I'm So Vain

25

My mom wouldn't let anyone visit me until I was able to walk. Cona had called persistently, from what I heard, since I arrived in the E.R. When my mom finally gave her the Ok to come by, she arrived a half an hour later, with Jillian in tow. I heard them talking to my mom in the hall before they came in. I was laying down, attempting to read the subtitles on the TV at the speed they crossed the screen, when they came in. Jill's hand flew over her mouth at the sight of me, and Cona's eyes grew three times their normal size. They stayed and made small talk with me for about fifteen minutes before making excuses and leaving the room. Jillian hurried out, but Cona paused in the doorway and gave me a long glance, the kind that says goodbye without words. Then she followed Jill into the hallway. I was in the hospital for two weeks in total. That was the only time I was visited. 

The day I was allowed to return to school, I spent most of the morning staring at my reflection. I was wearing a shirt I had gotten for Christmas that year, one I had been saving for some special occasion or other, and transparent pants which hung over black, high-waisted shorts that I had initially bought as an eventual-birthday present for Penny. But even in my best clothes, with my hair clean, soft, and smelling of shampoo, and my most subtle, expensive pair of earrings sparkling from my unscarred ears; I looked horrifying. I looked like the girl in those mental hospital horror movies; the one who lit herself on fire or drove her car through someone's living room window. I didn't have one enormous flaw throwing off the balance of my beautiful features anymore. I was ugly. I turned away from the mirror and forced my feet down the stairs.

All eyes were on me again, but unlike before, when they were sparkling with envy, fascination, and infatuation; they were now wide with shock, disgust, and pity. I spread my hair around my face like a canopy in every class and watched the minutes pass on my phone instead of the classroom clocks, so that I wouldn't have to look up. I stood and hurried out of the room for lunch, but once in the hallway, I had no idea where to go. I couldn't face my friends yet, and I certainly couldn't stay here in the middle of this crowded, staring hallway, so I pushed my way into the ladies room and locked myself in a stall. I stood there and stared at the door in front of me, debating where to go. When I realized I didn't have anywhere, I put seven seat covers on the toilet, sat, and waited for the bell. 

They say time makes injuries heal, but the next day was anything but a step in that direction. It was so, so much worse. I made it through the beginning of the day, and then I bit hard on my lip and entered the cafeteria. It's not like they say it is in the films: there was no sudden hush, no turning of everyone's heads. Their eyes were already on the door, like they were on the edge of their seats just waiting for me to come in. They didn't bother to quiet themselves when I did: I heard my name unquestionably in every conversation that reached my ears. Sure, they moved slightly closer to whispering when I walked right past their tables, but besides this one courtesy, they spoke of me as if the accident had also damaged my hearing. I don't know, maybe that's what they heard. My eyes fell on Penny as I made my way towards our table. Maybe she spread that rumor, just so that this moment would happen. She played pity as she watched me, but I saw it in her eyes, even from twenty feet away: she was on cloud nine. 

I arrived at our table and all of my 'friends' began shuffling in their seats. There wasn't a spot for me to take, so I just stood there and watched them exchange uncomfortable glances like the helpless little lemmings they were. Penny took a long, wide look over her people and then stood, taking her place as Queen and relieving her subjects of the pain of dealing with the returned outcast. She approached me and said, "Can I talk to you?"

"You can," I said, "the question is will you." My voice was dripping with anger, I couldn't help it. I could see where this conversation was leading and I didn't like it. She took my arm, gently but with a firm grip, and pulled me to the side of the cafeteria. "Listen, Ver," she said, and the fury boiled up inside me. "It's Vera," I said, feeling more enraged than I could remember ever being. She rose her eyebrows, unimpressed. "It sucks that this happened to you," she said, repulsion in her eyes as she took in my face. "And it's not like we don't love you," she went on. Then suddenly the anger inside me was smothered by an overwhelming sense of fear, which climbed up my throat like vomit. I hated Penny, I really did. But I couldn't live without her, and I knew she was about to tell me I would have to. She licked her teeth and rose her eyebrows slightly, disgustedly. I had seen her do this so many times, when she was about to deliver a closing line, one that said you can't be our friend. When she had picked me up from play practice, she had given that look to Nicole. And now she was doing it to me. My stomach churned with horror. I could handle any insults she threw my way, but not this. Not this. "We're not a support group, Vera." My fear choked me then and I realized that it was actual vomit climbing up my throat. I braced myself to turn from Penny and run from the cafeteria, but before I did, the hand with the undamaged wrist flew up, my broken fingers bending back so as not to be hurt when my palm hit Penny's cheek. I turned and flew from the cafeteria then, the sight of Penny's mouth dropping and eyes widening blurred behind my tears.