Fire Walk With Me

jawnsbejawnin:

I’m almost positive she was in love with me in 8th grade.

Maybe it was just infatuation

Either way she had a crush on me

She’d always find a reason to touch my arm

She asked for hugs everyday

Smiled whenever I walked near her.

She considered me a friend.

I considered her a friend…

When no one was watching.

When we were alone we shared hugs

Laughs

Conversation

Witty acknowledgements of a phantom friendship.

When all eyes were on us

I treated her like an interloper trespassing in caliginous waters

I pretended she was nothing more than a circumstantial happenstance

An apparated acquaintance.

My secret friend was a little girl who wanted nothing more than an ear and a warm smile reciprocated

Her name was Lucia.

She was recognized as the poorest girl at John H. Taggart Elementary

Realistically, we were all poor offspring 

Some parents were just better at cloaking poverty than others

She was an easy target.

Her name was Lucia.

A perpetual patsy with average grades

I imagine it’s hard to study when there’s a gauntlet of browbeating bullies feasting on your insecurities

Her name was Lucia.

She smiled at me every morning.

I returned covert smirks and nods when the coast was clear

But more often than not I pretended not to see her.

Reconciled my savage neglect like it was for the best

Until the mob turned on me.

Until the jokes were on me

Until my dirty Air Cortez Nikes were the spotlight of vicious a snapfest

My faded turtleneck under an off brand sweat shirt garnered the attention of the cruel cabal

I skated on thin eggshells every time I walked into school not wearing an outfit Tino passed to me.

But I was always able to quietly throw verbal rocks at Lucia and hide my hands

Shift the scrutiny to the little girl with the hand me down lace dresses

Her name was Lucia.

A sneak attack

Friendly fire.

From plate tectonic whispers so she’d never know I was the catalyst for a room full of pre-teen vulgar volcanoes erupting in laughter

“Eh y’all, look at Lucia’s socks.”

Everyone laughed every time.

Kids pretended to pass around a collection plate for the “Lucia Sock Fund”

I breathed sighs of relief

Avalanches on my self esteem averted

Lucia offered as lamb to the lions again and again

I stood as the signifying monkey happy to swing from her dignity.

It was premeditated.

Conspiracy in the First Degree

Aggravated Assault 

Corrupting the Mind of a Minor

Was like Irish & Italian immigrants who learned the word nigger for the first time 

The reminder that no matter how bad things got I was better than someone. 

It was my ace in the hole

Lucia

My Fila straps were scuffed but look at Lucia.

People called my jacket a Triple Fat Pigeon but look at Lucia.

My Jordache Jumper was busted as hell but look at Lucia’s!

Lucia

That bus was always on time.

Lucia

The get out of pre-teen hell free card.

The guilt I felt was never enough to make me stop pointing the finger at Lucia

Lucia

A little micawber queen who wanted hugs and approval from a boy who was just as battered as she was.

She never tried to shift the attention

Just bore a cross of unwarranted opprobrium like it was tattooed on her back.

Her name was Lucia.

Two decades later I still feel like Judas.

Like I sold Lucia’s self esteem for silver linings.

And all I wanna do is apologize.

Hug her.

Tell her how wrong I was 

How strong she was for surviving a classroom full of jackals.

Her name is Lucia.

Lucia I’m sorry.

Only a coward finds a bigger bullseye when his glabella is the target.

Sorry I wasn’t strong enough to divvy the burden.

I wasn’t the person I pretended to be

Your friend was nothing more than a sycophant for psychopaths

I was too self-preserving to be your anything.

I never deserved your smile

Your hug

Your touch

The corny jokes you’d tell that made us laugh with liberated lungs

Lucia, I’m sorry

I hope this guilt burden is never lifted from my prefrontal cortex

I dont deserve to be forgiven.

I never deserved your friendship.

Until I can find you to tell you in person,

I’m sorry.

Sincerely,

The grown version of a boy who was too nervous to be your knight

Too hurt to be your hero

P.S. After graduation you told your friend how great he was going to be. He never forgot. I still try to live up to that prediction.