Requiem

There is a girl in one of my classes who looks so much like one of my best friends in Junior High. I stare at her sometimes and I hope she hasn’t noticed.

My friend was bright, daring, funny, and brave. We spend countless hours goofing around uptown, flirting with ridiculous boys we met, and generally getting into the sort of trouble you fondly look back on as an adult.

She was so adventurous. She would do anything on a dare like switching people’s lunches on the table when they weren’t looking or purposefully asking teachers embarrassing questions.

She was artistic too, especially when it came to sculpting in clay. She once made a teapot shaped like a knight’s steed that floored the class and teacher.

She was pretty, loved horses, and spoke fluent Polish.

We lost touch a little bit in high school because we took different classes, but always greeted each other and were delighted to find we were in the same lounges or study halls.

After school, she got married and moved to the West Coast. She didn’t really know anyone and was lonely, so she experimented.

Crystal Meth gave her a stroke at 24.

Her husband, who was so young, couldn’t deal and divorced her. Her parents took care of her.

I haven’t seen her, but another friend reports that she can’t keep track of a conversation anymore and she’s lost her prettiness. Her eyes are no longer symmetrical.

The strangest thing is that this girl in class looks the way she did in Junior High, before her slim glamour of high school. It’s very strange, indeed.