What Ever Happened to Marisol?

When I tell this story, people have two reactions. 1. they think I’m lying. I mean, I can’t really blame them it sounds like something a kid would make up to make them seem more interesting. 2. they ask, “are you okay?” like it had just happened to me or something. So, to start off, no I'm not lying, and this happened almost 5 years ago, so yes, I’m fine. In fact, sometimes when I tell the story now I have to stop myself from laughing. Her name was Marisol. It was a few days before the first snowfall when I moved into town, I didn’t know anybody and I was not about to try.

I was In second grade, clamoring onto the bus my first day. Staring at half full seats looking for the least intimidating candidate to be my seat partner. To my relief I found an unoccupied seat. I slid in and as soon as the bus started moving, in she slid next to me. She was like a bean pole., tall and skinny. Her dirty blonde hair swished as she turned to me, “you have peanut butter on your face.” she pointed to my cheek.

My face instantly prickled red as I tried to wipe it off. “Thanks.” She stuck out her hand, “I’m Marisol.” I nodded, “Danicah.”

A series of coincidences would follow. I found out she was my neighbor, our moms became friends, and she would hold the title of my best friend for the next 7 and a half years. Coincidentally, I'd meet two more friends on that bus- who I've been friends with for over 15 years. But she was the first person to be nice to me when I moved, after a rough few years after my parent’s divorce. My mom had just started dating again, my dad was upset I was calling her boyfriend dad. My brother started calling me fat, and my older sister had disappeared a few months prior without a word. I was quiet and only talked to a handful of other kids, I kept my circle small, and nobody but her knew about my family. She was boisterous and sensitive, confident and proud. She was someone I looked up to, even though she was younger than me.

We told each other everything. We wrote books together, watched movies we shouldn’t of, snuck into the tv room at midnight to watch adult swim. We made pizzas out of tortillas and ate Swiss cheese and mustard sandwiches for snack. She’d seen sides of my family I never wanted to show to anyone and made me feel okay about it. We had sleepovers on school nights, she took me on motorcycle trips and I took her to my cabin. It was like a blissful summer that lasted all year.

But over the years, like most kids, she struggled with issues at home too. At one point in middle school I had to choose between breaking my friend’s trust and getting her help. I made the wrong decision and I've always regretted it. I realize now that I let her down, but things don’t always make sense when you’re a kid. Luckily, she still did end up getting help. I’ll never forget having to hide her scissors from her while she was in the bathroom. I remember exactly where I hid them.

It seemed like the more I tried to show her how much she meant to me, the worse things would get.

I watched my friend turn down a path I didn’t know how to help her out of. She wasn’t being respectful of my beliefs, purposefully starting arguments until I cried. I realize now part of that was just her own struggle with belief- she was mad and needed somewhere to put that anger. I started pulling back in 8th grade, when she pulled an awful ‘prank’ on my other friend Bea who had moved away. Telling her that one of our mutual friends was dead—they weren’t. She'd gotten a lot of Bea's friends to continue the lie. It broke Bea's heart and she mourned the loss. By the time I even heard about it, it had been an ongoing 'prank' for 4 months.

Bea was one of those friends I've now had for 15 years. But the day I broke the news to her, I almost lost her as a friend. It was one of my most devastating moments growing up. I spent weeks crying on the phone to her, begging her to forgive me, trying to explain. I decided then that Marisol and I needed some time apart.

The next time I talked to her I was in 9th grade. Things with my Bea had died down and Marisol had begged me to forgive her. I knew she was going through a lot. And she was my best friend. For a while, that Marisol I knew those first few years was back. We did silly stuff, blindfolded makeovers, pillow fights, prank calls about fridges running away. One day she sat me down and told me she had done drugs. I was so floored; I don’t even remember what I asked her after she said that. But she went into a long explanation, “it was only once.” and “it was amazing.” this was another moment I failed her. I should of said something to someone, but I had just gotten my friend back, and I wasn't sure how to tell anybody.

The drugs made me uncomfortable to be around her. Of course only once wasn’t only once. She was stealing pills from her mother or buying them at school. I hate the saying but yeah she fell in with the 'wrong crowd'. She became agitated, only wanting to talk about getting high or how much she hated her mom. I don’t even remember her drug of choice, I used to try and tune it out when she talked about it. It made my stomach hurt. I'd watched my dad struggle with addiction for as long as I could remember. It made me feel so helpless thinking she was going down the same road. And nothing I tried to say mattered.

The real end to our friendship ramped up like a cannon ball but fizzled like a sparkler. To this day, nobody in my family can figure out why she did this. It was my senior year, I’d been busy preparing for the ACT’s and graduating, and hadn’t talked to Marisol in a few months. I was in my room studying when I heard my mom scream. It wasn’t a frustrated scream; which we were all used to. It was a scream of fear and pain and it froze me to my chair for a moment. I hear more yelling and get up to see what’s going on. I can’t make out who it is or what they’re saying, it’s coming from the side of the road. Just as I make it out to my front door, it swings open. “Danicah I need you to sit with your mom.”

I gave my stepdad a confused look, really not sure what to make of any of this now. “Okay?” he gets out his phone, I stop him, “What’s going on?” My stepdad for the most part had a calm demeanor- like barely cheered at touchdowns calm- and he was red in the face, veins surfacing on his neck. “Just go sit by your mom and make sure Marisol stays away from her. I got to call the police.”

Confused, worried and scared, I go outside and see my mom sitting on our front porch, holding her head. Her knees were scraped pretty good and she had a decent sized red mark on her face. A bit reserved I ask, “Are you okay?” My mom nods, “Yeah I think so.”

“What happened?”

My mother had been gardening by the roadside, where she had an arrayment of flowers by the curb. She was bent down, facing the road just doing her thing while my stepdad was spraying ant hills with insecticide. Marisol, now 16 and a good foot taller than my 46 year old mother, walked up to her and blindsided her. She just jumped on my mom and started wailing on her. My mother screamed and My stepdad turned around to see Marisol, 98 pounds of rage and box hair dye laying into my mom. My stepdad, on the other hand was 6’2” and on his way to 300 pounds. My mom said it seemed like he just picked her up and tossed her to the side. (this is the part I was talking about laughing at).

Apparently as soon as that happened, she just ran back to her house. I think the attack might have been drug related, but I’ll never know. My mom didn’t press charges, she just wanted it documented, to “scare her.” But I’m pretty sure the only people scared were me and my mom. I got escorted to each class for the rest of the semester by some of my friends. I’m grateful for what little comfort that brought me over the next few days. I didn’t feel safe. Not at school, not with friends, not even in my own front yard. I had many sleepless nights worried she’d try to break in and hurt someone in my family again. It’s crazy how you can trust someone with your whole life and the minute they do something to break that trust, it’s as if you no longer know who they are. You question everything about them, your relationship, the way we were. I never ran into her at school; not sure if it was just because she didn’t show up or she was avoiding me too. So really, I don’t even remember the last time I saw her.

Days after graduation, her family moved; something about a divorce. I felt a bit of relief as I saw their moving van pull away. I still remember every inch of that house, their back yard, the garage. We played, laughed, and cried in every one of those rooms. Looking back, as much fun as we had together, I can’t help but think of the ways I've failed her as a friend, and the ways she failed me. In the end, we were kids. Kids make mistakes, say things they don’t mean, and grow apart. I’ve never tried to reach out to her. I think we’re both better off that way. I think some people come into your life and become a part of you forever, and others come into your life and become a life lesson.