I clunked down the halls of the high school, my heavy feet hitting the floor as the sounds echoed into every class. I had gotten bigger and it happened fast. I was tall and gauky; pale and lanky. I was still thin as ever, but now I towered above the rest. My hair had darkened but still flopped over my eyes in soft, blonde streaks.
My new figure and my old hair had gotten me new kinds of attention and I was now comfortable in my skin. I grew increasingly impressed with my appearance and found myself turning to watch myself walk by in every reflective surface. I had become a self-proclaimed narcissist. I said this as a joke, but left it ambiguous how much I truly meant it. It was ambiguous.
I was excelling in all my classes, with the exception of English, where Miss Too-TightAss-To-Be-Married made us read book and analyse them. This was not my forte. I say, if you want to make a point, come right out and say it. Don't waste your life and my time writing some fruity story about the South and mockingbirds if you want to say that racism is bad. And while we're on the subject, if you're 18 years old and you have no knowledge of anatomy or science in general, or really anything, don't write some longass book about a completely impossible experiment for the sake of telling me that man should not tamper in God's domain.
I did not do well with literature. Every time Miss Can't-Get-A-Date would turn her big, curly head to me and ask what I thought, I felt my teeth clench in my mouth. I would try to cover up my aggression by spilling out some joke or pun, to prove I was listening and send the message that I didn't care. The class would always roar with laughter. They loosened my jaw a bit. They thought I was funny. I was funny.
In that class I met Sandra. There isn't much to say about Sandra, other than she very much complicated things for me. She was considerably shorter than me. Her long, brown hair was often up in some sort of messy bun. She had big, green, bulging bug eyes and a long, pointy nose. She was not especially attractive. I pretended not to notice.
She often laughed the loudest at my jokes, except when they were at the expense of women, in which case she'd use her fake, cutesy voice to say, "Oh, that's terrible!" As if I wanted her opinion.
Chemistry was when my opinion of her began to change. She was very, very smart. She began coming to school in star wars t-shirts and other things that caught my eye. I know girls like things boys like, I know that. But I hadn't met one before.
I began directing my comedy towards her. She seemed to get a thrill from the attention. My jokes turned to flirting and my flirting turned to just plain being gross. She liked all of it. I think she was lonely enough to pretend.
In some ways she reminded me of Jean, who was not in highschool yet. Sandra acted young. Jean was young. Sandra was a few months older than me. Jean was 4 years younger than me, which I didn't know back when I was making fun of her size. Apparently her parents thought it was best for her to skip kindergarten and get right into school. We were together all through middle school but when high school started, she disappeared. I didn't know yet what had happened. And furthermore, I didn't care.
Sandra and I had swapped numbers. We were becoming awfully close. She wasn't like the other girls who wanted my attention. It was like she really wanted it; almost like she needed it. I started thinking about her more. She was paying attention to me, and I liked that. I think that was really all it took. I liked people who laughed at my jokes. I liked people who thought I was smart. I liked people who liked me. And Sandra really liked me.
We sat in my driveway one night. I don't remember what she was saying. I don't think I ever listened to her. I didn't listen to anyone, really.
"Mhm," I remember saying to whatever she had just said, "Do you like me?" I asked. I may have cut her off, but I wasn't paying enough attention to know.
"...Yes," she said with slight hesitation. I leaned in and kissed her. I expected her to pull back in shock like the girl's in the movies. But she latched on to me as if she was thirsty and I was a water bottle. She was thirsty. I was the one who pulled away. I saw headlights from the corner of my eye. It was her dad.
"Oh..." She glanced up at the car, then back at me, "Okay well...see you on Monday, I guess." She held eye contact with an iron grip. I got uncomfortable and looked away. She got in the car.
I sat on the driveway a little longer. For the first time in my life, I think my mind was black.
