You look at her and you think she may be nice. But then she opens her mouth. She’s loud. You cringe. You think maybe her loudness is mostly to do with her discomfort. Perhaps she’s like you. Uncomfortable with more than three people in the same room. Maybe you disguise it differently. Or you disguise it better.
But the loudness is overbearing. You don’t really like loud people. They annoy you. It doesn’t matter why she is the way she is. You are bothered. She’s making a fool of herself. You feel like grabbing her and asking her to be quiet. To tone down her exaggerated gestures. Ask her not drink that fast. The drink is making her even more unreal. She gets louder. She annoys you. You are not sure if others realize how loud she is. You wonder if your annoyance has more to do with the fact that you could almost be her. Sympathy turns to self-pity and you wonder if being loud is better than being bitter.
She’s almost beautiful. She’s almost successful. You’re almost loud.