letters lament

Dear Old Friend

Dear Old Friend. 

Hey. So, I haven't talked to you in person for nearly two years, and I think there's more than me to blame. You have no idea why I stopped calling or texting, do you? I have a feeling you think we just went our separate ways, which is partially true, but it was more than that. When we were younger, I looked up to you: I really did. For those first few years, until the 7th grade, you were my idol. Be popular, you told me. Be thin. Be yourself, but put on makeup first. Let's be like the big girls, you said.

And I believed every single word, because everyone liked you. 

"She is great" they said. "I want to be her friend" they said. "You're so lucky" they said. 

And I believed them, because maybe I felt the lucky, somehow. 

We looked a lot alike, and most people thought we were sisters. Same blonde hair, although yours was closer to a light brown. It curled at the ends, and I remember whining to my mother, "I want to get a perm, please? I want my hair to be curly, like hers." I had green eyes, and you had brown. Same height though, until 6th grade. You shot up, and I stayed at five feet, staring up at you: just the way you wanted it.Our bodies weren't the same, and I remember being so stumped about that. I had a tummy, and when I was younger, I thought it was good. People said I was cute: they didn't care, pinching my cheeks and smiling. You were the first person who told me, "Lexi, you shouldn't eat those chips. You'll gain weight." Our faces were pretty similar, but people thought we were sisters because of how we acted together. I laughed at all of your jokes, and you made that weird chuckle whenever I tried out my uncanny humor. "Lexi, you're so weird" See, I used to think of that as a compliment from you: from a lot of people, it's positive. I'd laugh, and you'd shake your head. 

When I was younger, I just didn't see the silent disgust in your eyes. 

Now that I go back to it, I think one of the reasons you kept the facade for so long was my tendency to be shy. Until middle school, to the end of it, I was one of those kids that others tended to stay away from: the one who read and got straight A's and tried to escape reality. I remember the first time I read Harry Potter, in the first month of second grade. A few kids were trying to get my attention during indoor recess, but I ignored them: I couldn't hear them. I'd taken my hearing aids out, because I thought, "I have an hour, and I want to focus." 

You were off playing marbles with one of the other pretty girls: she had curly hair too. It went down to her waist, in a ton of black ringlets: she cut it off by now. We go to the same high school, you see: the one that you don't go to. She's still popular, still pretty, and everyone loves her. Especially that boy, and that boy, and the other one from last week. They love her with everything they have: they love her all the way through their pants. I've noticed them around her, smiling and chuckling and staring at her with big eyes. I wish guys would stare at me like that. It's the same way they stare at you, right? Guys always liked you. 

Anyway, I was reading Harry Potter, relating to Hermione the most: I still love her character. Smart, brilliant even, witty, and underneath everything? Beautiful. I thought that maybe if I was more like Hermione, I could be beautiful too, you know? Be a friend with someone like Ron, and argue constantly, but laugh anyway: someday he'd start having feelings for me, or I'd like him, and then we'd get married and have a bunch of reheaded kids. Or maybe a different color hair, but hey, half of my family is Irish: maybe we'll get lucky.  

I just wanted to be like you: I wanted that. You've had a bunch of boyfriends in the past few years, and I've had two: one of them is gay now. The other never liked me: he was a crush who gave me a teddy bear on Valentine's Day and then still confuses me to this day. Maybe I'll write a letter about him, sometime. He deserves one, since he got nearly three years of my life, right? Well, two. One of the crush, half of dating, and half of heartache. You laughed at me when I liked him. "Lexi, he wouldn't date you. There are a ton of other girls that like him. You're too chubby."