14 months.

So occasionally, I wish I could go back to those simpler days, of grade 9, of analyzing songs in Language Arts class and listening to Wishlist by Pearl Jam and Comfort Eagle by Cake, and learning to love them over time. Back to MKIH, and writing it all over our stuff. "Do you know what MKIH means?” No, sorry, no idea. And desperately trying to conceal it, because we really knew what it meant. And so did he, but we didn’t know that yet. I’d go back to the day, to fourth period English class and “Rachel, they need you at the office”. And knowing what it meant, and how I didn’t want to go, but went anyway, leaving my pink English binder on my desk and hearing them wish me good luck, their voices grim. They knew I would need it. She took me into her office first, explained what they knew. Said someone had told them, she couldn’t tell me who it was. Said how I was ruining things, I could get out if I wanted to, how I had potential. And all the while, I am thinking about my parents in the next room, about how my leg won’t stop shaking, and if she doesn’t quit saying nice things then I might just start to cry. About how she tells me it’s time to tell them, and I get up out of the chair as I watch other kids walk by out the window, desperately wishing I could get out of here, that I was one of them. But she gives me a hug, and I remain stiff and solid, nailed to the ground, waiting for the inevitable. She opens the door and my parents are there, my mom looks like she might cry, and my dad looks quite indifferent, like always. She explains to them about what is going on and what I have been doing, the real thing. The weed, Brandon, the whole deal. Brandon’s history, which they are surprised to hear. I’m appalled at the fact that they didn’t know. I came home, my clothes smelling of pot many times in a month, and neither of them noticed or said anything, despite the fact that my mother could “Smell that stuff a mile away”. Yeah fucking right, I think. “Are you going to break up with him, because you should.” Yeah, I was planning on doing it tonight anyway. “Okay, good.” We get home. I walk after them. After Megan has gotten in trouble for interrupting my session with Ms. Bhatti, to tell me she put my things in my locker. After the meeting, I walk slowly to the locker and line things up from left to right, tallest to smallest. I pick up everything I need, and walk out, dreading what will happen when I get home. I walk in the door and sit, and they talk to me for a bit, or mom does, I can’t remember about what. “Did you do it to see what it was like?” Spat, the words like razors across her tongue, and my heart. The guilt is starting to build, but little do I know, this is only the beginning. No, shot back in the same tone. I am informed that I will be calling him after supper. Hey, it’s me, can you come over? How about you come over here, no one’s home. No, I need you to come here, I need to talk to you about something. Okay; I’ll be over in a bit. The next couple minutes are hell. He walks up to the door and we go to my room. We sit on my bed, and he holds my hand. And I tell him what is happening, how there can be no more us, and why. And throwing the blame partially on my parents, because I can’t handle it myself yet. He cries. And cries and cries and cries. Baby, I’ll kill myself, you’re the only girl I’ll ever love. Between choked sobs, like I should fall for it. And I do, I fall for every word. Then, I didn’t know he was going to date Rachelle, I was going to date Jason. That him and Krysta were going to go out and have sex a month later, and how they are still going out today. I apologize every couple minutes. He tries to leave, I stop him. He continues to cry, I don’t know what to do, and I cry too until I have to do something. In tears, walking out to the phone in the kitchen. Shane, can you come over? Sorry Rachey, I can’t. I’m grounded, remember? Please, I need you! So he comes over. And the three of us sit and cry for a while, until we have convinced Brandon out of it, until we have convinced him to talk to my mom, who calls his mom. It kills me to watch them cry. And after a few hours, it is finally over; although it’s never really ended; not now, maybe not quite ever. And he walks out my door. And so does Shane, who apologizes to my mom. And she sits and tells me that it’s not my fault; after all this, she has the nerve. I know it is, or at least I think I do. But it wasn’t, and it still isn’t, but of course that doesn’t stop me from thinking so. And 14 months later, I am talking to Austin. Did I used to be like this? No. You didn’t used to overanalyze, or underanalyze. If you did, you didn’t show it. You had a balance in the middle. You weren’t overly cocky, and you didn’t hate yourself. And no, you didn’t worry all the time. And it’s like after all of this, I finally realized that it’s true. I used to be her. The girl that many people liked, nice to everyone, trusting. Drug free, smart, had everything. Wasn’t too sad or too happy, had great balances everywhere. I wonder if I’m ever going to be anywhere close to her again, if I can ever wake up in the morning and be her. I know I can’t be her completely, but if I try hard, maybe I can come a little bit close. As soon as I get the energy to try hard enough…