“Sometimes I expect more from others because I’d be willing to do so much more for them.”
Corey and I had been best friends since pre-school and despite our differences we always got along well. She was sociable and fun; I was shy and nerdy. A perfect match. We watched 3 year olds programs on Friday nights, danced to music that everyone hated and laughed at the end of every fight. We were happy.
Until her new best friends: make-up and bra’s, took over her life in high school. I couldn’t compete, they gave her boys and popularity, and I gave her kiddy shows, bad music and embarrassment.
A clichéd sad story, my life could never be extraordinary. Corey started commenting on every detail in my life, always berry this and berry that, she never once uttered a compliment without it benefitting her somehow. I was her shame, and soon I was the awkward cling-on that was obsessed with the popular girl.
A couple years into high school and she'd given me the ‘ignoring’ hint enough: she doesn’t want me around anymore. But our mums were still good friends so Corey would be dragged over to my house a few times a year, as awkward and insignificant as I felt I still had to cater for her.
I still remember that faithful day mum told me we were taking Corey home that afternoon. It was a cold winter day, the frozen air caressing my neck, I was wondering around during lunch break trying to find Miss Popular, secretly hoping that she didn’t put on her bad girl act again.
Break was almost over when I peeked around the corner at the back of the school; confusion hit me like a snowball in the desert. They’d broken into the electricity box and were jabbing at it with what looked like scissors?! I knew they were a bit slow in class but this had become general knowledge since first grade! And the cigarette boxes showed their idiocracy clearly.
I stood there and watched as Skye passed Corey a cigarette and then tried to light it. I stood there and watched as she got electrocuted. I was there when she fell to the floor motionless, and when the others ran away… I was there.
The power had completely paralysed her body: my ex best friend, the popular girl, the smoker. I felt almost as paralysed as she was, had it not been for the puffs of warm air I was exhaling I would’ve thought I was merely a spirit.
By the time a teacher came to see what had happened, I already had the deadly wires in my hands, carefully trying to fix the mess they had made, with the motionless body behind me. I was the guilty party.
Surely enough rumours spread like rain, all of them thinking I was the one who killed her. In a way I did, I didn’t try to stop them, I saw it coming, and I just watched it happen.
Those girls never came forward; and without them I had no witness to confirm my truth, so I was expelled from school. So mum schooled me disappointedly. She lost her friendship along with her goddaughter. I was now a shame to my family. No matter what happened, I was always a shame to someone.
The guilt was too much for me, after all that that stupid girl put me through, this was what she left me with: guilt, helplessness and a section in the newspaper. Why had I not done anything? Why didn’t I find her faster? Why didn’t I know about her addiction? Why?
The questions came from everyone, especially me. I couldn’t handle it anymore, the staring, the rumours, and the hate. So I tried to join her, tried to ask her a few questions myself. You’d think jumping out a car going 120 mph would do it, wouldn’t you?
Well, wouldn’t you?
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