“I saw you on the bus yesterday,” Barbi said as I sat down next to her at the desk. “You looked like a corpse. Just staring into nothing.”
I felt a wave of shame hit me. Caught red-handed. Who would’ve thought someone would actually notice me on the 4:30 bus at the station? I tried to come up with a clever lie, but the situation was hopeless.
“The truth is,” I began, blushing, “that I like to daydream before the bus starts moving.”
“I tried waving at you,” my desk mate said, curling her lips in disapproval, “but you just sat there, pressed against the window like a mannequin. I think you should stop doing that. You looked awful.”
I was mortified. How had I never thought of this before? Anyone could have seen me! What if it spreads around school—or worse, the whole town—that I sometimes sit there, frozen like an idiot, blind and deaf to the world? Crap. I really need to cut this out. At least outside the house.
“Are you finally going to tell me what’s wrong with you?”
My mom’s eyes were practically shooting sparks.
“Nothing,” I replied weakly.
“Don’t give me that ‘nothing’ nonsense,” she snapped, planting her hands on her hips. “You think I don’t notice you moping around the house all day with that sulky face? Is cleaning really such a burden? Don’t deny it—that’s what you’re mad about! Do you think I enjoy spending my entire day in the kitchen?”
“Seriously, I’m fine. I just tend to daydream at times like this.”
“Oh, please!”
She turned around with an angry huff.
“What, do I have feathers growing out of my back?” she asked, fuming.
I could barely hold back my laughter.
“No,” I whispered.
“Then don’t treat me like a bird, okay?”
She shook her head.
“You’re either lying, or you’ve completely lost it.”
“Ew!” István shouted when he saw the photos of me. “You look like a corpse in every single one!”
Since it wasn’t the first time I’d heard that comparison, it didn’t sting as much. This time, I hadn’t been caught secretly daydreaming—I had just been trying really hard to keep my mouth shut. I knew there would be tons of pictures taken at the event. I had no choice. Better to look lifeless than to let my colleagues immortalize the chaos that is my crooked teeth.
“It’s cute that even now, in your thirties, you still fantasize about so many things,” my friend said, gently stroking my arm. “For me, the present and reality have always been more important. Aren’t you afraid you’re wasting your energy on things that don’t matter?”
She finally opened my eyes. Because yes—it is a waste. That’s when I realized: every imagined conversation, every scene, argument, triumph, every passionate lovemaking session—I need to write them all down.
Why? Simple.
So others can enjoy them too. Especially those who never daydream.
I’ll do the daydreaming for them—and tell them the story.