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.