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| My First Day as a Free Woman. |
I went to school dreading the questions, dreading the stares. All of the girls who will ask me with mock concern, “What happeennnnned?” all drawn out, “I saw your facebook statusssss.”
There will be the boys who put their arms around me and comfort me, hoping that they will be the next one, cooing in my ear, wishing they could feel me up.
All of the girls who will know why I am crying, who will be smug. Who will think to themselves, “I never did like her anyway.” Who will gloat, “And apparently her boyfriend didn’t either.”
There will be boys who avoid me out of sheer awkwardness. What to say? What to do for a crying girl? The answer: run.
All of the girls who will move in for the kill. All of the girls who will say, “finally, I have a shot at Felix Smith.” All of the girls who are more than willing to pass him their STDs.
And so I dressed in a baggy grey mourning sweatshirt and got on the bus and my hair fell around my eyes, which were red, ringed with purple, even after a stoner-dose of visine.
As soon as I walked into the school, there was Jackson, frowning and running over, wrapping me in a hug.
“Rebecca, what’s wrong?” he asked me, holding my hand and looking deep into my eyes. (A brief note on Jackson. Jackson is a player. Though he is a nice enough guy, almost every girl I know has dated him. OK, that’s an exaggeration. Maybe more like 90 percent of girls.)
And I sighed and said, “Felix and I broke up.” (A brief note on Jackson. He already looked at my facebook status and knew this.)
“Oh I’m so sorry,” Jackson told me.
And we walked up the staircase in silence.
And he told me, “Its my goal to cheer you up today Rebecca. Every time I see you, I’m going to give you a hug.”
“thanks,” I said lamely. When we got to my locker, he gave me another hug.
“I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but there are other fish in the sea, he told me meaningfully. “And remember, I’m always there for you.” (A brief note on Jackson, I have never spoken to him for more than three sentences.)
I got into my locker and was instantly surrounded by my friends of less caliber. They are wonderful girls, fantastic girls. But they have less caliber because they are there for me when its convenient. Not there for me 24-7 the way I know Sarah and Megan and Liz are.
These girls swarmed around me, hugging me, burying their face in me, asking me with alarm, “what happened?” or “Are you OK?” or “What’s wrong!?!?” And I gave them a weak smile and the prepared press release. “Felix and I broke up.”
“What?!?!?!” they exclaimed.
“WHY?!?!?!?!” they asked.
“Because we were going to break up when he goes to college anyway,” I said in a dead voice.
All of them started to exclaim all at once.
“What? I don’t get it.”
“Me neither.”
“What kind of a reason is that?”
“I thought you guys loved each other.”
“Wow, I can’t believe it.”
“Oh man, if you two have broken up, I’m giving up on love.”
I just nodded. I couldn’t hold up to the questioning.
As I shuffled towards trig, Sarah tapped my shoulder. All that time she had not said a word. She already understood.
“You want to take this cake to Megan for her birthday?”
I groaned inwardly. Wrapped up in my own self-pity, I had forgotten Megan’s birthday.
“Sure,” I said.
The two of us padded down the hallway and the late bell rang. One tardy boy ran by me. The two of us just kept walking. It didn’t matter that we were late. There were bigger fish to fry.
We went down the stairs. We went through the hall. We came to Megan’s class and opened the door, peering inside.
“Is Megan in here?” Sarah asked confidently. “We have a cake for her,” she added, lifting it towards the teacher like an offering.
“Doesn’t look like it,” she said, was taking attendance.
“Crapola,” Sarah uttered and we let the door swing closed behind us.
We stood there for a second.
“Want some cake?” she offered.
I shook my head no.
“Suit yourself.” She took a piece and got frosting on her nose intentionally, just so she could go cross eyed while she was licking if off and make me laugh.
I let out a miserable chuckle that sounded like an old car starting.
The two of us padded back up the stairs and we reached Sarah’s classroom.
“You going to be OK?” she asked me.
“Yeah,” I said, but I wasn’t sure.
“OK,” she said, and casting me one last wary look, she went to math.
I shuffled into trig a good five minutes late and everyone looked up at me. I looked like a crackhead. My texan math teacher didn’t say anything, upon seeing my disheveled appearance. She continued writing on the board. She wasn’t going to count me tardy. As I made my way to my desk, weaving between people, uttering excuse me, excuse me, the stares continued. There were whispers too. I focused on just making it to my seat.
I sat down at my desk and exhaled. Its weird feeling this way; feeling depressed. It feels like all of the air is gone out of your lungs, and like everything hurts, even sitting down.
As the lesson dragged on, I stared straight forwards. If I didn’t think about anything, I wouldn’t feel as bad. I closed my eyes and watched the geometric patterns and the colors that don’t exist when your eyes are open. I heard a voice,
“Hey you want some MnMs?” Silence for a moment.
And then a tap on the arm. “Hey you want some MnMs?” asked the girl next to me, with a concerned look on her face.
I stared at her, startled.
“Yeah, um, sure,” I said.
I took some from her outstretched hand. Slowly I put one in my mouth and chewed. It melted on my tongue and it occurred to me that I had not eaten since Friday.
“Here, take some more. It looks like you could use them,” said the girl, and she poured the rest of the bag out on my hand and gave me a little smile.
“Thanks,” I said quietly, looking down at the candies. I tried not the cry. The gesture was so kind, and I had never even spoken to her in my entire life.
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