I Can't Relate

"Come on, Theo, I'm just saying that maybe you need to try harder to relate to people."

I stopped halfway through a bite of my sandwich and gazed at my sister across the counter table in the diner. Veronica had ways of reminding me about things like this when I was trying to eat in peace.

"Relate how, exactly?" I asked, though I knew already in which direction this was going.

"I have no idea -- talk about regular stuff. Sports. Movies. Whatever people talk about these days."

See, this whole ordeal started because I suppose I'd been "weird" at her boyfriend's birthday party the other weekend. All I did was sit in the corner and keep to myself while everyone else got drunk and obnoxious. But to Veronica, that made me antisocial or whatever.

"I attempted to speak with Kevin about his career," I said. "Guess what he does for a living. He sells insurance. What do I have to say about that? Great job ruining peoples' finances when they're at their most vulnerable?"

"You didn't actually use those words to him."

"No, but I was thinking them pretty intensely."

Veronica massaged her forehead as if she were getting a headache. She has this about her where she gets me feeling as if I am something that needs to be fixed. She's been doing it since we were children.

"The point is, Theo, you can't just -- you can't just judge everyone all the time. People are trying their best."

"Are they though?"

She paused, took a little sip from her coffee and looked out the window at the parking lot. We were at Mel's, where we'd go with our dad before he moved to Phoenix. It was just the same; same old worn-out vinyl booths, same scent.

"Do you remember when Dad used to bring us here?" she asked, making a change of subject like she always does when our conversations become too real.

"Yep."

"Yep, you were younger then. You used to laugh at his bad jokes."

I remembered. Dad would order pancakes and make silly faces with the butter and syrup. Veronica would laugh every time, even when she got older and she should've been embarrassed. Me too, really.

"That was before I found out he was cheating on Mom," I said.

Veronica went quiet. She'd known there was cheating but we never really ever talked about it. One of those family secrets that everyone in the house knew but nobody ever really talked about out loud.

"He wasn't a bad guy, Theo."

"Wasn't a good one either."

We sat quietly for a minute. The waitress topped off our coffee.

"You know what your problem is?"

She finally spoke.

"I'm sure you're gonna tell me."

"You think you're the only one who sees through the crap. Like everybody's just out here blind and you're the only one who gets it."

I would have loved to disagree with her but actually, she wasn't wrong. I do think that the majority of people are rather good at lying to themselves. They believe that their job is worthwhile, that their love lives are perfect, their existence is somehow more significant. And then there's me sitting here being all like, we're all just gonna die anyway so what's the point?

"Perhaps," I said. "But at least I'm honest about it."

"Being honest doesn't make you better than everyone else. It just makes you lonely."

That one hurt. Because yes, I am lonely. But I always figured that was just the price of admission if you want to get the world as it is.

"So what am I supposed to do? Pretend to care about Kevin's insurance stories? Laugh at jokes that aren't even vaguely funny? Put on a show like small talk isn't an abject waste of time?"

"You can try caring for real."

"Kevin might be dull but he does make me happy. And making me happy should matter to you because I am your sister."

I caught her expression and knew she was really upset. Not angry like she usually was, but actually hurt. And that made me feel terrible because the truth is, I do care for Veronica. She's literally the only person I sincerely care for.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I'll try to be nicer to Kevin."

"It's not about Kevin. It's about -- look, I know you think that everyone else is phony or whatever. But maybe some of the fakey-stuff is just people trying to be nice to each other. Maybe it's not about whether the joke is funny or not. Maybe it's about making someone feel nice for five minutes."

I finished my sandwich and thought about this; I see where she is coming from. But I can also not simply flip some switch in my head and voila, suddenly care about things that I don't.

"What if I can't?" I said. "What if I'm just. broken like that?"

Veronica leaned over the table and put her hands over mine. "You're not broken. You're afraid."

"Of what?"

"Of letting people in. Of getting hurt like when Dad left."

I pulled my hand back because this was too heavy for a Tuesday afternoon at Mel's. But she was right about that too, probably. When Dad broke up, I just kinda decided it was safer to not get too close to people. Safer to be on the outside looking in.

"I don't know how to change," I said.

"Start small. The next time someone is trying to tell you about their boring job or idiot problems, just. listen. Don't judge. Don't promise to solve anything. Just listen."

We settled the bill and went out into the car park. The sun was setting and it had this beautiful orange hue (I adore and appreciate nature very much).

"I'll pick you up Friday night and have you over at Kevin's for dinner," Veronica said as we arrived at her car.

"Am I allowed a vote on this?"

"Nope."

I stood there and watched her drive away, considering what she'd said. Was she right that phony was just niceness disguised as itself? Perhaps I'd been so busy protecting myself from getting hurt that I'd forgotten the skills I had for really reaching people.

Or maybe I was just excusing my asshole self.

Either way, I felt like I owed it to Veronica to try. If I couldn't relate to most everyone else, I could at least try to care that they were trying too.

Friday night was going to be interesting.

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