Her

I thought to myself Yesterday, "Why can't I be more like Her?" I realized Today that we can't ALL be like Her. If we did, nothing would ever get done, the world would fall apart and everyone would get bored. It took living with someone like Me to appreciate someone like Her. The "don't take shit from no one" attitude that makes you recognize the wild beauty in that untamed heart.

The first time I saw Her, my soon-to-be boyfriend walked in the door with Her. "Oh shit." My mind spiraled down into the depths of despair. I was working in a drab brown service uniform my sweaty hair pulled up under a blue baseball cap after working all day since 5:30 that morning. MY wonderful hunk of a soon-to-be boyfriend had walked in with a tall, gorgeous, looks-good-in-anything, will never be ugly no matter what She does woman. I will treasure that moment of true ignorance. It was a moment that would capture the essence of beauty forever. I only knew at that moment She was the most hated creature in the universe, if I had the means to do so, I would make Her suffer. I imagined all sorts of tortures as I worked cleaning a pitiful cafeteria that night. Knives, razors, spit, baseball bats, then realized the only true reaction would be to rip her heart out of her body and stomp it into the ground. I was so damn clueless. It didn't register that he walked in with Her, but he walked in to give ME a kiss. I cried all night.

My soon-to-be boyfriend told me all about Her the next day. Her as in the "friend" Her. I didn't believe him. Not for a second. Not until two weeks later when I sat unobtrusively in her apartment and listened to her talking. It hit me like a slap in the face with a large gold brick or a Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster, whichever is the most enjoyably painful. I heard everything in that voice; every time She had been yelled at or put down and gotten up again, every time She had loved and enjoyed love, every moment she spent taking responsibility for not only her own, but her siblings lives as well and I was shamed. I was shamed to the core of my being. It wouldn't matter what I ever did, I would never experience life the way She did. I would always hold back just that ounce for protection, She would not. She would jump in the fire while I was still dabbling my toe in the shallow end. From that moment on, if she had ever once turned to me and snapped her fingers, I would have curled up at the end of Her bed warming her feet for the next twenty years had She demanded it. She could have whipped me and I would have exulted in every stripe. Adoration? not even close, Worship? Possibly, though she would have disdained it.

Do I still? Forever and ever and ever will I. Though I feel as if she finds me just the least bit distasteful. I have never belonged in Her crowd no matter how hard I have or will try. I belong on a farm, in a field, on a horse, curled up with a good cup of tea and a book by Emily Bronte, not in a group of city slick, sexy as hell, life loving, party goers, though She hardly fits in any description. I think there are a million people out there who only want her to know how beautiful She really is. I think She, just really wants to be her, who doesn't want her heart to be broken, but understands it's life and you can't protect yourself from that no matter how hard you try.