Becoming Cosmopolitan: Pride, Loss, and Falling in Love

Becoming Cosmopolitan:
Pride, Loss, and Falling in Love

I have lost a friend. Heather was my first best friend in college. Kelsey was innocent. We used to talk about boys, diets, make-up, dreams, and love.
It wasn’t until attending college that I became a firm believer in the curse of threes. Kelsey, Heather, and I were a group of three friends who ate together, partied together, shopped together, and lived together. One person is always fated to be left out in these everyday activities.
Two of the three will be talking about the other at least ninety percent of the time. Soon everyone involved becomes paranoid and catfights begin. The repercussions of our actions were unpredictable. The damage done can never be undone.

Q & A
Dear Cosmopolitan,
Why do I crave sugary foods when I’m depressed?
Because they’re high in carbs, which raise levels of the feel-good brain chemical serotonin, says Heidi Skolnik, nutritionist at the Hospital for Special Surgery, in New York City. But the boost doesn’t last long, and you end up reaching for more sweets. A better way to manage your mood: call a friend.

Act I Scene I

The curtain opens to a cafeteria scene. Three long plastic tables in a row at center stage. Metal chairs with plastic blue seats are placed along the table’s edges. A line of students wait to pay for their food. Heather, a tall twenty-something girl with a sophisticated soot-colored bob, stands beside Stephanie, an artificial blonde sporting sweat pants labeled “swim chick” and a plain white T-shirt.
Stephanie: Cereal Bar again?
Heather: Yeah.
Stephanie: How was the walk to class today? I heard it got down to negative thirty- seven.
Heather: (Awkward) Ha . . . it was cold.
Heather stares at the people in front of her, blankly. Stephanie bites her lip and attempts to think of a topic that will interest Heather.
Stephanie: What was wrong with Kelsey the other day?
Heather: (Intrigued) She got a ‘B’ in Intro to Biology. The apocalypse followed.
Stephanie: (Smiling) That’s crazy. This is college. ‘B’s are perfectly fine.
Heather: I know, but she is such a baby. I think it’s her parents. They put a ton of pressure on her to do well in everything. Back in high school, she was the Valedictorian, captain of the cheerleading squad, and Ms. Corn-Fest 2006.
Stephanie: Yeah, I think she said something about the Corn-feed or whatever—
Heather: (Shakes her head and rolls her eyes) God’s gift. The only reason she was in all that shit is because her parents need to have at least one child who isn’t hopeless. Her brother has a learning disorder or something.
Stephanie: He looks like Gollum from Lord of the Rings.
Heather: (laughing) that’s good.
Stephanie: So what’s with her boyfriend? He never comes to visit.
Heather: Chris Smith. The single most generic name on the planet. He doesn’t have a personality. The few times I have seen them together, they don’t act like a couple. He is always off with his guy friends.
Stephanie: Can you say “fag-hag?”
Heather: (laughing) No kidding.
Stephanie: He sounds like some kind of queer robot—
Heather: But he looks good on paper. Pep band, honor roll, basketball, that sort of thing.
The two girls reach the register and swipe their University of North Dakota student I.D.s. They walk together to the first table on the left.
Heather: Hey, are you staying here this weekend? Kelsey and I were thinking of going to Greek Row.
Stephanie: (Smiling) Yeah, I think I’ll stay.
Curtain closes.




Cosmo Confession: Bare-Breasted Boogie
Cosmo readers share their most shocking stories and steamiest secrets.
"My friends and I were going dancing at this new club. I wore a really low-cut top. Because of the way the shirt was, I couldn't wear a bra, so I put double-sided tape on the inside of the shirt. When we got to the club, I met this cute guy, and we started getting down on the dance floor. He couldn't stop smiling as we danced. Then one of my friends pulled me aside. The tape had come unstuck, and I'd been dancing with one of my boobs totally exposed and flailing around." --Hannah, 24


Ladies Night

Young women open their mouths
insert white, crisp cigarettes between sticky pink lips
they inhale thick ash
they are dizzy as they dance and drink
and laugh

They wear tight hot tops
sprits expensive chemical euphoria on their breasts
they exhale bitter vodka scented breath
they wear silk push-up bras
and grin

Young women trot past full frat houses
heels tap on the shadowed side walks
they swing hips
they brush their soft skin against young men
and kiss




The harsh sting of vodka and diet sprite hangs on our breath. The burning sensation chases down our chests and we laugh slower as the day ends. The living room is the epicenter of the party. Ten people crowd around the tiny coffee table in front of a burgundy leather sofa. The walls are white-washed; posters of couples kissing in black and white decorate our apartment. Pink pillows are placed neatly on the stone-gray carpet. “Drinking Jenga” is the source of our amusement. Technicolor wooden blocks tower above shot glasses and empty beer bottles. Each block has requests written in black ink. Take a shot. Propose marriage to the person to your left. Suck and blow. A game designed to dull the senses and heighten the chances of meaningless hook-ups.
“I broke up with my boyfriend, Chris, last week.” Kelsey slurs.
“Okay.” A bronze, muscular, engineering major with a full lips and shaggy brown hair sits next to Kelsey nodding.
“You look like him.” She sniffs and appears ready to cry after admitting this. Heather and I make eye contact and smirk.
He raises one eye-brow and gives her a half smile. Kelsey wipes her nose, takes another drink. I reach forward toward the stack of brightly colored wooden blocks and slowly pull the piece from its spot in the tower. “Suck and Blow!” Heather pulls a credit card out of her back pocket and hands it to me. Everyone stands around the coffee table in a circle. I inhale hard, forcing the card to stick to my lips. Heather presses her face against the card on my lips and sucks the card to hers. The game continues until Kelsey drops to card forcing the muscular, engineering major’s lips to press hard against hers.

Act I Scene II
Heather and Stephanie clear cups and empty beer bottles from the coffee table and counter tops of their on-campus apartment.
Heather: Is this vomit? (Heather points to a dark spot on the carpet)
Stephanie: (cringes) Gross.
Heather: Nasty!
Stephanie: Kelsey can clean that.
Heather: Do you ever wonder why she gets all of the guys?
Stephanie: She’s easy.
Heather: (smiles) Yeah…he wouldn’t think so highly of her if he knew about her condition.
Stephanie: (slight laughter) What condition?
Heather: I saw her taking Xanax once. She didn’t know I could see her. It was after a rough Biology exam. I could see her in the bathroom through the mirror from my bed.
Stephanie: For depression, anxiety? That sort of thing?
Heather: Yeah, I never confronted her about it. I bet it’s her parent’s fault (changing topics). . . I really thought me and Jon had a connection, though.
Stephanie: Jon?
Heather: The engineering guy who is sharing a bed with Kelsey.
Stephanie: Did you tell her you liked him?
Heather: I mentioned how hot I thought he was.
Heather checks her reflection in the dark screen of the television set in the corner of the
living room.
Stephanie: It’s not you, Heather, she is just more social. You aren’t all over guys. She has to manipulate a guy to get him to kiss her. Remember suck and blow?
The door to Kelsey’s bedroom opens. Jon walks out, smiles awkwardly at the Heather
and Stephanie, then leaves.
Heather: (hangs head) I’m tired
Heather solemnly opens the door to her bedroom and leaves.
Stephanie: (to herself) It’s times like these I am thankful I have Tyler.
Curtain Closes.



The day I moved into my first college apartment, I felt a nauseating combination of nervousness and excitement. I picked out my clothes the night before the hour drive to UND. I had been packing for several days. It was the dusk of summer. I stood in the empty bedroom where I had retreated during in high school and middle school phases of angst. At the last moment, I wanted to grip the metal bed frame beneath the leopard comforter I so loved, despite the force of the future sucking my body from this safe place. I think growing up is wanting to kick, scream, and struggle against obligation like a child throwing a tantrum—the growing up part is when you hold the outburst inside. Adults, especially young adults are all sobbing like toddlers on the inside. Like the mature individual my mother had trained me to be, I stood in the empty room and refrained from holding tight to anything. The soft August breeze flowed through the screened windows of my childhood bedroom. I flipped the plastic switch down, leaving the white walls a pale morning blue, and left.

Polaris
“I feel that when I’m old
I’ll look at you and know
the world was beautiful.”
--Jim Adkins

The worst part of moving to a different place at eighteen is that you haven’t truly lived long enough to know what to leave behind. I knew I was losing dependence on my parents, but I was also losing curfews, my friends a few minutes’ drive away, my privacy, the simplistic stresses of high school, my boyfriend? He lived six or seven blocks from my house and is two years younger.
I want to always remember him the way he was that summer. His tanned arms contrasted with the white of his stomach and back. He was never shy or self-conscious. Loud and opinionated, finding humor in the darkest of instances. Willingly following the stereotype of high school aged young men, emptying his pockets to Abercrombie and Fitch while “investing” time and money in a new Xbox 360.
That summer was spent in my purple two door neon, parked on country roads. The heat of the black interior felt warm on my cold pale thighs. I am perpetually cold, even now in my apartment with several layers of blankets and sweatshirts cocooning me, I still feel chilly. Tyler had deep jade stains under both of his arms. He cracked the window, letting the farm field air seep in. He is naturally warm blooded and well suited to live in Northern Minnesota. He didn’t believe in radio, and always had CDs handy. Rascal Flatts was his pick that day. I liked to call them Rascal Fats to tease Tyler. But I consider the name fitting as the lead singer is cherubic and constantly wears stripped button downs that appear to nearly burst at his belly button. Tyler and I held hands and discussed life.
“Where were you born?”
Tyler was born in Fargo, North Dakota. He was two months premature. There were serious complications. This might be because his mother is the thinnest woman in the world, with the narrowest hips. Her legs are long, freckled and always tan. She looks like she belongs in Urban Cowboy and ironically enough; her life has been something like it. The 1980 film’s tagline is, “Hard hat days, and honky-tonk nights.” John Travolta is a Texan blue-collar man who learns about love in bars and life in double-wide trailers. In a scene in Urban Cowboy, John Travolta’s character discusses potentially losing his wife.

Uncle Bob: You know Bud; sometimes even a cowboy's gotta swallow his pride to hold on to somebody he loves.
Bud: What do you mean?
Uncle Bob: Hell I know, I pretty near lost Corrine and the kids a couple of times just 'cause of pride. You know you think that ol' pride's gonna choke you going down but I tell you what ain't a night goes by I don't thank the boss up there for giving me a big enough throat. 'Cause without Corrine and them kids hell I'd just be another pile of dog shit in the cantaloupe patch just drawing flies.
Bud: I guess so.
Uncle Bob: Think about it Bud, pride's one of those seven deadlies you know what I mean?


Tyler’s mother moved to Thief River Falls, Minnesota to go to college where she met Tyler’s father. I imagine them meeting at the local bar, the Rusty Nail. Before any ounce of pride had made Tyler’s parents resent each other.

Doyle sat on a ripped vinyl bar stool, smoking. LeAnn entered below the neon sign for Budweiser and the orange and blue glow of the tube lighting illuminated LeAnn’s bronze midriff (which is always showing) and curly brown mass of hair. Doyle adjusted his embellished silver belt buckle and parted the cloud of silver Marlboro smoke to ask LeAnn to dance to the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band classic, “Workin' Man (Nowhere to Go).”

By the time Tyler enrolled in junior high, the country-song romance between his parents had vanished. Doyle never received any of the promotions he thought he would at the local snowmobile factory. LeAnn worked nights at a retirement home, cleaning up after residents, washing linens and dishes. When Tyler’s father got drunk, which was nearly every night, he either shouted at his wife about money or lack thereof or he strummed softly on his guitar crooning sad country melodies about the way life could have been if only he had the courage to make it to Nashville. The very same pride that kept John Travolta’s cowboy character from his leading lady, kept Doyle from coping with the way his life turned out.


Act II Scene I

Tyler sits in his bed with his hands over his ears. LeAnn and Doyle are heard arguing from off stage. Tyler throws his worn, baseball themed blankets across his twin bed and storms out of his bedroom to the living room. Enter Doyle and LeAnn. A tattered floral couch faces a small television set.
Doyle: Don’t think I don’t notice you all over him. (Doyle holds a bottle of yellow
liquor)
LeAnn: (yelling) You’re crazy.
Tyler: (fuming) Get a divorce!
Doyle: (slurring) You . . . You’re just as worthless as her. (Doyle takes a swig from his bottle, then throws it across the room) You aren’t gonna amount ta shit.
Tyler: You are nothing.
LeAnn: (cleaning up the shattered remnants of Doyle’s liquor bottle) Stop it, both of you.
Doyle: I was going to be great. She held me back. . . (Doyle’s voice trails off. He stumbles to his bedroom door and leaves. LeAnn sits beside her swept pile of glass, her head in her hands. Tyler sweeps the broken glass into a dust pan and helps his mother to the couch).



Tyler liked to show me home movies about happier times. A professor told me once that a home video is no longer reality, but a moving story of one’s life. Tyler’s story begins with an incubator. The pale body of a four pound baby is the first image on the film. His mother speaks in the background. She whispers Tyler’s name to the little body. His chest rises and falls in tiny pulsing movements. His stomach has white bandaging over what will be the largest scar I have ever seen. Tyler had to be delivered before his organs were fully developed in his little baby body. He was baptized minutes after being born, because he was likely to die. His father drunkenly slurs, “That boy had a strong will to live.”
While sitting in my car on the hot July afternoon, I wanted to touch his scar. He lifted his shirt, revealing a flesh tone line directly down the middle of his stomach. His belly button was gone, only an inch wide nude stripe remained. I reached over the warm plastic center console and traced the smooth edges of his tummy with my finger tips. He squirmed. He began to breath faster. He was uncomfortable. After a few moments, he lowered his pale blue T-shirt and covered his wound. I told him he should have a better story for how he got it, something outrageous like a shark attack or armed robbery. He told me that everyone tells him that.
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“When did you know you liked me?”
Tyler and I met on the swim team. I was the manager and he was one of the fastest sprinters on the team, which didn’t say much because the team usually lost, but we had fun. Especially on the bus rides to away meets.


Away Meet
Park Rapids Panthers vs. Thief River Falls Prowlers

“Can I put makeup on you?” I cling to the plastic bus seat as we go over a speed bump. Our heads bob and the engine rumbles. Teenage boys peer over the torn gray backs of the public school bus seats to witness their teammate’s humiliation. It smells like sweat and the processes lunch meat that their mothers have packed them. “This covers any blemish or uneven tone you may have.” The sun is rising. We have been driving for hours. Frost encapsulates the windows around the heavily breathing boys. His skin is smooth; the milk white foundation covers his freckles well.
“I always knew you were a flamer, Tyler.” A chubby boy with curly red hair yells out from his seat. The others echo his sentiment. I giggle with delight as Tyler’s cheeks twitch uncomfortably under the compressed powder I apply.
We are sitting very close. “This is mascara. It makes you look dramatic and gorgeous…open, look up.” I glob some water proof midnight black mascara onto his once blonde eyelashes. My fingers gently pull the skin under his eyes. I can feel the breath from his nose on the back of my hand. “Look at me.” His eyes are vivid blue. The left one has a tiny dot of deep brown just above the bottom rim of his iris. “Beautiful.”

“What is your first memory of me? Did you know I was ‘the one’ right away?” I laughed. I hoped his answer will make me feel warm. I hoped he thought I was beautiful and witty in this memory.
“You were walking to school. I watched you from the window of my English room. It was cold and very windy. You were such a mess, a beautiful disarray of pastels and curls. It reminded me of the first time Romeo saw Juliet.”

Romeo: . . . See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand! O, that I were a glove upon that hand, that I might touch that cheek!
Juliet: Ay me!
Romeo: She speaks: O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art as glorious to this night, being o'er my head as is a winged messenger of heaven unto the white-upturned wondering eyes of mortals that fall back to gaze on him when he bestrides the lazy- pacing clouds and sails upon the bosom of the air.

Act II Scene II

Tyler sits on the floral couch in the middle of his living room. The stage is dark except
for a spot light. He begins a memory monologue.
Tyler: She almost fell. She smiled to herself as to assure any onlooker that she was okay. Her pink fur boots had worn plastic bottoms. The wind feathered her hair against her Easter egg blue puffy hood. She held the back of her head with one hand and stretched her arm and mittened palm out to balance herself against the cold force weighing her down. Her eyes watered, her cheeks burned from freezing breeze. Involuntary tears carried strands of black mascara down her face. Her nose ran clear glossy snot to the edge of her pursed lips. She stepped lightly, a mess, across dirt speckled mounds of old snow pressed hard into the concrete path leading to her to school.


“Ready to go?” The sun had fallen into a cluster of trees on the horizon, casting the countryside into a magenta glow. I pulled hard at the tangled passenger side seat belt. Tyler started the engine. My purple Dodge Neon rumbled. He reached over before switching gears, straightened out my beige nylon shoulder strap, and forced a happy click at the belt’s end. I loved him; I knew it at that moment.


Your Cosmo College Survival Guide

Five Very Cool Things About College1. Meeting your BFFs: Because you’re on your own for the first time, the friends you make in college become like a surrogate family. And those bonds tend to be lasting ones.2. Not having a curfew: Now that Mom and Dad aren’t waiting up, you can come home pretty much whenever you want...if at all.3. Getting a fresh start: College is a clean slate — no one will know you had a nose job or were considered part of the nerd herd in high school. Plus, with so many students with diverse interests, you’ll easily be able to find people who are your type.4. Enjoying more free time: Because you have more control over your schedule, you may be able to sleep in a few mornings a week and have Fridays off entirely.5. Taking interesting classes: a few core requirements aside, you can choose courses that appeal to you and avoid ones that don’t.




Act III Scene I
Heather and Stephanie sit comfortably on their living room sofa. Kelsey sits across the coffee table in a black leather armchair. Neon colored plastic cups and cosmopolitan magazines are placed on tables and floors.
The girls laugh.
Kelsey: …Then he ran back forth down the hallway, completely naked!
Heather: Wow. I would never have guessed he was such a sucker for truth or dare.
Stephanie: (takes a drink from a pink plastic cup) Hey, do you think we over did it with
Mojito mix?
Kelsey: (tries her drink) Not at all. I love this.
Heather: The Mojitos or talking about Jon’s naked body?
Kelsey: The drinks are good…but also just hanging out with you guys. I missed out on
this when I was with Jon.
Stephanie: You never told us exactly how it ended.
Heather: We don’t have to go into it—
Kelsey: He cheated on me.
Heather picks up the summer issue of Cosmopolitan and begins reading.
Stephanie: When? How do you know?
Kelsey: I could just tell. He wasn’t returning my calls, his friends at his frat would avoid me, and I found girlie stuff in his room…it sure wasn’t mine.
Stephanie: I’m sorry, Kels.
Heather: (reading) “Six ways to train your boyfriend.”
Kelsey: I found an earring behind one of his pillows. That was the last straw.
Stephanie: Was it one of those skanky hoop earrings?
Heather: (reading) “Number one: indulge his playfulness.”
Kelsey: No. It was a simple diamond stud. A lot of girls wear them.
Stephanie: Yeah, who did I see that had the cutest ones? They had a touch of pink in the
stone.
Heather: (reading loudly) “Number two: reward the good. Ignore the bad.”
Kelsey: That’s exactly like the one I found!
Stephanie: This is great ammo for an article, do you mind?
Kelsey: (looks at feet) I don’t know.
Stephanie: I wish I could remember who had those earrings. I think it was in a class or at work or—
Heather: (reading louder) “Number three: keep a cool head.”
Stephanie gasps.
Kelsey: What? Do you know who it is?
Heather stops reading.
Heather: It was me.
Kelsey: (severe) You?
Heather: Kelsey, come on, you dated him for a month.
Kelsey: (eyes watering) I can’t believe—
Heather: You know what kills me? I saw him first. Then he wants to date you. You, with your perfect grades, perfect hair, crazy pills.
Stephanie: Stop.
Kelsey swallows hard, stands up, and leaves the living room.
Heather: I refuse to feel bad about this.
Stephanie: (sarcastic) That’s considerate.
Heather goes to her room and begins to frantically pack her clothes.
Stephanie: Where are you going?
Heather: Jon’s frat.
Stephanie: (shocked) Heather—
Heather: (voice cracks) I don’t need it from you, too.

The Forgivable Sin
By: Stephanie Liden
When one first catches a glimpse of UND’s ivy covered architecture, the thought that something foreign, mystifying, and most importantly dark lies within would never cross one’s mind. That is until you pay a visit to the home of thirty plus young men sharing a bond in brotherhood and the party stories to prove it. I am talking about UND’s diverse collection of fraternities. There are twelve fraternities on campus. I am sure no one is the same as the other. One in particular will stand out in my memory for years to come. It is to that special brotherly order that I owe my complete understanding of college guys. The number one piece of advice I could give a college girl would be to approach some of these people and places with caution. I do not want to portray a sense of disliking for people in fraternities—that is not so. I understand that a lot of young men owe their entire college experience to these organizations. I am basing my assumptions solely on the events that I have recently witnessed.
Some men can be divided into groups or genres, if you will. These genres are based partially on style but mostly on actions. Even more notorious than the ever popular “toxic bachelor”—the one who goes through women faster than he goes through toilet paper—is the toxic boyfriend. I was unfortunate enough to witness a toxic boyfriend in the wild, a.k.a. a fraternity. They aren’t your boyfriend, but the significant other of another woman . . . technically. A toxic boyfriend in the act intensely flirts with every female that moves except his significant other. This includes touching other girls, dancing with other girls, hugging, holding, whispering sweet nothings—you name it. For a while one may be confused that this toxic boyfriend is in a heavy relationship with the said sweet nothing recipient, but then, he moves on to some other female continuing his manipulative flirtation process. By the end of the night, this guy will have a minimum of ten women completely interested and utterly confused.
One may ask where the pitiful girlfriend is in these situations. The answer in my case was: directly across the room, witnessing all the flirtatious promiscuity while playing a variety of board games with his said brothers and friends. This was the most puzzling part of the experience. Call me jealous, but where I come from, it just isn’t normal to smile and wave to your boyfriend as he feels up a tight-shirted brunette and grinds on the dance floor with a short skirted blonde.
Perhaps this pitiful girlfriend just read the article I came across recently. It is entitled, “Why don’t they feel bad when they flirt?” According to a Dr. Bonnie Eaker Weil, author of Adultery: the Forgivable Sin, men harbor a biochemical craving to flirt—and what’s worse is that some men know it. So as the girlfriends, who do not necessarily harbor this dismissal of monogamy, are we supposed to sit back and watch as the blonde and brunette steal all of our glory?
After considering the article and the incident at the fraternity, I came to realize that the concern should remain in his intentions. Is he fishing for something better than what he has, or is he just trying to make the most of his college experience? In an exclusive interview with a toxic boyfriend, I asked what his philosophy was on monogamy in regard to his feelings for his current girlfriend. I had observed this couple at parties and he follows the protocol of the toxic man by neglecting his girlfriend while flirting with others.
Stephanie: Do you think it is cheating to press your pelvis against other women?
Toxic Boyfriend: It doesn’t matter. I don’t know if I am in love [with my girlfriend]—maybe half way there…If I haven’t kissed another girl or [engaged in fornication] with another girl, I’m fine. We are in college. This is supposed to be the craziest time of my life. I have to take advantage of everything out there.
I believe there is a line that was crossed at the fraternity.
To me, cheating is not as black and white as a kiss or more. Alas, according to biology and Dr. Eaker Weil, as long as that toxic boyfriend is his girlfriend’s at the end of the night—he remains innocent.

How to Get Over Him: The No B.S. Guide to Surviving a Breakup
Let's face it: Breakups are about as much fun as food poisoning -- and they can cause even the most cool, collected chick to curl into a fetal position on the floor for days. If you've recently gone from coupledom to splitsville, read on.

Brilliant Dance

So this is odd, the painful realization that all has gone wrong. And nobody cares at all, and nobody cares at all.So you buried all your lover's clothesand burned the letters lover wrote, but it doesn't make it any better.Does it make it any better?And the plaster dented from your fistin the hall where you had your first kissreminds you that the memories will fade.So this is strange, our sidestepping has come to be a brilliant dancewhere nobody leads at all, where nobody leads at all.And the picture frames are facing downand the ringing from this empty soundis deafening and keeping you from sleep.And breathing is a foreign taskand thinking's just too much to askand you're measuring your minutes by a clock that's blinking eights.This is incredible.Starving, insatiable, yes, this is love for the first time.Well you'd like to think that you were invincible.Yeah, well weren't we all once before we felt loss for the first time?Well this is the last time.This is the last time.This is the last time.
-- Chris Carrabba

While growing up, everyone is numb. The end of the world means a shot at the doctor, a fight with a friend, missing recess, the death of a pet. We liked to think we were invincible. We can write articles, we can gossip, we can have sex. We tell ourselves nothing will come of it. Not a single person is prepared for reality. The world swallows you whole. We weren’t prepared for what happened next.

“Tell me she’s okay.” Heather cried in my arms. “We pushed her buttons. We talked about her behind her back, I took her boyfriend. You wrote that article making her sound like a tool.”
“These are trivial things,” I told her, “She was depressed. She couldn’t live up to her parent’s impossible standards. You said so yourself.” One of us had to be strong. I was faking it.




Act III Scene II

Heather sits in the corner of a pale tiled bathroom, between the toilet and the bathtub. Her cheeks are red and her eyes are puffy. The spotlight centers on her tiny form.

Heather: I left the apartment. I couldn’t admit that I had become a college cliché. I had my pride. I am the kind of girl obsessed with who is the hottest in a mini-skirt. I am shallow. I am heartless. I packed my pride and left her alone after breaking her heart. I wish I could say I came back to apologize, but I forgot my shower caddy. (sad smile) What a silly thing to care about when your friend is bleeding and cold. I knocked on the bathroom door. No answer. I told her I was not there to talk. I needed my things. No answer. The door was framed in light against the darkness of the hallway. I slipped my fingers between the door frame and pushed. I gasped at what I saw. Her naked body lay half submerged in a tub of pink water. Her brown curls were drenched and stuck to her forehead. I couldn’t hear. I couldn’t move. I glanced at the open slits down the inner sides of each pale arm. They were pornographic, an inappropriate sight that made my stomach burn. The next voice I remember hearing was hysterical.
“Oh God, Heather,” it said, “Oh God, what has she done?” Stephanie called 911. I bit my tongue, my face was hot. I vomited.
The paramedics came and pulled her out. I stood in a dark corner of the hallway the whole time. I felt Stephanie’s hand in mine. Her other hand covered her mouth. She shook her head, eyes closed tight. Freezing cold sweat drenched my back and neck. “I’m not getting a pulse.” They said to Kelsey’s icy closed eye-lids.
“Oh God, Heather.”



Baby’s First Funeral


She said her goodbyes.
Giving the body of her daughter one last hug
before the machine buzzes, sending her down.

The family is asked to come forward.
I stay behind—my heels sinking into the moist, green earth.
I am drained, beaten by the reality of my actions.

Her grandmother’s cheeks are tight and flushed from tears.
I look away because I don’t want to cry.
I must be as steady as the stone angels mounted over dirt mound graves.

Her brother sobs, his gangly shoulders bouncing up and down.
His head is bowed, his face is strained.
I look away—I shouldn’t see that.


Act III Scene III
Stephanie sits on the black armchair of a nearly empty apartment, reading Cosmopolitan. Tyler carries a box to the coffee table and sets it in front of his girlfriend.

Tyler: What are you reading that for?
Stephanie: I don’t know. They have advice for everything that will happen in a girl’s life, right?
Tyler: (softly) Not for this, love.
Stephanie: (takes a deep breath, tosses magazine) Heather claims her pride killed Kelsey.
Tyler: There isn’t always someone to blame. People have a problem realizing that.
Tyler sits on the arm of Stephanie’s chair. He holds her head against his chest.
Stephanie: If I could have talked to her, told her—
Tyler: Don’t worry about what might have been. People spend their whole lives
wondering “what if.” It isn’t worth it. Kelsey is an example of someone too lost to save.
You will be able to let her go. Not today, not tomorrow, but someday. Take the good
memories you have with her and continue on.
Stephanie nods. Tyler stands, lifts the box, and carries it to the door. Stephanie follows, turns off the living room light, and opens the door. They leave.