Not the ending I wrote in the book of my life.
Senior Year, we shared a Chemistry lab table. I was very surprised when she chose to sit in front of me first day; guess she didn’t know anyone else– we were barely nodding acquaintances. Over that year, we became semi-friends; somehow, I was allowed to hang out with her in the student council lounge (a ‘restricted area’), where we shot the shit. We talked mostly about teachers and weekend parties she missed. She seemed to sense I had absolutely zero interest in her, so I got to peek under the rouge and powder. She was a tightly strung serious girl, covering it with an annoying fake laugh. Her disapproving criticisms of other girls’ crimes of fashion as they passed. My constant ribbing about her jammed purse yielded displays of her gold cosmetic and lipstick cases, sterling silver key ring, and (of course) her small Kleenex pack for the lipstick
[After the hair brushing and lipstick] “Do I look alright?”
“Veronica, you always look alright.”
Fake laugh, ha ha. “Seriously.”
I sigh. “Yes, You look good.”
She amused me–a lazy cliche in a tired sitcom. Totally materialistic, without a care in the world. The comic relief in a drama, floating above things, making sure her skirt wasn’t wrinkled. All she needed was the cigarette holder and Manhattan accent saying “daaaaar-linggg’. Lines like ‘do you know what it cost to have these suede shoes cleaned?’ [Umm-no, I didn’t]
I even teased her about sneezing–her sneeze was a very soft muted “chew” so gentle you could barely tell. Did rich girls even sneeze like real people?
“I’ll give you $5 if you sneeze like a normal girl.”
“Ha Ha. Stop. You will not.”
I put a five on the desk.
“You’re funny. Put the money away.”
Another shared Veronica/Betty coincidence–both refused to be nominated for Homecoming Queen. While some said it showed bulging egos, I prefer to think of it as ‘Why the hell do I need this crap?’
Everything crashed prom night. Her father did something classless to Rocky, and their relationship ended; Monday found the entire school bulging with gossip. I’m sure many found it amusing. We didn’t discuss it, except she expressed interest in my ex-friend Dan as a ‘date’ for 2 months over the summer. She moved on.
School ended soon; I was shocked she asked me to trade pocket pictures.
I college, I heard this and thought it captured her pretty well:
While I envisioned her bright future as college, marriage, success, she went through college, marriage, death. In the mid 80’s the old man told me her obituary was in the paper. A colleague of his said she died in horrific pain, from a disease I won’t mention out of respect.
I’ll say this about her–she rarely cursed. She never insulted anyone to their face, and when she criticized another girl, it was always about clothes, never ‘oh she’s such a bitch.’ She rarely gossiped, she was so above it, she could care less. Her and her guy were together every weekend, so she had no time for parties or socializing.
The first from our class to die–a new dimension of adult existence; it slithered up and bit you. A true fire of unknown origin. Shit like that just didn’t happen to pretty girls under 30. Oh, Veronica, you didn’t deserve that. God bless you. Somebody’s got to mention her on the web–farewell, DMS. We’ll meet on the ledge.
The good part about never attending reunions is Veronica resides in amber: freeze-dried memories of us 17-year old punk-ass, smart-asses. She’s there along with all of the others–alive or dead. Smiling those perfect teeth, flowing down the hall astride her 3 inch alligator heels.
We are such stuff as dreams are made on and our little life is rounded with a sleep.