A Confession of Loss

I was thirteen when I lost my best friend. That makes it sound like she died. She didn’t. But I killed her off, socially speaking that is. I was her last friend and I abandoned her when she needed me most. I’m not proud of it, not now. If only she hadn’t…

Stephanie was a funny, loud and slightly weird thirteen year old with mad frizzy hair that stood on end and bounced around when she spoke. She had that capacity to make people laugh by pushing the boundaries. I remember when we went swimming once, she had me in and Claire in fits of giggles by telling us about erections. She made us put on our goggles and search for them underwater.

She had the capacity to be kind too. I always felt fat and ugly. I was and still am. I’m eighteen now and still pushing the boundaries at eleven stone. For a teen of five foot two I can tell you, it’s not a good look. Stephanie would laugh and tell me it’s ok; that it’s only puppy fat. She would squeeze her own chubby cheeks, slap her ‘thunder thighs’ (her words) and tell me that we’d grow out of it.

But she was flawed too. She was too honest; too brutally honest to survive in an all girls’ school. She would bluntly tell a friend if a dress didn’t suit her (‘it looks like a tent which makes you the pole holding it up’) or if a haircut was unflattering (‘you may as well chop it all off, it looks like a shaggy dog now with fleas mating in there.’). She lost almost all of her friends in this way.

The final straw was planted on a Friday afternoon at lunch when she declared to everyone in our little group that we must all hate each other because, I quote, ‘you all gossip and bitch behind each other’s back.’

I could see the stunned expressions on everyone’s faces. A few cheeks blushed crimson out of shame and a fear that she would then reveal exactly what each person had said about the other.

She didn’t go that far but the point is, you don’t say it openly, you just don’t. It’s social suicide.

Stephanie was oblivious as usual and thought things would carry on as normal. When the bell rang she hopped up, grabbed her satchel and practically skipped to our geography lesson.

She called me that weekend and I told her that what she did was BAD, really bad and how everyone planned not to speak to her ever again. She laughed it off and told me not to worry.

I knew that what she had said was out of naivity. She didn’t mean to shock or embarrass anyone, she just wanted everyone to be more honest with each other. I have two older sisters so I know the code. I felt sorry for her.

Her parents worked all hours and her younger brother was of no use either. If anything he made it worse. Boys banter with each other, tell jokes and take the piss out of each other. You simply can’t do that with girls.

When the Monday approached, I walked to school with Steph as usual. Our houses were only a few blocks apart so we took the same route through the leafy suburbs of Surrey.

I remember hoping that everyone would forget what was said a few days ago. But when we entered our form room, the sound of flurried whispers descended into an awkward silence.

Oblivious, Steph bounded up to our little group and said hello. No one said a word. I gently pulled Steph away and led her to some free seats at the front.

“Nic, come and sit with us.” Claire beckoned me over to sit with her and the others but I remained where I was, next to Steph.

“It’s ok.” I said and smiled at them. Steph was my best friend and I wasn’t going to abandon her.

The ‘cool’ girls at the back watched and smirked before eventually returning to whatever it was they were chatting about before. They didn’t normally concern themselves with any of the others but friends breaking up and groups splitting made for ample conversation.

“Do you think everyone hates me?” Steph looked at me, puzzled as the realisation was beginning to sink in.

“It’ll blow over.” I replied. Normally I would have put a reassuring arm around her shoulders but I confess that already I didn’t want to be seen to be too close to her.

I was relieved when our form tutor Mr Griffiths entered the room and began to take the register. Then the bell rang and it was off to the usual raft of lessons.

Steph and I had set two Maths together. Set one equals top (but you don’t want to be bundled in with the swots) and set eight is bordering on special needs (you don’t want to be there either). Me and Steph tended to be in set two or three for most subjects.

I’ve always liked being normal, middle of the range and being able to blend in. So when Claire slipped me a note in the fifth period saying that I was always welcome to hang out with them I felt a mixture of relief and happiness; glad that they saw Steph as a law unto herself and that I wasn’t guilty by association.

But I am loyal, was loyal. As the days turned into weeks, it was just me and Steph against the world. We did everything together. We were a new group of two. I could see she wasn’t happy though. She was normally so vivacious and loud but she was growing more introverted and grumpy by the hour, paranoid that everyone was talking about her. Until one day she lashed out, at me.

We were sitting in the form room at lunch munching on home made sandwiches when she suddenly turned to me with a look of venom in her eyes.

“Go to them, I know you fucking want to.” She hissed under her breath, not wanting to draw attention to us.

“What?” I feigned innocence.

“I can see you looking at them, smiling as if butter wouldn’t melt.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes you bloody well do. I’m not stupid. You want to be friends with Claire and Jo and Maria and Sarah.” She made a mocking tone when she said their names.

I sat there, knowing this was my chance to break away. I just needed one more excuse.

“Go on. I hate your stupid guts anyway.” Her voice had risen as her overt emotions got the better of her once again.

“I…” I turned and looked at our former group sitting there in the middle rows watching us.

“There you go again!” She exclaimed. “Go on, go to them. You’re a stupid, boring, fat, ugly little two-faced bitch anyway.”

That was it, that was my chance and I took it. I picked up my rucksack and walked over to our former group. I burst into tears as they ran up and smothered with me with hugs and kisses.

They told me I’d done the right thing and that Steph was the biggest bitch ever and she deserved to have no friends. I glanced over, my eyes swollen with hurt and confusion and I could see her hunched over. Her head was buried in her arms but her shoulders were shaking. She was crying just as much as me. Except no one consoled her.

***

Life at school was easier after that. I could go back to being normal, to having a normal group of friends and simply fitting in. I wouldn’t have to worry about the dirty looks anymore – not that they were ever aimed at me, but still I didn’t like the attention.

I totally ignored the streams of text messages, voicemails and emails that Steph would leave me saying that she was sorry, she hated herself for what she said and please would I forgive her. I didn’t want to know.

Eventually she got the message and stopped trying.

I always thought she’d make new friends, transfer to another group somehow but she never did. In the short space of one term, she had become the school pariah and the subject of graffiti on the toilet walls:

‘Steph Wilkins Year 8 – total bitch 2 b avoided at all costs.’

‘Die bitch’

And someone had replied ‘Yeah, I hate her with a passion.’

I got a pen out of my school bag and scribbled over the nasty words but a few days later more would appear.

I noticed that Steph would avoid spending any time in the form room at all. At break and lunchtime she would go to the library and read alone.

In between lessons, when everyone else would be jostling through the corridors and chatting excitedly in their groups and pairs making as much noise as possible, she would just solemnly plod through; one step after the other, staring at her feet, shoulders slumped.

I figured she must be aware of the graffiti.

The days were getting hotter as summer approached. It felt like a pressure cooker, as we were cooped up in the confines of the breeze block walls. Everyone seemed more agitated, ready to explode at any given opportunity.

I heard on the grapevine that some of the ‘cool girls’ had started to taunt her, making comments about her unkempt appearance and fat thighs. When one of them pushed her over in the corridor, Steph had gone straight to the teacher in tears and the culprit was suspended.

After that incident no one dared touch her and the graffiti miraculously stopped. I was relieved and even more relieved once the term ended and I could blissfully put my head in the sand for a good few months.

***
I didn’t expect Stephanie to return the following year or the year after that but she did.
She just kept on going in an introverted, stoic manner right until the bitter end of sixth form.

By the second term in year ten she had moved up to the top sets in every subject. We speculated that she had nothing better to do with her time than study and that was probably very true.

She had started to blossom physically too. She shed the puppy fat that she once told me we would both lose to reveal fawn like legs and a tiny waist. Claire and I joked that she must have turned anorexic but apparently it was due to her taking up ballet and gymnastics.

Her complexion became radiant beyond belief, just when the rest of us were suffering from outbreaks of puss-ridden black heads. Her dull mane of matted hair became sleek and shiny and somehow her big brown eyes regained their spark.

Of course none of this made her more popular and if anyone started to warm to her I would gently remind them of what she was like back then. Her blossoming transformation simply meant there was nothing to ridicule her about and I didn’t have to feel sorry for her anymore.

If anything I feel slightly envious. I am the same me as I was back then; the same ugly, fat, middle of the road girl; a girl who prefers to fit in rather than stand by my best friend.

I bumped into her the other day. I was making a rare trip to the library to see if they had any diet books. I was alone because I didn’t want anyone to know that I don’t like being jolly old Nic anymore.

“Hey.” She tapped me on my shoulder lightly.

I jumped and dropped the book I was holding, embarrassed because it had a picture of weighing scales on the front.

“Oh er, hello.” I had become an expert in avoiding her all these years and now I was caught with nowhere to run.

“It’s the last day of school tomorrow.” Her dark brown eyes were fixed upon me but I couldn’t hold her gaze.

“You know I’m truly sorry.” She continued. “About what I said all those years ago.” She glanced at the book on the floor.

“It’s ok.” I said, surprised that she was still wanted my forgiveness.

“Really?” Her eyes lit up for a fleeting second.

The realisation that our friendship was beyond repair seemed to hit us both. Her dark eyes clouded over with sadness while I continued to look at the floor, my fingers twiddling beside me.

“You know… I won’t ever forget.” She said.

For a second I thought she was referring to my behaviour; how I excluded her for all these years when I could have made a difference.

She picked up the book from the floor and handed it to me, the cover facing down.

“Thanks.” I murmured.

“Anytime.”

Except there isn’t any time; today is the last day of school. I caught a glimpse of her smiling earlier as the register was called for the last time. I realised I hadn’t seen her smile for over five years. I realised I hardly know her at all anymore.

The only thing I know is that she’s been accepted to study medicine at UCL while I’m going to the local polytechnic with Claire and Jo and Maria and Sarah. The only thing I know is that her future is looking a hell of a lot brighter than mine.