About Hadas

That is to say, she’s very quiet, except for when she is not.

(“It must be funny”, she thought to herself, as she wrote what she wrote, “to know someone only through words, and to feel as though you really know them”. Her next thought was that they would never know her, even if they thought that they did, and they often did feel that way, for some reason. As for herself, she usually preferred to assume that she didn’t know anything about anyone, aside from perhaps their birthdays, and color preferences, and other tiny tidbits that seem essential and captivating and possibly invigorating until you walk away from the conversation and realize that nothing at all, nothing of any true importance, was said for the last hour and twenty minutes, and you could have sworn that the both of you were talking).

The ambiguity of quiet, not quiet is solved (in her mind, at least), by the supposition that there are two entities dwelling simultaneously within her, and as long as they avoid each other, the quiet-her and the loud-her, she is fairly confident that her body will not explode, with a comic-like “kablooi” sound, into tiny little pieces. She also suspects that the tension between the quiet-her and the loud-her will eventually culminate in a passionate love affair (with the quiet-her, surprisingly enough, being the one that sends flowers, and writes thoughtful little notes to show that she cares, and the loud-her being continuously surprised by these gestures, and promising to reciprocate, which she rarely does), and she shudders (with horror? with ecstatic delight?) to think what kind of offspring will emerge from this union; then again, the quiet-her and the loud-her are both women (she’s entirely certain of that, most of the time), so maybe there’s nothing to worry about.

(“Why, though”, she pondered, later on, as she drove her monster truck through a crowd of screaming pedestrians – 2 injured, none killed – “why must it be funny to know someone only through words?”)