My Regret

As I scanned her Facebook, I took note of the pictures of her new life. The toothy smiles of her and four friends as they showed off their matching Paul McCartney t-shirts. I imagined myself behind the camera telling the four laughing friends to hold still long enough so I could get a decent picture.

Isn't it funny how people just move on without you? It's sad to believe that you are the center of their universe but I guess that's the selfishness of the words, “You're my best friend.”

I still have the note she gave me the last day of high school. The one ripped out of the corner of her Math notebook with little smiley faces and her contact info. Her e-mail the title of a Beatles song followed by her birth year. So unoriginal but so originally Cindy.

The Beatles to Cindy was like God to the Pope. She never had a conversation without quoting them and never dared mention the name of the creature that tore their world apart, Yoko Ono. I knew one Beatles song when I started up the music conversation with Cindy during gym class one day. By the end of the school year, I knew the words to every song Paul McCartney wrote and that the Nixon administration tried to deport John Lennon in 1971.

Maybe I could get the FBI to deport the girls in this picture. Names like Tessie, Bessie and Jessie with their perfect brunette hair and sickeningly small noses. Why would Cindy hang out with them? I had frizzy brunette hair and a rather larger nose but that shouldn't exclude me from the smiles in these photos.

I knew I had no one to blame but me. I never used the e-mail she gave me. I didn't even put it in my address book. I went off to college and left Cindy behind to be teased by those stupid, idiot jerks who took one look at her large glasses and imperfect teeth and sneered.

Cindy's bright personality was often overshadowed by her timidity. She didn't like playing any sport with balls or swimming or any action that involved moving. She hated gym class and our teacher but I did my best to make it bearable for her. I remember making up a game that involved a whiffle ball and two ping pong paddles and lying on the ground. Cindy had the time of her life but my gym teacher yelled at me for “sitting on my lazy rear end.” It kept Cindy out of the spotlight and prevented me from having to beat up the stupid, idiot jerks in my class.

I did almost beat up some punk at lunch for openly mocking her outfit. So she decided to wear pajamas? I asked him how it differed from his football sweatshirt and basketball shorts. Good thing he didn't answer, stupid prick may have had twice my muscle mass but he was short and I had a lethal weapon attached to my hip.

Perhaps high school wasn't as bad for Cindy as I imagined but I couldn't fight off this overwhelming sense of hopelessness. She once told me I was her best friend and I took the gift of friendship and tossed it of the tallest building without one glance back.

I keep debating whether or not to contact Cindy. Maybe she'll toss my apology back in my face and tell me to shove off. But I think I'm more afraid she'll forgive me and begin to talk incessantly about the Beatles again. Because how can I live with her forgiveness when I can't begin to forgive myself for not putting heyjude90@gmail.com in my address book?

Maybe one day I will be brave enough to message her but for now I can only, as the great John Lennon so eloquently sings, imagine.