I Am Sorry, High School Friend
by Sabrina Dawkins
Remember when we used to walk together to our classes?
In my mind, I wanted them to think you were mine.
No nosy questions,
because then I’d be forced to reveal the truth: No.
As long as the possibility, the curiosity floated in their heads,
I could live in the fantasy world
soaking up their knowing nods and subtle smiles
as we walk by, me looking at every face,
searching for that gotcha look, the secret revealed
to only them, that we were a secret couple,
them knowing without asking,
concluding without confirming,
and spreading the assumption to as many as would listen.
Remember when I asked you for gum all the time?
And you never refused, and I never paid you.
You once told me that a bee was in your class
and you remained very still,
even as it stung you.
I marveled at your patience, your stoicism,
never thinking that I tested that stoicism,
always asking, rarely giving.
We did exchange teddy bears on major holidays.
Remember when I asked you to draw a picture of me?
And you did. You rarely said no to me.
We sat in class as you penciled my face on paper.
I sat as still as I could for what seemed like hours
as you put your best effort into my likeness.
When you finished and I saw it,
I told you I looked fat.
You received no thank you for drawing me
as I was, in truth.
In all honesty, I was shocked by the almost perfect circle
that was my face.
You told me it looked like I had lost weight
at our last meeting at Red Lobster
after our freshman year in college.
I don’t think I’d lost weight, however.
I think you were just being nice
since high school,
always wanting to accommodate me,
make me happy. I wish I could’ve done the same
for you.
Remember that day we talked on the phone?
I was home on college break,
and during my year of freedom,
I’d explored atheism in the school library.
And I tried to push it on you
so we could be the same.
Remember how then you rejected me forever?
I am sorry. I didn’t deserve you then.
I was the bee.
And you endured me as long as you could,
hoping I’d improve.
From the walks, to the gifts, to the gum,
you wanted to nudge me on the right path,
until I tried to pull you on the wrong one.