I had a wish...but that was a long time ago. Today's a new day and I try to find the hope in that. In the blank page, new chances, bullshit of it all. I find it difficult though. Two years ago, my friend died of a meth and heroin overdose. I want to make this day special. You see I both graduated high school and turned 18 the same day. So to commemorate this two year anniversary, I'm going to visit her.
I'm also going to full fill a childhood dream of mine. You see, when I was very young, growing up in Redding, CA, we were also, very poor. When the kids at school found out, all bets were off. Great story right? Little weird girl at school makes a friend and the friend beats up the bullies and chases them all away or threatens them until they cry. Wrong. That's not what happened. She didn't save me. Didn't chase them away with a stick or threaten them. What she did do...was far better then that. She saved me...in her own special way. She watched.
She examined. She smirked her pickcie smirk. She looked not at the frightened, scarred little girl I was in front of her, not 20 ft. away, but the strong, cool, confident one I could be. She saw the strength which lurked beneath awkward limbs. The muscles which hid below.
And I never could thank her enough for what she did. Not that I ever got the chance to before it happened.
She came over to me after the kids had gone off laughing. She bandaged up the open wounds the kids had mercilessly made on my child form. She held me as I cried. In less then a minute she had her brother on the line. Welcoming me into her home, she took me into the garage, introduced me to her brother and overall taught me the ruff basics of boxing.
She threw some gloves and headgear at me and I looked at it with an eyebrow raised in confusion. In return she smacked her forehead and looking at me pitifully she helped me put it on. "We're gonna measure your experience," she said, giving me my first glimpse of her pikie smirk.
"Oh," I said once again sounding daft. She shook her head walking over to her brother, who was sitting in the corner, looking like a cool high school er he was.
Over the years her brother and I became quite good friends. We don't talk much anymore. I think he resents me, but we'll get to that, and I think you'll agree it's much deserved.
She was only a sixth grader and I a fifth grader, but she had this calm, cool, collectness about her, that I wanted. I wanted it more then I wanted anything else in the world. To be able to go to school in my grungy handy down clothes and be proud of who I was and where I came from.
We were geared up and ready and I was out of my mind scared. I was in a stranger's house, I was now a juvenile delinquent for skipping school, my mom was going to flip when she found out I had ditched school, I had got the s**t beat out of me at school and was about to get the s**t beat out of me again. And yet, I was far happier then I had been in years. I mean, I was this awkward geeky poor kid, me...ME!
I was hanging out with a sixth grader skipping school at her house.
Showing me proper stance, she stood a couple feet back and said, "Hit me".
"Ugh," I said, always the smart one I was. Now, I didn't want to hit my new friend, if I could indeed call her a friend. So she gave me a little prodding.
"What are you, a wimp?" she teased.
No! I yelled, a little too violently, looking back.
"Well, I think you're a wimp," she stated matter-of-factually with a sneer on her face. Then she nudged me in the shoulder with her glove.
That did it. All the times I had been picked on, beat up, bullied, they all collided in my head, like some kind of fucked up collage.
I punched her square in the jaw of her head gear and you could tell she didn't expected it because as her head flew to the side she smirked her little pikie smirk and as I leaned over to apologize babbling my incoherent sorrys, she came back with a punch that would rattle a professionals brains.
I think I blacked out because all I remember next is that I was on the ground and all she was yelling at me to get up.
"Keep your guard up," and when I starred blankly and stupidly at her yet again she raised her hands to the sides of her head. Then she started to circle clockwise, helping me with my footwork at first and then letting me find out what felt comfortable and natural for me. Continuing to circle clockwise I followed her movements and she coached me on what to do.
"Right Jab."
"Left"
"Keep your wrists strait."
"Guard up"
"Right hook."
"Left"
And then Finally, "Good."
And that, was my first of many boxing lessons in her garage.
So today, for what she did for me, I pack my things and set out on my own adventure. An adventure to see a friend who helped me in her own way, when I couldn't help myself.
I pack light. I need only necessities and a few memories and I am sure I will be content. My ipod and portable charger, two sets of clothes, a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, and all the money I had saved over the years of a part time job. Oh, and a canteen with 2 parts liquor and 1 part monster and a bottle of water. I stop at the old liquor store and flash my fake I.D. Not that it matters, you could slap a library card on the counter and they'd sell to you...I think I heard that library card thing in a book once...a long time ago.
This was my childhood dream. Growing up with nothing and no one, I dreampt of stealing away on my own. Of starting new, finding a place where I wouldn't be judged for what I was, or surrounded by fake people who suddenly liked me because I was pretty.
If your not wondering why a sixth grader was hanging about, wandering through an elementary school, let me open your eyes. She was an outcast, just like me. Not because she was poor, or because her parents were drug addicts (which they incidentally were), but because of what we were. Today, I am a proud lesbian.
I wasn't in middle school yet, so I didn't hear the roomers that circulated around her. And I wouldn't have cared. She was my savior, whatever she was born as, it didn't matter to me.
I found out one night when I was at her house. We sat next to each other on the couch, watching something kids our age shouldn't be watching, her parents didn't care. Which is what I loved about her house. I didn't understand why until later, why they neglected their daughter and why I was always the one who had to bring the munchies to her house. It kills me she followed in their footsteps...it killed her to...HA!...bad joke...horrible joke.
This was my first time spending the night at anyone's house. Suddenly she clicked off the T.V. I sat there wondering why the T.V. had gone off when she startled me with, "Let's play truth and dare!" I shrugged my shoulders and said okay. We walked outside in the cool summer night and went onto the trampoline. We started with a couple warm-up questions, all of which I chose truth.
"Come on," she laughed, "Do something daring." She winked. Then she said truth or dare.
"...Dare," I dared.
She smirked her pikie smirk and looked down embarrassed, "I dare you to kiss me," she said all at once.
"Oh," I said and smiled suddenly feeling...brave and certain.
I leaned over and kissed her on the mouth, our lips parted and I kissed her again and then pulled away, breathless from my first kiss.
She smiled at me, a sincere and real smile. From that point on I considered her my girlfriend. We never had to say a damn thing about dating, it was clear we loved each other.
Now I feel the same valiant pull. The woods beyond this small town are calling to me. The old bark of the tree looks inviting and I set out to a different woods. I walk through, randomly running my hand down the ruff bark to remind myself this is not a dream, but a reality of my making. I'm starting to feel the hope of a new day.
In a week of walking, my legs are sore, the liquor is gone and I stand on the edge of a mountain. I stand at the very edge knowing I have the choice to join her, but also knowing it's not my time. I look over, feeling simply... at peace. A tear rolls down my face, and this is okay. This is where they spread her ashes. I take out a candle I have bought at the store a couple miles from here and a note I have hand written. I sit on the ground, lighting the candle with my lighter and reading the letter one last time;
Dear Beautiful Girl,
You meant the world to me. Yes, I broke up with you. I couldn't take the drugs. I thought maybe me breaking up with you would sober you up. Take a look at yourself. But I won't pretend to make excuses.
I never got the chance to say goodbye. So, to start my new life here in San Fransisco, I sit where your final resting place is and will burn this letter, letting it settle wherever you are. And wherever that is, I hope you have found peace.
Your death still hurts and I suppose it always will.
So in a brief and final words, I'm sorry and I will always love you, my beautiful, beautiful girl.
Sincerly,
Laura Maley
I burn the paper, watch it drift and fall over the ocean. Tears roll down my cheeks and as I leave, I let the candle burn.
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