and oh, perhaps I am.

They say I’m reserved.
Quiet.

My first reaction? No way, not in the least.
But I posed this idea to my best friend. She says that, perhaps not, when I’m with her and our other close friend, so comfortable and released. I suppose she’s right. But me, reserved? I feel as if that’s an unfair idea, because it implies too many things.
Out in public, with the eyes of spectators upon me, judging me, waiting for me to fail, of course I’ll be quiet. I’ll fold my hands and smile politely and reply with proper comments. I’ll make the statements that they want to hear, or I make none at all. I don’t initiate conversations—what if they don’t want to speak with me? I laugh and in time, I grow comfortable.

Sometimes, I grow comfortable too quickly. In an effort to gain their respect, I’ll make witty remarks, and suddenly I find myself much more outgoing than I know I am. And then I make a mistake, and the weight in my heart drops. And so I revert back to my previous state, quiet and drawn back, all in hope that they won’t judge me on my one slip.
I am not boisterous. I don’t smell bad—or so I hope.
But I suppose I can be a little misunderstood sometimes. Or am I misunderstanding myself?
Or perhaps I am just a hypocrite. I find the Elizabeth Bennet in me making quick judgments, determining a person’s desires and inner qualities, or lack thereof, with a single glance. And for some, I suppose my discernments are correct.

But within the same moment I hide from judgment, I judge those very people before me.
And they wonder why I don’t go out in public?