Purveyor of Iniquities

The other day, I passed by this girl on the street, who, triggered a massive recognizance, to the point that I had to stop and think about of whom she reminded me. It was this smart, nervous, mousy girl I knew in high school. She came into Loomis with a completely bad attitude: she was jittery, spat back answers but quietly, and had dyed her long, dark hair green, which didn’t really take.

Anyway, she was in my sophomore geometry class as a freshman and hated it as much as I did. She laughed once after I told her why my textbook was bent in half (hung over a sprinkler pipe, it was great for pull-ups). Later, she joined the staff of the pretentious, self-important, etc. magazine that I edited and may even have been its next editor; I don’t remember. Though we never spoke much, we got along well, and I thought little of her.

I returned to Loomis for her graduation. Not to see her — it didn’t even cross my mind — but to visit with friends from my own class and see a few others in hers graduate. She approached me at the reception afterwords, and we talked for a bit. Her hair was thick and radiant, and she had blossomed and was open and smiled and laughed out loud and really just emerged. She seemed to glow in the sunlight that day. Admission to Harvard had emboldened her, I think.

I even remember the sweetness of her breath as I leaned close to hear her over the wind and crowd. Her smile was crooked, so unused was she to flashing it but so eager to anyway.

So today I searched for her in Google. She went to Harvard, through 2002 or so, at least. She’s probably graduated by now…I didn’t look that closely. I found one picture, of her at a May Day celebration of some sort. She’s wearing a black trench over a sundress and has her hand out to accept something from an older, flower-haloed woman in a shawl. Her face looked plumper, and she’d cut her hair short, so that it ringed her now-rounder head.

She’s smiling in the photograph, but it’s a dull smile, a knowing smile. Gone is the girlish wonder that I remember from graduation and play over in my mind today. She seems pleasant but soft and knowing. Gone is the edge she had, the uncertaintly, naivety, and danger that for probably one term or just one weekend balanced perfectly with a new confidence and and the shock of hearing her own voice before the whole thing collapsed and Harvard and comfort came out on top.

(It’s not a question of innocence; that has nothing to do with it.)

Maybe she’s happier. I don’t know.

I hate that photograph.