Brandi Shrub was a tall, skinny, and – ok – pretty brunette with teased hair and tattoos, donning lip injections by the time she was 16. Having been left back two or three times, Brandi and I shared the same 8th grade lunch period despite our three year age difference.

An innocent idiot, I made the mistake of having a crush on Rick Serafino, the junior high “Bad Boy” who piqued my interest by being a potential bad influence. He not only did, but dealt drugs, and had more sexual experience at the time than I do today at 43. Way out of my sheltered little league, Rick was the epitome of danger. Already an enthusiast for drama and pain, I had no choice but to fall for him (Rinse and repeat for the rest of my life, by the way).

It was only after I’d let the news of my affection leak that I discovered Brandi liked Rick, too.  I learned this bit of info from the source herself.

“LAUREN,” she yelled on my way out of the cafeteria.

Brandi Shrub knew my name? This realization was both terrifying and exhilarating; my first brush with the feeling I’d grow to love.

“Hi!” I replied, turning to greet her as if I were comfortable.

“You’re disgusting,” she spat as she sauntered past, close enough to intentionally knock my backpack off my shoulder and onto the floor.  “Rick will never go out with a fat pig like you.”

All of the blood in my body drained to my ankles. I braced myself for a hard faint, but nothing happened. I just stood there, shaking, trying to come to terms with the fresh wound that just opened in my soul. 

The comments continued every day for a week. I learned to stare ahead and travel outside of myself as I endured the abuse. I tried to hum loud enough that I couldn’t hear the words being hurled at me, along with paper airplanes, as I’d walk for what felt like hours towards my spot at the lunch table each day.  But even in my attempts to ignore the insults, I grew to understand that I was:

Ugly,

Stupid,

A loser,

A nerd,

Gross with greasy hair, and

A waste of too much space.

Even months after Brandi got bored with me and started torturing someone else, something had changed inside of me – permanently. 

I never spoke to Rick Serafino. He’d walk past me and wink in acknowledgment that he knew what I’d been through. I appreciated his pity. It was the best I could get. It was the most I deserved.

I haven’t seen Brandi since shortly thereafter, but she’s still vaguely present in my life.

I laugh a little too loud, find a joke too funny; I hear her. I walk into a crowded room late, becoming the center of attention; she heckles. A doorman whistles when I walk by; she scoffs. I admit I have feelings for someone; she mocks me. He leans in for a hug and grazes my midsection; she smirks.

She has told me more about myself over time than she ever actually said. She is relentless, wicked, and always there.