A Recollection

There was this girl I knew...

A ramble. TW: child abuse, suicide attempts

There was this girl I knew.

When my family moved to Florida, I was not thrilled about the new situation. It was always hot. There were massive bugs. The boy across the street hit me in the head with a football (accidentally, but still).

But there was a girl two houses away, and she was sweet. Too sweet, really. Cloying. Needy. She'd come around the house all the time, always nervous.

She always asked if my dad was home - and he was, because he worked from home.

"Your dad could probably take my dad in a fight," she said one time. "That's so (whispered) badass."

I was 10, sheltered, and thought nothing of this.

My mom was pregnant with my soon-to-be brother at the time. She was moody and high-strung, depressed and alone in a state far from anyone she knew.

So one day, when this girl came over unannounced and nearly knocked down the Christmas tree while trying to get a candy cane, my mom snapped. "Can you just go home and stay there? I can't see you for at least 24 hours."

But she didn't go home because I saw her wandering the street, shuffling around, killing time.

I told my mom two hours later when the girl was still wandering. My was exasperated, but felt bad about her blowup. She told me to go play with her. Told me to see if she wanted to do a sleepover.

I'd never been to her house before, but I went with her when she asked permission for the sleepover. Her mom was nice, and she happily agreed to it. The girl got her things, said goodbye to her hamster for the night, and rushed me back to my house.

That night, her dad came to our house. He said he had plans for the family that night, and the girl needed to come home.

So she did, looking sad but trying to fake a smile. I assumed it was because we were going to play Neopets all night and she was upset to lose the opportunity. She didn't have a computer, after all, and I had my own that we could use.

I didn't see her for a few days. When I did, it was as if nothing had happened. She was still odd. Still sweet. Still wanting to stay at my house as much as she could.

Eventually, she started asking me to stay at her house for sleepovers "because my dad doesn't like me not being home at night."

Okay. No worries. Her place was less tense than mine. Between a domineering father and a moody pregnant mother, I was thrilled to get out.

But there were different tensions at her house. Tensions I didn't pick up on.

Her mother always went to bed early with headaches, so her father would be the person to say goodnight. He'd tuck us in and give us both kisses. One on the forehead for me, and three on the girl. Forehead, cheek, cheek.

"Your dad is so nice," I remember saying.

He'd always hug me when I came over and when I left. He'd always touch the girl and me - affectionate, doting.

Normal dad stuff. ...Right? I wouldn't know otherwise - my dad couldn't stand me.

It was only two years after my family left the neighborhood and I'd started high school that I found out she'd tried to kill herself. I heard it from a friend of a friend of a friend. I hadn't seen the girl in a long time - we went to different schools, lived across town from one another. And if I'm being honest? I'd forgotten all about her.

But when I heard her name again, when I heard she was in a ward at the hospital my mom worked at... I tried to ask my mom about her.

She refused to tell me anything. My mom worked in a different wing, and besides, HIPAA. You can't just give out private patient information like that.

So I asked the friend to pass along my number for the girl. So she could call me. Or text. Or whatever.

But she didn't contact me. I'm guessing because it probably looked like I was a trauma chaser, hoping to get the gory details.

And I don't know why I wanted to talk to her, honestly. Maybe it was a little bit of trauma chasing? But I think it was mostly because I didn't understand why. Her life seemed idyllic to me. She and her mother weren't financially controlled by her father, like my mom and I were. She wasn't subject to a father who hated her, like I was. She didn't have to come home from school and spend the rest of the day/night looking after a toddler sibling, as I did.

So why did she try to die?

A year later, I heard she'd attempted suicide again.

I didn't reach out.

But I did do some soul searching. Grabbing at memories. Trying to piece things together.

And then I realized that she didn't have a father who loved her. She had a father who abused her.

Each touch that I'd thought was affection was something much different. It was control of another kind, one I'd never been subjected to. One I didn't think happened to 'normal' upper-middle-class girls like us.

The girl didn't succeed in those attempts, and I pray there weren't any afterward. I hope she is happy wherever she is. I hope the trauma that I was too young and naive to notice is manageable. That she found solace in others, people who were there to help her rebuild.

And if she somehow ever sees this -

KK, I still have that picture of you petting the baby alligator at the zoo, the one you told me to tear up because you "look stupid" in candids. Do you remember how I made a scene when I accused the zoo of purposely killing a kangaroo, all because they had its pelt as an educational tool?

Anyway. I still think about you 20+ years later, and I wish you all of the happiness in the world. I regret not being a better friend to you. But I am happy you made it through high school and got out of that house. I am happy you are still fighting. I wish you didn't have to fight, didn't have to suffer - but you made it.

You survived, and there's nothing more badass than that.