So It Goes

by Mel Benedichuk, in collaboration with The Writers’ Society

“That’s just how it is, no need to get mad. They’ll stop eventually,” Annie said to me as she walked me home from school, a group of guys I never talk to screaming my name as I passed by them. “It’s just school bullshit, you won’t even remember any of that three years from now,” Annie continued. She is at uni, she probably knows things. She knows the nasty kids pass. She knows that acne fades away. She also knows how to fix it with foundation and concealer.

I turned around, but not to look at the laughing faces behind me. I’d punch each and every one of them if I could. I’d etch their names with my very own nails onto the bathroom walls. I thought that was what they deserved. All, except one. My friend. Keyword: friend. I glanced at him, making eye contact before turning my head quickly around to face the street ahead. I didn’t want to look.

I couldn’t take all these words off me, I couldn’t unglue unwanted eyes off my back, I couldn’t hush those voices. He was only my friend! No, not a date. Why don’t you listen? Not a date, hear me?

Blue. Pink. Purple. Yellow. Blue. Pink. Pants. Skirt. Whatever! Why does it matter? Why does it matter what I see in the mirror if all I’m talking about is a ride in the skatepark, a jam session during lunch break, a short game of basketball played in the schoolyard? Things that friends do—why do you care? Skirt, tights, a cloud of perfume, a little stain of rubbed-off mascara. Pants, shirt, a budding beard, untied and grass-stained Nike sneakers.

“Guys, guys! Make teams! Girls there, boys here.” And again, I see you looking at me from the other side of the gym. Will there ever come a day when we’ll get to play on the same team? Same game, same time, just you and just I, no pink and no blue, no locker room talk, and no nasty gossip. Please?

No pink and no blue. I’ll keep digging the ground in the schoolyard, fourth-grade-treasurehunt-style until I unearth the map to the place where you and I will be one. Teammates. No pink and no blue. When high school’s over, I hope you’ll at least still be my friend.

When it is all over, I’ll erase all those boxes I penciled around us in math class inside a notebook whose cover looks like a glitching TV. When it is all over, I’ll erase all these boxes that they drew around us with a finishing ballpoint Bic pen. There is no pink and no blue, or if there is, that’s surely not all there is to it.

Skate park tonight after school? Maybe the screaming school guys won’t be there…