Turning Over A New Leaf

TURNING OVER A NEW LEAF

Anonymous

I choose to observe this world, I watch people from the comfort of my own thoughts where I can be myself without risk of acceptance, criticism or cruelty. I have become content eating lunch by myself even though that’s unacceptable by society. I am all right bringing myself to a movie, show or event, buying my own ticket and holding my own hand. I am not like other people who constantly need a friend to talk to or walk with in the hallways. I have realized that I am different. I no longer write hallmark promises of endless friendship in yearbooks but I do still believe all of that is possible. I still have hope.

I had a best friend once. We met in the 6^th grade. She was small, skinny and had short black hair. She was very laid back, wearing a t-shirt, jeans and Old Navy flip flops. She came to me and asked for tutoring, explained to me that  her passing the class was dependent upon my helping her. We smiled as I taught her how to understand fractions.  From that day on we became inseparable – growing differently, but very much together.  I was yin and she was yang. I was tall, and she was short. I was dark and she was light. We were opposites but a perfect pair.

         A sister destiny never granted me; she became a part of my family. Unlike the distant relatives we saw once a year, she came to our house everyday sat and ate dinner, shared stories and updated my mother with her plans for school and college. We often had weekend sleepovers; we sat up and combed each other’s hair, snuck out of the house and endured a night full of mischief. She was my dance partner at every party, every Saturday night for over 7 years. She rode with me to school every day for almost four years. She shared my pillows and helped me cry on them every time a guy broke my heart. She was my ride or die, my companion in war, my shoulder to cry on and best friend to stand by my side. But even best friends break each other’s hearts.

My senior year of high school everything between us seemed to change. She no longer wanted to ride with me after school. She didn’t want to go to the movies, mall or get our nails done. She didn’t even want to eat lunch together. I was confused. I didn’t understand. I just didn’t let it bother me and hoped it was just a phase.  By graduation, I still considered her my best friend but the feeling was no longer mutual. I should have followed the signs but I refused to accept she had changed.

On July 11, 2008 my mother’s eyes flooded with tears as she woke me up six in the morning to see my car. Eggs, tissue, dirt and paint were splattered across the exterior of my car and garage door. I literally walked on eggshells as for the first time in my life, I had witnessed a hate crime. Across the entire windshield she signed with the nickname I called her “Wonga.” I fell to my knees as the air rushed my insides to edge of my throat and back down again. My stomach bubbled and my head was hot with fear, anger and hurt. I balled my fists up and dry cried – no tears came even for my best friend.

For 6 nights she continued to vandalize my car and my mother’s property. She harassed me on MySpace and Facebook. She slaughtered my name all over the internet. My secrets became high school ridicule and gossip. The police department helped me file a restraining order. I didn’t want to know why she did it. I didn’t want to know whom she did it with. All I knew is that I was told to change my number, cut off all communication, delete my accounts and call the authorities if she came within 50 feet of me.

I haven’t called her since. We still haven’t spoken. I endured many sleepless nights. I began to question our friendship, fight with myself and disregard the nasty comments the friends I thought I had voiced about me. I loved like a virgin; without any worries or regrets or bad intentions. I was sure that we would remain friends long after we were old and still go get our manicures and pedicures on wrinkled hands and feet.  I refused to believe that eight whole years of my life was based on a lie and she merely betrayed my trust for no apparent reason. She lied to me, she hurt me, she tore my heart in two; the innocence I had is lost. But as much as my mind will never forget, my heart is too big not to forgive.

For the past few months I have searched for myself, created my own story and become my own person. I believe in forgiveness. In the words of Catherine Ponder, “When you hold resentment toward one another, you are bound to that person or condition by an emotional link that is stronger than steel. Forgiveness is the only way to dissolve that link and get free.” I don’t need to live by what is expected of me, what people say about me or proving anyone wrong. I see her every day; A fellow student at Florida International University. We can’t look into each other’s eyes. We can’t come close to one another. We walk right past each other as though we have never met a day in our lives. And still, I choose to thank her. Without her, I would still be naïve. I have grown up, I have accepted what has happened between the two of us, and when the day comes that she calls my phone and stumbles over her words, I’ll still be there to end her sentences. I have forgiven her. And finally, I am free.