CASSIE

It's 2013 and I'm 12. Freshly prepubescent and self-conscious. I was an arrogant child. Anything less would have been misplaced. "Just wait till you hit puberty", my sister would say. You'll start caring what other people think." She was right. It's 2013. I want to be liked. I have a fresh desire and deep longing for female friendship that meant I finally understood fallibility. What if I say the wrong thing? What if I'm not pretty enough? What if I'm too boyish? There wasn't a chink in my armour. It was broken. Then I met her. My first platonic love. Cassie. Blonde-haired, Blue-eyed and popular. She was one of those people that made life seem effortless. Like any struggle was merely the result of a personal failing. She excelled in all areas of life that mattered at 12. School, sports and dating. We sat at assigned tables and our teacher Mrs Lowrie would ask questions akin to that of an adolescent stoner such as "where does sweat come from?" Cassie of course was a school ambassador and often excused from class. "Group 5 never seem to come up with the goods, you can't always rely on Cassie you know." But what if I needed her? I made Cassie love me. However her approval required effort. Something she never seemed to need to put in. Could she tell how hard I was trying? Could everyone? She was our leader and I was amorphous. I read her needs and became them. You know when you're a child and you grab your mother's ankles begging her not to go? I was always grabbing Cassie's ankles. Her skinny ankles, attached to her tiny frame, attached to her beautiful face (although I never found her as pretty as others, for the record. I can say this now at 23 without the presumed pettiness that would otherwise be ascribed to it). I was in her inner circle, her confidant. Although how much of a confidant can one be when the information received is about whether or not she should date Jack and what clothes she should wear to the disco. Adulation and unformed opinions is a dangerous concoction designed to stunt growth and the ability to self-love, a term I hate due to its popularity in conjunction with seeming unattainability. When things seem too good to be true you should enjoy them. Don't expend too much energy attempting to make them last, but rather squeeze every ounce of life you can out of them while they're happening. I say this because one day the inevitable happened. Due to what I can now identify as anxiety and a general angst that won't go away, I missed too much school. Upon return, my worst nightmare came true. Cassie had gotten closer to Ella, another blond-haired, blue-eyed beauty queen who was too mild and sweet for even my envy to make hate. The group dynamic had shifted. I was on the outside. My amorphous nature had morphed into something even worse: a lack of nature altogether. Despite my best efforts, it was never the same. No matter how much I tried, I had lost her. The only tie to my believed delusion that inner strength came from the outside. Not only had I lost her, but I had the lost the group to each other. My inherent personality was not enough. It was never enough. I wasn't like Cassie. I had to try. Except now there was no payoff. We remained friends but not like before. My mother would tell me my personality is strong. My presence is felt. That was not a positive. It wasn't felt in the right way. Then one way the even worse happened. She told me we could not be friends. Her father was uncomfortable with my influence. I swore, I played Grand Theft Auto 5, I watched adult content. Why would she listen to him? I never listened to mine. I listened to her. I was doomed. There may be wars, there may be genuine strife, but I was doomed. Did soldiers have to face the war of girlhood? This is the mind of a 12 year old girl. Indulgent, unattended, and unfathomably offensive. This too would pass. Soon enough we were friends again without a word spoken about our fallout. At the end of the year she would leave and I would have another year, somehow worse than the first. I saw Cassie one more time. She came to visit and was of course, well received. I kept my distance, knowing it would make no difference to her. She didn't need my approval. Upon walking outside of the gates, she would say my name and pose, a seeming gesture of affection, taken as simply a part of her way of having fun and nothing deeper. We would walk together outside of the gates, in silence. I knew everything I had to say to her. I wonder what she had to say to me, if anything. I think we said bye but I cannot remember. It would not make a difference either way. Mine would be full of meaning and hers merely an empty phrase. I never saw her again. I hope she is well.