Yes, we’re friends. That’s not even a question. We’ve been through so much together it’s impossible to think about. We trusted each other more than anyone else, more than our own family members even. And you’re still the person I’d call first in the event of a death or a fire or a nervous…
The girl who is behind my bedroom wall is not the little girl who use to throw mud at me. She’s not the girl with the tangled hair and crooked teeth, nor is she the one with the pair of overalls two sizes too big.
I don’t even know who this other girl is. The only thing that looks the least bit Leah-ish is her eyes, but even those have suddenly been changed by the frame of long eyelashes.
When was the last time I looked at Leah? Tenth grade? Maybe ninth? Since when does she look so…clean? And how did she suddenly develop curves?
The only way I know for sure its Leah is by the girls daring attitude and that damn smirk. Leah never let anything get to her, not once. She didn’t care what anyone else thought. She didn’t care about anyone, including me.
This girl put me through hell. She was always doing crazy shit and getting me in trouble. She drug me around with her and made me do her dirty work. She never listened to anybody. She knew what she wanted and nothing was ever going to keep her from getting it. She always had to be the lead in every school play. Which, yeah, she was great and deserved the role, but the thing is she knew it. She knew she was the best, and her confidence annoyed me. What made her so special?
Because of her I had no other friends; nobody wanted to be around the bratty know-it-all and me, her toy. She made herself a social outcast because it suited her.
I couldn’t have been happier the day she decided to let me off my leash. She decided that she needed to devote her time to acting. She basically left me. She didn’t need friends anymore, she had her career. So I joined the football team, made friends, bulked up, and here I am today. Perfectly happy.
…Yeah, perfectly happy with a girlfriend who hasn’t answered the last four text messages I’ve sent her. I look at the clock and it reads 2:34 a.m. I jump off my bed and walk into the hallway. I hear water running. As I get closer I hear the soft voice that is singing a timeless song absently. A voice I hadn’t heard sing in four years.
The first time I heard her sing I was memorized. I remember it was the lyrics to the little music box she kept in here room. I watched her stand there and sing to herself as she tried to manage her mess of hair before her mother got home and fussed.
I hate sounding cliche, but she honestly sounded like angels, to my ten year old mind. I guess she still does to me.
I sink against the wall beside the bathroom and listen to her sing. Yeah, she was crazy…but she was my best friend, and I cared about her. I admired her confidence. She was interesting, and different; I enjoyed being around her. Out of everyone she had picked me to be her friend, and that made me special. I loved being near her.
Things changed for her though. She started coming over less and less. All she ever did was practice her lines and lyrics. She sounded different when she was singing because she had to. She just wasn’t the same. And one day she left entirely.
It pissed me off. After years of it being just me and her, she leaves to be a loner. I missed her. I wanted her back. I resented her.
I decided to become completely apathetic towards her. I didn’t even acknowledge her in the hallways. I don’t think she ever even looked up.
I had almost forgotten about her. Almost.
The door opens suddenly, and she’s standing there looking down at me, her eyes wide in surprise; they’re much bluer then I remember. Her hairs dripping on my head, and she smells like my own shampoo.
Once again, I am driving. I’m pretty sure driving in rage is up there with driving while intoxicated, but at this point I really don’t care. I need to see Blake. He’s working today, but he always has time to talk, especially when I really need to rant. I’ve been thinking a lot these last few hours. There comes a time in a mans life that causes him to remember the people he knew and consider the people he knows, or thinks he knows. I mean, how well does a person know another person? People say “Yeah, I know him,” all the time, when really they mean, “I know his name and he lent me a pencil in pre calc once,”. Going by that I know a lot of people. But wouldn’t those people we “know” also be ones we knew? I’m never going to be in pre calc again; I’m never going to talk to that guy I use to “know”. How can I compare him, this meaningless unknown, next to someone whom I’ve though to have known and loved? I thought I knew Ruby. I knew her laugh, and the way her eyes crinkled. I knew her cherry scent and her sway. I knew her favorite bands and her best friends. I knew everything…but that hasn’t changed. I still know all those things. I know her voice and the shape of her lips. I know her taste, her eager mouth. I know everything, except for her. It’s not fair that guys get accused of being the careless ones. Girls always blame the guys for the end of a relationship. If a guy breaks up with a girl, it’s because we are “heartless lowlifes who don’t care about a girls feelings”, according to the girl at least. For one thing, why would anyone want to stay with a person who just broke up with you? There’s always that girl who begs and pleads, claiming she’ll change and be better. Change what? If you have to change for a guy to stay with you, why be with that guy? When we break up with you, all you hear is “I’m not good enough,”. It never even crosses your mind that we’re not good enough for you. Breaking up with you is giving you a chance to be with the one meant to love you. We don’t want to hurt you, we want to let you go, so that both of us can be happy. It’s also interesting how often guys are accused of cheating. First off, there is a difference between “guys” and “men”. A guy has no self-control, where as a man gives his whole self to you. I believe that the only thing a girl fears more than being cheated on is having her love look at her with regret. When a guy cheats, you girls act like you saw it coming. “Well, he was a guy,”. Though it hurts and ruins you, you still find the need to act like you knew it was going to happen. You mend so quickly though: You cry, you eat, you rant, you vent, you move on. We realize that it hurts, and we’re sorry that it has to. But you will feel so much better when you’re with the right guy, the one who doesn’t ever have to hurt you. However, when a girl cheats on a man, it brings a pain that can only be compared to the stitching of the heart. Each time she hurts you the needle digs in, puncturing a once perfectly happy vessel. It stings and pulls; but you know that with each tiny stitch you’re getting stronger. The more stitching you have, the harder it will be for your heart to be ripped apart again. Being cheated on is the last thing a man expects to happen to him. Girls are suppose to be lovely and sensible. When guys cheat on girls, their excuse is usually “I didn’t want to hurt you,”. Girls have no problem hurting guys; nothing can stop a girl who is searching for her soul mate. She may feel guilty, but that won’t make her stay. When she cheats on you it’s basically saying that you weren’t even worth having an ending with. It’s also strange how people seem to not think of cheating as leaving. It’s leaving; just because their body is with you and the words are spoken to you doesn’t mean they’re thinking of you. No, their thoughts have left to stroll through sweet memories of secret kisses and hushed words shared with their other. There have been two girls whom I have loved with passion and sincerity…there have been two girls who have left me to re-stitch my wounds. People walk in and out of lives every damn day. They step on memories as they walk out the door, they blow away sweet words with the screeches of truths, and they make you forget the spark in their eyes, leaving only the image of them leaving you. And what is the moment you are left? Was it that last kiss you shared? Or maybe more of a number of memories, compiled to form a bitter short film: Looking for her in a crowded stadium, watching her walk down the halls oblivious to you, seeing her eyes pass over you slowly and then light up when she spots her new friends? Leah and Ruby have only ever inadvertently shared one thing, and that is being loved by me. They are so different that not even I can compare the two in a way that does justice. …And when it comes down to it, out of all the people who have left…Leah is the one whom I wish had stayed.
Jennifer is my Sunday name. It’s the name on my birth certificate and the name I need to use to fill out official forms. Where possible, I don’t use it. It’s not that I don’t like it as a name; I do. It just doesn’t suit me. I’m not a Jennifer, I think. It’s too pretty and…