1972

I’m the girl you never hear about in the history books because people are still afraid of it all these years later. I mean really, 40 years later and you can’t even talk about it. From a young age, I was taught to wear pretty dresses and speak only when spoken to. I hated wearing anything my mother picked out for me. I made myself a pair of jeans when I was ten and got detention for a week. I was known as the school rebel. The Smithers girl that her parents just couldn’t seem to pin down. I heard the whispers. I heard the words people spoke about me as I wandered the halls. I wasn’t normal. I knew that. I never had any desire to be, quite honestly. 

When I was fourteen something happened that changed the way I viewed the world. I had a boyfriend, and I wasn’t happy. We’d been dating for a month. I felt so weird around him at times. It just didn’t feel right to me. When he would hold my hand I wished he’d stop. I felt so awful about it but I couldn’t change the way I felt. This boyfriend would carry my books alongside me to my homeroom with Mrs. Evil. I hated that woman with every bone in my body. She always yelled at me. She didn’t agree with a single thing I did. It didn’t matter if it was my clothes or my hair, she hated it all. I didn’t particularly care though because after what she did on that fateful day in 1972, I would hate her forever. We went on as any usual day, saying the pledge of allegiance and doing our journals as Mrs. Evil glared at me when She walked in. Her, with the perfect hair, the perfect eyes, the perfect clothes. She wore black jeans with a cut up “The Doors” shirt. Her black combat boots almost distracted from Her beautiful black hair in a short pixie cut. She was amazing. From the moment I saw Her I loved everything about Her. She sat in the desk beside me, and I could feel my face getting red. No one noticed because they were all throwing judgmental looks Her way. She stood up and said Her name looking right at me as She spoke. Her voice sounded like a sunflower field on a sunny day. She sat back down in Her chair staring at me with every movement She made. I quickly requested the bathroom pass and hid there for the rest of homeroom. 

I walked toward my next class and I saw the black pixie cut bobbing Her way through the sea of simple students surrounding Her. I whispered a string of curses under my breath as I made my way through the sea. As I passed the B- Squad, the popular girls, I heard the queen bee whispering about the new girl. They talked about how much they hated Her but deep down I knew they were just afraid of Her. She was different. She may screw up the perfect system they have going on. God forbid something changed in this stupid school. People are afraid of what they don’t understand. This girl was a mystery to them. She didn’t act or dress like them and that terrified them to no end. 

I sat down beside New Girl, turning to talk to Her in our next class. I told Her my name was Stella, She told me Her name. We spent the whole period talking about the pins on Her backpack, the bands we listen to, and what color I should dye my hair. Her laugh sounded like the warm sun on a chilly day. She was so cool and had provided me with the best conversation I had in years. I invited her to sit with me, The boyfriend and the best friend at lunch. My best friend had been by my side my whole life, but she was the same as the rest of our school. New Girl gratefully accepted my invitation to lunch and walked with me to the cafeteria. The boyfriend and the best friend looked pissed as I approached with New Girl. They glared at me all through lunch as I ignored them, speaking only to my new friend. They pulled me aside telling me She needed to go. They were as scared to ruin their image as the bee squad was. Being seen with someone different would make people dislike them by association. 

 I had spent the months prior flying under the radar after wearing black paint on my lips to protest the presidency of Richard Nixon. I had gotten into a lot of trouble for that act of defiance and had decided to fly low to avoid being expelled. Breaking dress code has gotten me in trouble more than once. Little did I know that while my next course of action wouldn’t get me expelled, it would make the entire student body hate me. 

January passed like a ship through the night. I spent less time with the boyfriend and the best friend and more time with New Girl. We hung out almost every day. She dyed my hair black and blue and helped me create a whole new wardrobe. One night we were out in Her backyard laughing and telling stories of our rebellious behaviors. She told a story of a girl She had befriended, a girl with a serious mental health problem who had been verbally abusive to everyone in her life. She wound up saying some nasty things to New Girl. The words she spoke would haunt my new friend until the day She died. I asked if I could hear what she said. New Girl pulled out a box stuffed to the brim with paper. She handed me one note written on a sheet of paper with ink stains smudging the words. I could tell She had cried over these words more than once. It was a letter from the mentally ill friend. It called Her gay multiple times throughout the note. I turned to stare at the girl whom I had begun to fall in love with. It wasn’t until this second that I would realize the way in which I loved Her. She cried silent tears as I hugged Her. She stared at me and asked me only through the look in Her eyes if I accepted Her. I hugged Her tighter as Her body shook in my arms. That night neither of us slept. We sat staring at the stars until the sun had risen. Not a word was spoken that night although not a word had to be spoken to know what we were thinking. 

We spent the days as we always had, nothing changed. Our friendship didn’t falter even in the slightest way. She knew I liked Her, I knew She liked me. There was nothing left to say. I sat down to lunch one day when the boyfriend slid a note across the table to me. In his messy handwriting, he asked if I had a crush on New Girl. I simply nodded my head, took my tray to the trash, and proceeded to the shelves of the library where I spent my time crying. New Girl sat down beside me, not speaking. I knew what She was thinking. Once again neither one of us needed to speak to know what the other was thinking. 

That day things started to change. I ate in the library with New Girl. The best friend had ditched me and began dating the now ex-boyfriend. I was fine with that. I knew the only person that I needed was Her. I loved Her as I had loved no one else. The problem was I could tell no one of my new found emotional freedom. Not because I was scared people would reject me but because I was scared they would fear me. To them, it would be seen as an illness that needed to be cured. I could practically hear the whispers that would surely surround me if anyone found out. 

At that point, my parents were called almost daily for my dress code violations. I think Mr. Principal had my mother’s phone number on speed dial. Every night I would be sent to my room by my angry parents, where New Girl would be waiting at the window. Either I would sneak out or She would sneak in, and we would spend the night laughing and whispering about anything and everything. When I was away from Her I longed for the conversations we’d have. I missed Her if I spent more than a day not hearing Her beautiful sunflower voice. My mother and father did not approve of her, not that I had ever assumed they would. Most of our time together was spent in school or sneaking around. She lived with Her aunt who had taken Her in after She was forced to leave Her hometown. Her aunt was never home so we spent a lot of time reading in Her yard, singing with the mockingbirds, laughing with the crows, or moving with the trees. 

It was mid-June at this point and we had been spotted holding hands in the mall. The queen bee had seen us and screamed as if she had seen a murder happen right before her precious little eyes. This is what I was afraid of. I turned to run but New Girl stood her ground. She released my hand and spoke only a few words to me. “Run and hate wins. Stand by me and let fear take a stand.” Her green eyes seemed to look directly into my soul as She said that. I grabbed Her hand in mine and we continued around the mall strutting confidently and standing tall with our chins raised. People glared and whispered. For once, I tuned them out. I didn’t care what they thought of us. Their words couldn’t hurt me. New Girl leaned in to kiss me.

The next moments will be playing in my head over and over again for the rest of my life, like a movie on repeat. I heard someone scream, and I turned just in time to see the gun. I felt frozen in place. I could not run, could not scream, could not duck. Then there was nothing but the sound of a single bullet ringing through my ears. New Girl jumped directly in front of me as the bullet came directly towards my chest. I tried to push Her out of the way, I tried to scream Her name. No words came out, no movement was made. Everything was frozen. She fell to the ground in front of me still squeezing my hand. I dropped to the floor beside Her screaming. The shooter had gone as quickly as they had come. I looked around hoping someone would come to Her aid. I ran into a store, screaming for someone to call 911, the whole time knowing it was too late. 

I don’t remember the last talk we shared alone in Her backyard. I don’t remember what Her laugh sounded like. I don’t even remember that last kiss. But when I see a field of sunflowers on a warm day, I remember Anabella Robinson, my first love.  

I am a grown woman now. This is my story. Learn from the world's past mistakes. I have found that true love does not exist and that it’s okay to be different than everyone else. Yes, I did love Anabella, She was my first love. We were not “soulmates” or “meant to be.” I just loved Her. I loved Her more than anyone in my life. I have gotten over Her these past four decades since her death, but I still feel a sharp pain in my chest when I hear the song of a mockingbird, the laugh of a crow, or the bristle of trees moving in the wind.