There was a girl I went to school with that didn't fit in. Not with anyone. Not in any crowd. Her name was Jenna. Well, actually, her name was Jennifer, but she liked to be called Jenna. That is her real name. I'm not giving her an alias in this post. In the hopes that maybe, by some stroke of fate, she will read this.
Jenna was tall, thin, and extraordinarily lanky. She had a head full of hair that was big, and thick, and wild. The bone structure of her face was delicate and beautiful. She had one of those perfect noses. The kind that movie stars pay for. Obsessed with horses, she would often channel them when she ran. The effect was something like a trot. Her trot was filled with wild abandon, and despite the heckling of those who watched, she never changed that. It was just as beautiful to watch as it was ridiculous. Her walk, too, was awkward and gangly. It seemed that everything about this girl was odd. It was this oddness that set her apart from everyone.
She was a tortured soul. Rumor was she lived a life full of abuse. I believe it. She cried out for attention in everything that she did. She cried out for love, affection, and tenderness. She gave her body freely to boys who expressed interest. My guess is that she just craved a positive human touch. She tried desperately to befriend girls. Girls who shunned her. Girls who were openly rude to her. Girls who humored her to her face, but made fun of her when she wasn't around. I can't remember what type of girl I was. I guess it doesn't matter now.
Then suddenly, she disappeared. Her and her brother. Just gone. No one seemed to know where she went, though there were rumors abound. And then, she called me. Just like that. Out of the blue. I still have no idea how she got my number. She would call me once a week or so and just talk. Talk for hours. Talk like no one had ever really listened to her before. If I remember correctly there was a handful of others she would call to chat with. I don't know who of the people she called actually talked to her, but I know I did.
She said she was pregnant and living with the couple who were to adopt the baby. She said she had gotten a STD from years of sexual abuse. She was worried about how this would affect the birth of the baby. I vaguely remember her telling me of psychological help she was getting. An institution? Honestly, I don't remember if this is something she told me, or if my memories of her are tainted from the rumors that surrounded her. But I do know this...I liked her immensely and started looking forward to her calls.
She was bright, and warm, and caring. She had similiar taste in music as I did and introduced me to what would become one of my favorite bands Shotgun Messia. She was frank and open about her life and about the mistakes she made. Back then, when hiding a little bit of yourself was so common as a teen, I was shocked by her honesty. She held nothing back. It was inspiring. She had that incredible ability to look at her life, her struggles, the rocky road ahead of her and be optimistic. She was an extraordinary person. And I wish I still knew her today.
One day, the calls stopped. I didn't have her number. She never gave it to me. I never asked. I missed those phone calls. I wondered how she was doing. Where she was. If she was ok. Did she have a boy or a girl? How well did she handle the adoption of her child? Where was she living?
To this day, I think of her often. There is not a week that goes by that Jenna does not pop into my head. I think that if I was not blinded by the veil of "popularity" as a kid, that we could have been friends. I regret not being her friend. I regret not giving her the companionship she so desperately wanted. I regret being one of the shallow minded who did not see her for the person that she was.
I hope that she's happy now. That she found her soul mate and is living the dream. That her home is filled with love and laughter. That she wakes each day with a smile upon her face and falls asleep without the weight of the world on her shoulders. I hope that she is happy. I hope that she in no longer the lonely girl that I remember.
Jenna was tall, thin, and extraordinarily lanky. She had a head full of hair that was big, and thick, and wild. The bone structure of her face was delicate and beautiful. She had one of those perfect noses. The kind that movie stars pay for. Obsessed with horses, she would often channel them when she ran. The effect was something like a trot. Her trot was filled with wild abandon, and despite the heckling of those who watched, she never changed that. It was just as beautiful to watch as it was ridiculous. Her walk, too, was awkward and gangly. It seemed that everything about this girl was odd. It was this oddness that set her apart from everyone.
She was a tortured soul. Rumor was she lived a life full of abuse. I believe it. She cried out for attention in everything that she did. She cried out for love, affection, and tenderness. She gave her body freely to boys who expressed interest. My guess is that she just craved a positive human touch. She tried desperately to befriend girls. Girls who shunned her. Girls who were openly rude to her. Girls who humored her to her face, but made fun of her when she wasn't around. I can't remember what type of girl I was. I guess it doesn't matter now.
Then suddenly, she disappeared. Her and her brother. Just gone. No one seemed to know where she went, though there were rumors abound. And then, she called me. Just like that. Out of the blue. I still have no idea how she got my number. She would call me once a week or so and just talk. Talk for hours. Talk like no one had ever really listened to her before. If I remember correctly there was a handful of others she would call to chat with. I don't know who of the people she called actually talked to her, but I know I did.
She said she was pregnant and living with the couple who were to adopt the baby. She said she had gotten a STD from years of sexual abuse. She was worried about how this would affect the birth of the baby. I vaguely remember her telling me of psychological help she was getting. An institution? Honestly, I don't remember if this is something she told me, or if my memories of her are tainted from the rumors that surrounded her. But I do know this...I liked her immensely and started looking forward to her calls.
She was bright, and warm, and caring. She had similiar taste in music as I did and introduced me to what would become one of my favorite bands Shotgun Messia. She was frank and open about her life and about the mistakes she made. Back then, when hiding a little bit of yourself was so common as a teen, I was shocked by her honesty. She held nothing back. It was inspiring. She had that incredible ability to look at her life, her struggles, the rocky road ahead of her and be optimistic. She was an extraordinary person. And I wish I still knew her today.
One day, the calls stopped. I didn't have her number. She never gave it to me. I never asked. I missed those phone calls. I wondered how she was doing. Where she was. If she was ok. Did she have a boy or a girl? How well did she handle the adoption of her child? Where was she living?
To this day, I think of her often. There is not a week that goes by that Jenna does not pop into my head. I think that if I was not blinded by the veil of "popularity" as a kid, that we could have been friends. I regret not being her friend. I regret not giving her the companionship she so desperately wanted. I regret being one of the shallow minded who did not see her for the person that she was.
I hope that she's happy now. That she found her soul mate and is living the dream. That her home is filled with love and laughter. That she wakes each day with a smile upon her face and falls asleep without the weight of the world on her shoulders. I hope that she is happy. I hope that she in no longer the lonely girl that I remember.