This road always reminds me of my childhood. The nights when my best friend, Audrey, and I used to brave the cold to see the fascinating Christmas lights. I can still picture her goofy smile, brighter than all the lights put together, as we ran down the road just to sit on the bench underneath the snow-covered trees and watched the holiday lights while enjoying the stillness of it all. There was something so magical about those lights. They gave us hope that maybe someday, something good could come out of our miserable lives — but hope instead set us up for disappointment and defeat.
As soon as we returned home, everything was the same as it had always been. Me with my struggle to obtain perfection, and Audrey with an IV drip in her arm, a nose cannula covering half her face, and a nebulizer in her hand. Cystic fibrosis sucks. It’s been a long time since I've last seen Audrey, and going to meet her gives me an anxious feeling deep inside, which I can’t quite put my finger on.
As I continue my trek to Audrey’s place, I spot someone with bright, crimson hair from the corner of my eye. LILY. I heard her talking about me again today. "She is living the life so many people dream of. Why would she ever be upset?" This is not the first time that I have heard someone say these words. It’s just that every time I hear them, they pierce my soul, and it never gets better. NEVER.
Yes, my parents have money. Too much of it. I wish that I could wipe away all my problems with it, buy back what I’ve lost with it — but I can’t. Nothing can help me.
As Lily disappears from view, her words play through my mind on a never-ending loop.
Lily, Alyssa, Tessa, they all want to be like me, but little do they know, I want to be like them. I want to live a life where I can be whoever I want to be — where I can express myself, instead of forcing myself to put on a brave face. As I walk onto the street where Audrey is, I see a girl wearing baggy jeans and a hoodie, and a thought appears before I can stop it. What if I had worn baggy clothes since the beginning?
What if I hadn't checked my friend Riley’s phone only to find out that there was a group in which I was mercilessly body-shamed by the people I thought were my friends? Would I still suffer from body dysmorphia? Of course, the "perfect" girls are not supposed to have insecurities. Is it even relevant what happens to the cheerleader after the music has stopped and everyone has gone home? What happens when the day is gone and there is no one around her?
The hateful words, the bitter memories — they all start to flood back as I rest my body on a bench under the trees. When the cheerleader takes off her brave face for the day, when she has no one else to play with, the demons that are buried deep inside start playing, and the Hallmark greeting card smile is wiped from her face. She sits alone and relives the day in which she was in a room full of people and still felt so alone — the day in which she again felt like no one knew who she really was and no one even wanted to know. Isn't it strange that we hide when we are down because we want to be seen as a strong person, at the same time though, we hate how nobody notices how broken we are?
Finally, I arrive at my destination, and the agony of my ordeal begins to fade. The gates at the entrance of the cemetery creak open and I immediately feel a sense of relief as soon as I see the headstone with the words "Audrey Young, June 28, 2003-July 9, 2020." Yes, life is hard. But Audrey has been, and will always be, my better place; my memories with her will always shine brightly and remind me to cling to the hope of a better tomorrow.
Published August 8, 2022
Written by Aditi Trehan ~ Edited by Kayla Fathiani ~ Graphics by Omaar Sandhu & Ramya Shah
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