Proper douche bags.
People telling me to my face to Fuck off.
And people from my past who know my dirty little secrets.
She stood there, a mere few feet away from where I stood.
She didn't even recognize me.
I suppose I've changed my look a lot.
I was blonde when she knew me.
Hair color is like lipstick.
Lots of fun trying lots of shades but eventually you find your favorite and are too lazy to change it anymore.
Red.
And Red.
Always.
I don't know why I was so rattled seeing her standing there.
It was years since I last saw her and that part of my life was so long ago I feel like a different person now.
I am, really.
I was Resa then.
Nobody calls me that anymore.
The thing I found so odd about my reaction was that I was both startled and glad seeing her standing there.
You'd have thought we were long lost lovers the way I was so flummoxed.
I actually debated with myself over whether or not to say hello.
Hello there.
Remember me.
I'm the scandalous little barista you used to work with.
Good heavens.
No thank you.
What on earth would I even say to her?
But the thing was.
She was the only person who was nice to me when all the drama unfolded.
She'd even written me a kind letter, which stood out, even after all these years.
I think whenever anybody does anything especially kind it haunts you.
Rarity does that.
And then when I thought my chance to speak to her had passed her eyes finally met mine.
And the chapter of my story fell across her eyes and she nearly gasped an, "Oh! Hello. I thought I recognized you from somewhere but I couldn't figure out how."
She remembered.
We made small talk and ran out of things to say more quickly than I expected.
But I was able to say, "You were always really nice to me. And I really appreciated it."
'Oh, well, it was nothing--'
"Really."
Being reminded of how awful so many people were to me back then made me really thankful for where I was now.
And what I was free from.
And who I was free to be.
Shade: Unknown.
Isn't it amazing how the things people say can loom so large in our own story about ourselves and can seem such a small thing for others in their own stories? Which I guess is all about perspective, and starfish...
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