karissa
when I was in the ninth grade
I became best friends with a cocaine addict
she was beautiful
before third period she would smear concealer all over her face
with her fingers in the bathroom
in the mornings when she walked into English
her mascara would be spidery, flaking
a crumbling halo that surrounded her bloodshot eyes
her hair was a dull platinum blonde
dishwater brown roots creeping up from her scalp
ends fried from blowouts and flatirons
when she got changed for gym class
her pale breasts would bulge out of extravagantly decorative bras
"I can't afford these, really"
she would say, but I knew
this wasn't true
for she lived in a mansion up on Liberty Hill
with her two sisters and two brothers
"I used to be anorexic"
she told me, as we were about to leave the locker rooms
showing me a photo of herself two years prior
ratty hair this time dyed a fox red
ribcage stark against ghostly white skin
then: she put away her phone, entered a bathroom stall
and promptly stuck her fingers down her throat
we would run side by side to warm up
and one day she whispered to me
"I got raped last night"
and I
who had never even been kissed before
blanched, reeling
when I got home I hadn't been able to forget, so I vomited
and faked sick the next day
when I tell the story of my past
self-deprecation is my forte
and people laugh, incredulous
that a goody-
two-
shoes
straight A student
could ever associate with someone like that
I was a comedy of terrors
new kid, no place to go
sitting alone in the bathroom during lunch
before the stoners invited me to eat with them
I left their lunch table after a few months
and went to sit somewhere else
with four Regina Georges
and the only freshman guy on the varsity basketball team
a clan of populars
complete with brand name jeans and
lokai bracelets,
(all of whom treated me like trash,
but I like to leave that part out of this narrative)
in the tenth grade
I became friends with the student body president
she was a senior, flawless,
all five-foot-eight of her.
straight teeth, blinding smile
an infectious laugh, golden skin
a gorgeous honey colored mane
and green-grey eyes that could melt hearts
she was entirely too good for me, I suspect it was pity
that made her take me under her wing
but I was in. and since then it was a series of
status boosts:
student council, prom committee
editor-in-chief
junior class vp
start a club
be unique
fuck
yourself
up
for the sake of expectations
and whatever you do,
don't make friends with the wrong sort of person
but
I never did forget her,
the kind, damaged girl
who did too much crack
the girl who taught me how to sneak out of my house
to escape my abusive parents
I never did, for I was afraid;
the girl who first told me
the way I was feeling
was a result of depression
I lashed out at her and went into denial,
I was not broken like her
I wasn't going to let her ruin me
but little did I know how right she was.
after the ninth grade
I struggled to meet her eyes when I passed her in the hallways
two years went by and we didn't speak
once, junior year, she caught a hold of me
and I was shocked that she remembered my name, but
we made small talk, and she told me my eyebrows looked good
I smiled and gave her the fakest laugh you can imagine,
and I haven't seen her since.
I don't think about her often, because when I do
my skin prickles with shame
because I know
that I am a coward.