I think humans are basically built to perform. We spend our lives putting on these little plays for each other because we’re terrified of what happens if the audience leaves. For me, the play started in a locker room in a town where the only thing to do was play football or get into trouble. I remember sitting on those cold metal benches, surrounded by the smell of old gym bags and AXE body spray, listening to the guys talk about girls they’d hooked up with. I’d nod along and laugh at the right times, but inside, I felt... nothing. Just a total, blank silence. It’s weird how we can mimic a feeling so well that people don't even notice the soul is missing from the room. But then Leo would sit down next to me. He’d just finished a lap or whatever, and he’d sit so close our shoulders would brush. And suddenly, the world wasn't quiet anymore. It was LOUD. My heart would do this weird, frantic dance against my ribs—actual butterflies, like they talk about in movies but I thought were just a metaphor. I’d be staring at a hole in my sneaker, trying to breathe, terrified that if he looked at me he’d see right through the act. "You good, man?" he’d ask, and I’d just grunt something and shove my jersey into my bag. We call it friendship because that's the only label we have for it in a place like that, but I knew it was something else. I knew I was lying to everyone, including him. Now I’m twenty-one and I spend my days in a house that smells like formula and laundry detergent. Most people my age are out there actually finding out who they are, but I’m just... here. I love my kid, I really do, but sometimes I feel like I'm disappearing into the wallpaper. I look at my life and I see this version of a person that everyone else is happy with, but it feels like I’m still that kid in the locker room, just pretending to be the person they want to see. Humans have this capacity to live entire lives inside their heads while their bodies just go through the motions of what’s expected. It’s exhausting to keep up the facade when you're also trying to remember to buy diapers and pay the electric bill. I feel so much guilt for even thinking this. I have a house and a family, but there’s this massive part of me that’s still stuck in that high school hallway, wondering what would have happened if I’d just reached out and grabbed his hand.