She was the quiet one. The other was the bossy one. There were peaceful days when they got along fine, like good enough friends, each doing her own thing.
Then there were other days. The bossy one acting all private and thoughtful and the quiet one getting more and more anxious, her little world invaded, wrecked. But she was nothing if not accommodating and she tried to adjust. But she didn’t understand. The bossy one had it all, good looks, breeding, friends, grades and the faculty loved her. Why on earth would she want my world too? My quiet, bookish, artsy world?
But the bossy one did. That’s exactly what she wanted. Because she was limitless. She was boundless. If she saw something she liked, she wanted it. And she would have it. So her friends wondered about the whole new book-worm thing, and the writing and all the stuff they didn’t really expect from the bossy one.
One day, the bossy one was in the reading room at the library, staring into space, a book open before her, new reading glasses resting low on her nose, looking for all the world like a deep thinker, her journal at the ready to capture her many insights. And the quiet one happened see her and went to join her at the long polished wood table, the hush of serious study all around them.
The bossy one looked at her with contempt and the quiet one stopped cold before sitting down.
“What’s the matter?” said the quiet one, all innocence.
“Nothing. Just…well, why do you have to be such a copy-cat?”
The quiet one cocked her head, confused. “Me?”
“Yes. You’re such a copy-cat.”
And with that, the bossy one pushed her glasses up on her nose and returned to her book, a barely perceptible smile playing at the edges of her mouth.
The quiet one backed away, and turned to go, head down, shoulders hunched. She felt hollow and uncertain and headed towards a tiny dark corner of the library where she could be alone.