Remember that chick who pulled her hair back in a ponytail had glasses and wore ripped jeans that she Sharpied murals on out of boredom.
You’d see her in class sometimes mumbling to herself and doodling while the teacher droned on about the scientific method and she always made you curious but you could never get close enough to hear what she was saying or see what she was writing.
She promised herself that one day she’d keep a diary to keep track of the truth but every time she tried it turned into a collection of half-thought-poems and half-drawings of half-things half-human and half-something else.
Never autobiographical never the truth.
She seemed like the kind of girl who is a self proclaimed vegan scrawny little thing with ex-hippie parents like if you ever talked to her she would be all in for face about “going green man.”
So she took you by surprise when she beat the fattest kid in the class at that hot-dog eating contest that chubby ******* didn’t stand a chance.
She told me one day that she thinks the truth is just the lie that you tell yourself the most often.
People called her “book-smart” because she wore glasses and was bad at math. But she wasn’t really.
She was people-smart in the way a scientist is rat-smart.
She’d sit on the swings at recess and watch people her eyes were concerned like there was something they had that she lacked.
Her locker was always empty she took everything home every night she left no residue no aftermath no memory behind.
She dreamed of living out of her car and opening a coffeeshop and being free.
She knew she was destined to prove there was no such thing as destiny. That we make our own reality.
And all of this you found endearing and admirable.