless. The representatives were liars, all of them. They faked excitement about their societies, they faked excitement about having new freshmen to join their societies, they faked excitement about representing their societies. I saw it in their faces. I see it now. The few that showed their true opinions still stick out in my mind, walking through that second lap in front of us, talking to each other, not caring. I was alone in the bleachers, leaning up against the metal bench next to girls seated on each bench and surrounded by guys standing like I was. And now I’m standing behind a different set of bleachers, these truly empty, as people walk by me, not glancing my way, not minding my presence save to avoid running into me. The girl that knows me sees me, and waves. I wave back. Perhaps we say a few words, but nothing sticks in my mind. She moves on, and I stay where I am, an island in the midst of this living sea. More buoys bob past, more boats sail around me, avoiding my coasts, averting themselves as if it is dangerous shoals they near. Still I watch, and still none greet me, all marching in preset courses around me. But wait! One walks near, and climbs the hill my sands have cast, mimicking my stance as he too reclines on the bleachers. But he too is a derelict, a fellow male ant in this hierarchy of school. The words we exchange are brief, little more than our feelers identifying each other as fellows of the same social class. The exchange done, the tide turns and he’s pulled back into the sea, just another face amidst the ebb and flow of the colony. The activity starts to wind down, and I move away from the bleachers, towards the seats where freshmen are sitting at the back of the activity center, eating their food. Each one unique, yet together they are no more than an indistinct mass, harvesting food for themselves, yet preparing for life in the colony. I find another ant I know, and we talk briefly before she moves on. Another exchange of small talk, of information signals necessary for the colony.
At last I see another ant such as myself, one I’d met before. Surely he can break through this shell of loneliness that’s encased me. But no, it’s not to be. Although I join him in body, my spirit remains detached. We sit in a group of people, on one side of the aisle of tan metal folding chairs they’ve set up for us. Like my time at the bleachers, I sit here, unseen, unheard, and listen to the lapping waves of conversation beating on distant shores around me, as people rubbing up against my shoulders talk to each other or to people across the aisle. There’s scarcely three feet of space between the rows of chairs facing each other, yet it is an impassable gulf for me. Like driftwood I’ve been carried by the sea of people to this empty shore, one desolate of my comrades, although I am flanked by people I know, and few chairs in these rows are empty. The meal slowly winds to its close, and the event ends, although I finish my meal and leave before they officially close the event.

~~~

It has been a week since that day. I have joined my pack, my group of friends, my society. Such an interesting word for company I don’t keep. Since I joined my society, I have seen few or none of them. None have greeted me as their fellow worker, none have welcomed me to their portion of the colony. I walk along the sidewalk of the campus, heading towards the dining hall. People pass me, in both directions, as I slowly make my way towards the food court. Perhaps a head will nod to acknowledge me, or maybe a smile and a quick hello, but none deeper than that. Only a shallow splash, like a wave makes when it patters against the shore- an expected, involuntary sound, meaningless. In solitude I enter the building at the same time as a group of perhaps six people do, and stand in a line at least thirty strong as I wait for admittance to the buffet-style cafeteria. When I reach the front of the line, I give the lady at the register my card and get admitted. I walk through the doors and see a sea of tables surrounding me, a harbor for ships. Most of the ports are filled, the working ants resting, talking, or eating their food. This is the colony’s central hub of social life, where all the students break for friendship and food. Slowly I scour the different lines for food I like, then wait patiently by myself behind eight people for my turn. Ahead of me, I see a member of the society I thought to join. I greet him, and he invites me to sit with him and the group he’s eating with, a group composed of would-have-been society mates. I agree, and get my food and follow him. He points out the table, and then goes to another line to get his food. I near the table, and see seven of the eight seats docking trolleys released from their daily duties. Tentatively I toss my line around the mooring hook, and I can tell by the shift of the nearest boat that I am docking in unwelcome waters. Not hostile, certainly, but I do not belong in this part of the colony. This is for workers of a different class, not my society. They were to be, but they are not, my society. I quietly sit down and wait anxiously for the person who extended the invitation. He returns and sits down across from me, and before we eat he introduces me. The others acknowledge, like the clicking of antennae as they creak back and forth, straining for some signal. I sit quietly and begin to eat. The sound of conversational waves splashes all around me, past me, onto me, but all slide off, as slippery as oil. I eat the meal in silence. When I am finished, I quietly stand and tell them goodbye, churning off into the sea of people, alone amidst a cluster of students all trying to return their dirty plates and silverware. I wait by myself behind at least ten, and when my turn comes I set my plates on the conveyor belt, which removes the last bit of evidence that I’d even entered the dining room. I make my way out of the building, knowing that those I’d eaten with could have been my friends, and knowing that, by my own choice, I’d isolated myself from them. Not because of hostility from my decision to join another pack, but simply because I was part of another pack. I did not belong to their society, and I still do not belong to mine.