Forgive me

Her name was Megan.

We made it through middle school together, a place where young girls become like animals in their survival. We were alike in many ways. Megan and I didn’t have the trendy Sason jeans. Both of us quiet in class. We each had a sister two years younger.

We hung out at our first school dance together. We sat together at lunch, laughed over her intense dislike of peas and agonized over algebra side-by-side. She shared secrets with me.

And the summer before our freshman year of high school, I decided I no longer wanted her as a friend.

Feeling the pressure of popularity, I suddenly felt Megan weird, nerdy in dress and action. I wanted her cut from my high school social life. I wanted a brand-new beginning as a freshman.

The snub was swift and I never offered a bandage for the open wound. I knew it hurt her. I did it anyway. Never did I offer an explanation why suddenly I wouldn’t talk to her.

Soon after, she told me she was enrolling in a private, Christian school. Megan spat the words at me as she rushed past my homeroom that day. She clutched her books to her chest, her red face hid the freckles, blue eyes angry.

Ironic.

I claimed the name of Christ and yet acted like a Judas. Traitor. I sacrificed her friendship because I wanted popularity. My gold coins. That prize would elude me through high school.

I never saw Megan again.

Junior year, I learned Megan dropped out of school to have a baby.

Megan haunts me. To this day, she haunts me.

Submitted to Carnival of Beauty: Forgiveness