Once there was a girl I found crying at the back of the tree
near the spot where I stood waiting for the bus en route home. The sun was
finally kissing the edge of the sky when I took a peak of her sitting
there on the cold hard ground. She’s hugging her legs so hard it felt like it would explode. But it
didn’t. I approached her without making any noise. And as my shadow towers over her, she lifts her head
up to look at me with her mascara smudged all over.
I felt a deep
connection.
I am not a big fan of lending shoulders to random strangers
but I knew in her eyes that she’s got a story to tell. She needs someone to listen. I sat next to her and without me even asking any permission, she blurted out what she's been keeping inside for quite some time.
And this is what she told me:
And this is what she told me:
“I’m not exactly sure
if it was a Monday or a Tuesday but I can remember as clear as the water inside
this drinking bottle of mine that it all happened in our sophomore year – an
epoch in the rollercoaster ride that is high school. The initial of her last
name is the edgy and funky version of mine; making the distance between our
desks a little less closer than the distance of Halsey and Andrew while hanging
out in the backseat of their rover.”
She laughs while referencing the overrated-i-wish-would-go-away-now
song of the year.
“I can’t remember any fragments of how we first met. I’m not even sure if my memory decided on its own to filter out that moment, because to be quite honest recalling that time is like finding a needle in a haystack. Thank heavens, though.”
She laughs once more.
“Sometimes, there are just inexplicably amazing things that my withered brain does. For the sake of this conversation though, remembering it would be really convenient but I don’t really mind at all if I can’t paint you the picture of that one legendary moment that impacted not only my existence but also my passivity and self-proclaimed creativity, do you?”
She looked at me as she uttered those words. I tell her no and let her continue her story.
"Unfortunately, our proximity led us to a number of spontaneous hang outs and what nots. We actually didn’t click at first but I have to say we did few months on. Those days were great, fun indeed. We would share some random likes and dislikes. The memory of the day we met may have been faded and washed away, but that legendary white touch screen of hers that I would occasionally borrow would never be forgotten. From the old school soundtrack of the DCOM that I truly love to the still country-ish and demure era of Taylor Swift, all of these were in the playlist that I created in her phone for my own pleasure. Talk about those days when the existence of smartphones was far out of my mother’s league”
“I can’t remember any fragments of how we first met. I’m not even sure if my memory decided on its own to filter out that moment, because to be quite honest recalling that time is like finding a needle in a haystack. Thank heavens, though.”
She laughs once more.
“Sometimes, there are just inexplicably amazing things that my withered brain does. For the sake of this conversation though, remembering it would be really convenient but I don’t really mind at all if I can’t paint you the picture of that one legendary moment that impacted not only my existence but also my passivity and self-proclaimed creativity, do you?”
She looked at me as she uttered those words. I tell her no and let her continue her story.
"Unfortunately, our proximity led us to a number of spontaneous hang outs and what nots. We actually didn’t click at first but I have to say we did few months on. Those days were great, fun indeed. We would share some random likes and dislikes. The memory of the day we met may have been faded and washed away, but that legendary white touch screen of hers that I would occasionally borrow would never be forgotten. From the old school soundtrack of the DCOM that I truly love to the still country-ish and demure era of Taylor Swift, all of these were in the playlist that I created in her phone for my own pleasure. Talk about those days when the existence of smartphones was far out of my mother’s league”
“Moreover, some would think that I was fortunate to have her as an f-r-i-e-n-d.”
She emphasized each
word, one by one. And I wondered why.
“To some, she was the epitome of black beauty; a complexion that contrasts the brightness of her eyes – as how I see it. Some would also consider her as one of the human versions of that two-inched book that we had in our Biology class. I am pretty sure that her brain has an implant of a scientific calculator. It’s actually an unfairly constructed brain in which both logical and creative hemispheres are far well-developed. The internal and external voices surrounding my average, easy-go-lucky and fat-ass self says I should be envious.
But there are just things that cannot be.
At the very least, I knew enough that the prospect of being her f-r-i-e-n-d incites an inner kind of turmoil. As how I’ve always seen it or should I simply say as how she’s always made me feel in the latter part of our f-r-i-e-n-d-s-h-i-p, I found out that the attraction of infinitely opposite poles will only lead to an extreme collision; an explosion beyond understanding – to science’s dismay.
Our anatomy book was also wrong when it stated that there are only three layers on our skin – because she had infinite layers attached to hers. No one would ever thought of peeling off her façade because it was her asset, aside from her intelligence beyond compare. As stupid and naïve as I was, I failed to see what lies underneath her pretty face.
She wasn’t what the people thought she was; she wasn’t what I thought she was.After stepping out of our circle and ditching the originals for a much more beautiful, glamorous and famous bunch, I’ve always wondered why she has ever considered spending time with me and the losers club. It’s hard to decipher it before but as I sit here in this cold hard ground and see a random photo of her and her beautimous bunch, I finally understand. I’ve actually understood it long before when she left, I’m not really sure why I am weeping about this today.”
“To some, she was the epitome of black beauty; a complexion that contrasts the brightness of her eyes – as how I see it. Some would also consider her as one of the human versions of that two-inched book that we had in our Biology class. I am pretty sure that her brain has an implant of a scientific calculator. It’s actually an unfairly constructed brain in which both logical and creative hemispheres are far well-developed. The internal and external voices surrounding my average, easy-go-lucky and fat-ass self says I should be envious.
But there are just things that cannot be.
At the very least, I knew enough that the prospect of being her f-r-i-e-n-d incites an inner kind of turmoil. As how I’ve always seen it or should I simply say as how she’s always made me feel in the latter part of our f-r-i-e-n-d-s-h-i-p, I found out that the attraction of infinitely opposite poles will only lead to an extreme collision; an explosion beyond understanding – to science’s dismay.
Our anatomy book was also wrong when it stated that there are only three layers on our skin – because she had infinite layers attached to hers. No one would ever thought of peeling off her façade because it was her asset, aside from her intelligence beyond compare. As stupid and naïve as I was, I failed to see what lies underneath her pretty face.
She wasn’t what the people thought she was; she wasn’t what I thought she was.After stepping out of our circle and ditching the originals for a much more beautiful, glamorous and famous bunch, I’ve always wondered why she has ever considered spending time with me and the losers club. It’s hard to decipher it before but as I sit here in this cold hard ground and see a random photo of her and her beautimous bunch, I finally understand. I’ve actually understood it long before when she left, I’m not really sure why I am weeping about this today.”
I interrupted her for a second because of my curiosity towards the word beautimous. She told me that she saw this word on an article written in a magazine. She said that it’s a hybrid of the words beautiful and glamorous. I laughed at the thought of it.
I disregarded her improper usage of words and listened to what else she had to say.
“She want to be friends with a stupid, fat (She, 201*) teenage girl like me because she wanted to make herself feel better than what she’s already feeling. She’s all about walking tall on me; knocking me down and making me feel as miniscule as possible. She just wanted to make sure that there is somebody out there that she can knock down like a bowling pin. I may be wrong with this, but this is how I see things. Oh, I remember that time when my stupidity in mathematics has taken its toll and she just refused to sprinkle some of her blessings. I can still remember how she showed off her intelligence to the beautimous bunch. I can still remember all the teasing and words she told me that made me insecure about my own existence; all those things that made feel uncool and undeserving. I’m pretty sure those weren’t just jokes.
Since then, I always remind myself that someday tables will also turn. I am not sure when but as how I see it today, with her life on pictures posted on different social media, she’s still winning. And as usual, I’m still far left behind – still fat as what she would say to me, still average, still uncool, still undeserving, still a loser.
I hate myself for still feeling so insecure, still feeling like I’m unloved, I’m stupid and never gonna be good enough. I half blame her for how I feel for myself right now. Did I tell you about how she would occasionally embarrass me whenever the guy that I used to like was around? She keeps on making every single thing about her. And I hated it. I hate her. But look at her now, still shining, still smiling. I have got no clue if she’s changed or what. It’s just disturbing to know that ever since she dropped me out of her life, nothing good that I could show her off has ever happened to me. It’s sad.”
She wasn't crying anymore. She was sad but she was also furious. I waited for her to continue whatever she wants to say but she remained silent while staring blankly somewhere. A tear fell from her right eye. I hugged her because I knew deep inside that in some way we share the same story of insecurity. I calmed her down and told her that her timing will come soon enough. I told her that if ever that time comes, I hope it wouldn’t be about revenge.
“She want to be friends with a stupid, fat (She, 201*) teenage girl like me because she wanted to make herself feel better than what she’s already feeling. She’s all about walking tall on me; knocking me down and making me feel as miniscule as possible. She just wanted to make sure that there is somebody out there that she can knock down like a bowling pin. I may be wrong with this, but this is how I see things. Oh, I remember that time when my stupidity in mathematics has taken its toll and she just refused to sprinkle some of her blessings. I can still remember how she showed off her intelligence to the beautimous bunch. I can still remember all the teasing and words she told me that made me insecure about my own existence; all those things that made feel uncool and undeserving. I’m pretty sure those weren’t just jokes.
Since then, I always remind myself that someday tables will also turn. I am not sure when but as how I see it today, with her life on pictures posted on different social media, she’s still winning. And as usual, I’m still far left behind – still fat as what she would say to me, still average, still uncool, still undeserving, still a loser.
I hate myself for still feeling so insecure, still feeling like I’m unloved, I’m stupid and never gonna be good enough. I half blame her for how I feel for myself right now. Did I tell you about how she would occasionally embarrass me whenever the guy that I used to like was around? She keeps on making every single thing about her. And I hated it. I hate her. But look at her now, still shining, still smiling. I have got no clue if she’s changed or what. It’s just disturbing to know that ever since she dropped me out of her life, nothing good that I could show her off has ever happened to me. It’s sad.”
She wasn't crying anymore. She was sad but she was also furious. I waited for her to continue whatever she wants to say but she remained silent while staring blankly somewhere. A tear fell from her right eye. I hugged her because I knew deep inside that in some way we share the same story of insecurity. I calmed her down and told her that her timing will come soon enough. I told her that if ever that time comes, I hope it wouldn’t be about revenge.
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| Words and main artwork by collene. |
collene is 24-year-old self-proclaimed creative old soul who is deeply fascinated by the beauty of music, arts, books and poetry. Catch her wearing her bluetooth earphones on with either a phone or book on hand.
