I just received some horrible news from the town I was a teenager in...it's a long, disjointed story...I was not the kindest person in high school. I was kind of a queen bee and had no issues with picking on people who irritated me. There was one girl in particular who I disliked. In retrospect, she didn't do anything wrong. She was quiet and a little overweight, had a crush on my boyfriend, and tried to dress like me. For some reason, this irritated me, and I went out of my way to be snotty to her.
An old friend from high school asked me today online if I had heard about the murder allegations in our old town. I said no and he sent me the links to some news stories from the local paper. I opened them up, and there she was. She'd lost weight and gotten piercings, but it was her. Some people had heard a rumor about her, taken her out to the river, shot her, and rolled her in. She was two and a half months pregnant, with a four year old daughter. Her family talked about how she'd fallen in with a bad crowd, and I suddenly remembered what an easy target for teasing she was because she was so obviously desperate for someone to accept her. I dusted off my old yearbook and found her. In a tiny private school of less than a couple hundred students, junior high included, she was only in the yearbook twice. And all I can see now is a sweet-faced, shy, lonely girl who left the next year because everyone picked on her. I wasn't the worst by far, but I never lifted a finger to help her. It makes me sick now to think of her mother and daughter left without her, and the baby that died with her. I feel like such a fake being upset by her death and grieving for her when I was so unkind to her. I know I'm not the person I was then, and that everyone has their moments in high school, but I still feel like I somehow don't even deserve to grieve for her.
An old friend from high school asked me today online if I had heard about the murder allegations in our old town. I said no and he sent me the links to some news stories from the local paper. I opened them up, and there she was. She'd lost weight and gotten piercings, but it was her. Some people had heard a rumor about her, taken her out to the river, shot her, and rolled her in. She was two and a half months pregnant, with a four year old daughter. Her family talked about how she'd fallen in with a bad crowd, and I suddenly remembered what an easy target for teasing she was because she was so obviously desperate for someone to accept her. I dusted off my old yearbook and found her. In a tiny private school of less than a couple hundred students, junior high included, she was only in the yearbook twice. And all I can see now is a sweet-faced, shy, lonely girl who left the next year because everyone picked on her. I wasn't the worst by far, but I never lifted a finger to help her. It makes me sick now to think of her mother and daughter left without her, and the baby that died with her. I feel like such a fake being upset by her death and grieving for her when I was so unkind to her. I know I'm not the person I was then, and that everyone has their moments in high school, but I still feel like I somehow don't even deserve to grieve for her.
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