Soap

Today, she smelled like vanilla and gardenia. Her summery perfume wafted throughout the classroom while Mrs. Jules taught economics. The scent brought about happy memories of the previous summer, before we were subjected to price ceilings and tax brackets.

            Angelica always had a new scent. Whether it was cherry blossom body wash or tangy citrus shampoo, you could always expect her to smell like she came straight out of an orchard or field of flowers. And everything else she wore, from dresses to nail polish, matched her scent. With her vanilla and gardenia body spray, Angelica wore a white lace blouse and cream skirt. Her nails, meticulously manicured, were a warm brown. Angelica was summer incarnate.

            Of course, with her fancy perfume and runway fashion sense, Angelica would get nasty little criticisms from other girls. “Who is she trying to impress?” or, “She’s just trying to make herself look better than the rest of us” were many of the hurtful lies spread behind her back. And even though I wanted to scream at anyone who said anything cruel about Angelica, I knew that Angelica never even noticed. Just looking into her eyes, I know that she was somewhere far away from here.

            She’s far away from the heavy make-up she wears, even though the bruises are gone. Her mind is somewhere else every time she scrubs her body raw and pink, hoping to clean away the memories of that monster’s hands on her. The pretty perfumes are her way of covering up her scent, the scent she still believes is mingled with his when he continually raped her for months.

            It hasn’t even been a year since I was finally able to get her away from him. Even though I was her best friend, it took until he nearly killed her for Angelica to finally let me drive her to the hospital and then later, the police.

            And now, I wait. I wait for the day when I can see Angelica’s real smile, instead of the one she practices every morning in the mirror before school. I hold her when the pain is too much and she needs to cry, to let all of the pain leave her through salty tears. I spend weekends with her watching silly romance comedies and old fashion musicals.

This is all I can do for Angelica. I wish I could chase away her demons and fight the pain for her, but that’s something only she can do. So I’ll stand beside her and support her with all the love a best friend, a sister, can have for her. And one day, I hope that Angelica won’t need to wear the fancy perfumes and body washes, and only need to bathe with a bar of pure, clean soap.