Best Friend or Worst Enemies?

March 24, 2011
By Anonymous

I walked into school this morning, I saw a girl, her hair was greasy, her clothes were weird, and why she wore them no one knew. She was short, a bit thick, she was weird. She still had braces, zits covered her face, and she didn’t wear makeup. Her jeans wee too baggy, and her shirt was way too big for her. She smelled like smoke. Her hoodie was huge. It could have fit ten of me.

She saw me staring and instead of shrinking away into the shadows she took it as a sign of friendship. It wasn’t. It was because she was weird, and different. She waved at me smiling, looking hopeful. I gave her an up and down and passed, not offering a friendly countenance. She didn’t deserve it.

I did it again I made snap judgments, I was prejudiced, biased, and unfair. I acted like everything I was calling her inside. But I bet if everyone looked like their character and personality. She’d be a lot prettier than me. Boys would flock her, and she’d deserve it. She wouldn’t give others the up and down. She’d wave to them. She’d be the better side of me.

She’d be the me I never could be. She’d be the popular beautiful one that everyone wanted to be, be friends with, or go out with. And she’d be good at it. She would be nice to everyone. I was scared to, I thought I could. I thought I could be popular and stay friends with my old friends. I couldn’t.

Just trying to include them in something would make the others give me weird looks, make them want me to leave. So eventually I stopped asking. I ditched my old friends, leaving them in the dust. I ditched her.

Now she’s the weird girl no one likes, and everyone gossips about. And I don’t have the guts to help her. To risk my status, my social life, I’m not brave. I know why she wears such big clothes. It’s to cover the bruises. To cover up what her dad does to her every night when he comes home drunk. It’s to cover up her scars. That she gets while her mom sits in the corner all purple and blue.

She used to be my best friend. In 1st through 5th she came over to my house almost every weekend. Staying with my mom during my sports practices. I never knew why. My mom did. Her parents were always drunk. Her mom figured dumping her at my house would fix everything. Not that I minded. I loved it.

Now here we are, not speaking. Only looking at each other when forced. And while I was giving her the up down, I saw it in her eyes. The silent pleading, the whispers, the memories, the urging, the friendship, the secrets. Everything that I’ve been missing. I could get it all back no questions asked.

But that would risk my status, my popularity. That would risk everything I worked so hard to be. And it would be worth it. Just to see her smile again. To have my old best friend. It would all be worth it, if I could work up the guts to do something about it. She was my best friend, and I know treat her like my worst enemy.

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