My First Best Friend

I am writing this off of a blog post on The Write Practice called Remember every Scar.  The point is to dredge up some terrible memory.  What fun right?

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I was in 5th grade. Well maybe it was fourth grade. I cannot remember well. And I had I think exactly no friends. Actually there was this one girl who was always nice to me, but I thought she was too great to be my friend, so I didn’t count her. There was also Lori. I guess I had a couple friends. But it didn’t matter because I felt alone anyway. And I knew these were not best friends. I don’t think I had ever had a best friend before.
I was close once. A girl named Lauren. She lived across the street from me and I played with her every day just about. But she wouldn’t say I was her best friend. She said some other girl I never knew was her best friend. And we didn’t play at school. I never saw her in school. We had a really really big school, living in LA and all. But if she would not say we were best friends we were not. I was someone to pass her time with because I was there. And in this fourth to fifth grade time I felt the pain of rejection in knowing no one had chosen me to be their number one friend. Like there was something unmistakeably wrong with me, it was written all over my face and body language. It said this package is an undesireable and you do not want to be seen with it and return it to sender immediately otherwise it will rub over you as well. This is dripping with sarcasm. And yet it was true.
There were faults with me, and other kids sensed them. For one I had no self esteem. I like to blame my mother, but it probably gets old. I mean I am not sure if there is a ticket that allows a person to blame a parent for absolutely everything but.. Alas. Self esteem, it was my mother and also my father. They were smart people. People who went to esteemed colleges and got straight A’s. Though they were socially deficient. And they raised me, and now I am too. They say the sins of the father..
But also I was a sad kid who was angry and hurt and needy. And so it turns out it is okay I had no best friends growing up, because I was full of all the wrong stuff that would only leave a person feeling bad things.
Anyway, back in 4th to fifth grade a girl came to school who was immediately popular. I already begrudged her for it. But oddly enough she became best friends with me. She told me that when she talked to me other kids would say not to talk to that girl. And she told me that kids were always saying that sort of thing. I already knew that by the way the kids acted around me. I didn’t like having it explained in a play by play though of how much of a social loser I really was. I thought of myself more of the James Dean rebel without a cause, and that was why I sat alone all the time.
But she wanted to be friends. And it got serious fast. And I got afriad. All this time I wanted someone to adore me and spend time with me and here she was. But she never wanted to be gone for a moment. And I know now how my dad must of felt cause I was just this same way as a little kid. And it felt awful when she did so that I did everything I could to get away from her. And I hated her even. And I will always remember the day she cried. It was late at night. I was going home and I told her to stay away and she was whining pathetically for me to come back and I said no. And she just stood there crying and crying and I didn’t go back to her. What a crappy best friend I turned out to be.

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http://www.flickr.com/photos/jadara/5960124602/in/photostream/

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