Corrina

Corrina measures her life against popular girl, Sasha’s life.  In reality, both girls have been hurt badly, but Corrina can’t see past her own pain.

Corrina:   Sasha is popular.  Sasha grew breasts in sixth grade.  Sasha is thin.  I don’t think she is pretty, but everyone loves Sasha.  She’s all nice, she’s all weepy and broken.  I hat the way she gets everyone’s attention by telling them the private details of her life.  I’ve heard her father’s mean.  He hits her mother.  Maybe he hurts Sasha.

     Sasha is a virgin, and everyone knows it.  My friends and I make fun of her for it. 

     One time, after Math class, I wanted to talk to the teacher, Mr. Mitchem, because my sister was in the hospital again and my mother got drunk and was in jail, and I didn’t have time to do my homework and I wanted an extension instead of a zero… but Sasha got to him first.  She was crying.  Mr. Mitchem told me to leave the room.

     Sasha and I were in the bathroom once together.  I was mad because I went in there to throw up, and with her there, I couldn’t.  I had to stare at my split ends, ugly brown frizzy split ends without style hair.  Ugly blue eyes that didn’t sparkle like Sasha’s, and couldn’t call up tears at a moment’s notice like Sasha’s eyes could.  I was tough.  She was a weak, sniveling, spoiled…

     Sasha:  Sometimes I hold my stomach in all day.  You’re lucky, you’re so thin.

     Me:  My mother says my butt is too big.  It’s huge.  How do you—

     Sasha:  I’d trade my breasts for your butt any day.  I have no butt at all.

     It was true, she had a flat butt, but still, everyone said she was so pretty.  No one said that about me.

     Sasha went back to the auditorium for rehearsal.  She had a lead in Fiddler on the Roof.  All I ever wanted to be was a singer and an actor, but when I tried out, they told me I looked too young (i.e., flat-chested!), and I could be in the chorus or work backstage doing sets.

     I ended up working backstage because a lot of girls back there thought Sasha was a prima donna and they didn’t want to listen to her cry about her flat butt and big breasts.

     Woe is her.  Maybe her Daddy does more than hit her Mom.  Maybe I don’t care.

     I heard the drama coach saying to the head set designer how poor Sasha had so many problems.  When I heard that, my eyes stung, because Mr. Opal was not only the drama coach, but was also my favorite teacher and the only person I would ever consider talking to about my problems.  But like everyone else, he only cared about Sasha, apparently.  I turned and walked away, and Mr. Opal didn’t even notice I was standing there.  I went to the bathroom – alone this time – and put my finger way down the back of my throat and threw up and threw up and threw up.  Fuck Sasha.  Could Sasha do this?  Someday someone would notice, and then they’d forget about Sasha’s problems and they’d talk about how sad I am.  Someday.