Of Oak Trees And Anorexia

I never really understood why she kept oak trees. She tried to explain to me, many times, but I never really saw what she saw. I guess I looked vague, because after a while she would trail off and turn away. I know what she thought, just another person who wants to seem like she cares.

To tell the truth, I didn't really even want to seem to care. There wasn't much between us by then. Well, yes, we had been close friends once, but that was a long time ago now. I was just 16, and a life long friendship meant two years back then. And when you drift apart, as most friendships eventually do, you find it's surprisingly easy to slip out of someone's life and never look back.

I found that I could stopper up any regrets and throw them away. Everyone makes choices they may regret, but I never allow myself to regret anything.

It wasn't exactly a mutual end though. I'll admit that I wanted a change a lot more than she did. But, then, I had friends waiting, a future, and she was forced to cling to us and hope we wouldn't drop her.

But like I said, that was a long time ago now. I thought all connection between us had been severed. She left our school at the end of year 11. She mentioned something about going back to America. Living in New York with her Aunt. It was what she had always wanted, so I was happy for her, in my way. We didn't hear from her for a long time. Nearly a year. And we all began to forget, until she slipped into a fuzzy memory at the back of the mind. She was never that memorable anyway. Dark straight hair, a bit listless, freckles, slightly lopsided teeth, small breasts, chunky waist. She was my best friend for a year and that's all I can really remember of her. Weird that, isn't it?

Don't get me wrong, I liked her. We were good friends. But she wasn't the way she appeared. She seemed so nice, sweet almost. I learned different. She was¦snidy. It's the only word for her. She talked to everyone, and said one thing to one and something else to another. She couldn't be trusted with secrets, not after she told everyone who I was interested in. Luckily, he hates her so he took little notice.

For a while I thought she was just eccentric. Loud then quiet, in tears then trying to command everyone's attention. Though perhaps I should have noticed¦no, this wasn't my fault.

When she left, it was the start of something else for me. Without her, our group of friends was more relaxed, more¦harmonious. For a whole year we were happy just to spend time together.

Then one day, she was suddenly back in our lives. After a year away she was back in our school again. And determined to wok her way back into our circle of friends.

We all agreed America had suited her. She was smaller, more petite. She'd defiantly gone down a dress size. She was about an 8. I was still a 6.

That next year was a mess. At first she seemed very much the same, and tried to make her way back into our circle with the same tricks. We ignored her and didn't listen to her. Then, after a while, she drifted away again, hung around with no-one really. Lunchtime with one group of people, then another with someone else. We let her go. We were better without her.

If this is our past we have no tie worth saving. There was no life changing moment between us, no conversation that helped us realise ourselves. We were too people who came together for a while, then drifted out of each others lives again soon after. Nothing was left.

She dropped out of school before her exams. We weren't surprised really. She was always so delicate, and she was floundering under her exams. We saw her in the exam hall a couple of times, looking frail and tired. But not really more than that.

Again, she passed out of all knowledge. This time we thought she was defiantly gone from our lives. We allowed ourselves to forget her once more.

I sent her a birthday card. Dropped past her house and left it in the letterbox. It was just a short thing, mentioning how great she looked last time I saw her, and how it was a shame she missed some of her exams. Little bit of news about my friends etc etc. Oh, and I congratulated her on losing weight. She had finally gone down to a 6. Now you can share my clothes for the first time! I wrote. Not that I would let her share my clothes. But I didn't put that, obviously.

It was so peaceful, those last weeks before term ended. It was nice not to have our summer darkened with tales of angry parents and drunken fathers. She never stopped going on about things like that. No sense of decorum. Anyway, I'm sure most of those tales were made up. Or she was exaggerating a little.

We didn't hear for a few weeks. Then one lunch time, Charlotte came running into the canteen, heels in one hand, and a newspaper in the other.

I remember noticing that her bare feet were covered in mud.

That was before she threw down the paper on our table. It was wet, crumpled. It looked so out of place on our clean table, amidst the normality of our salads and water bottles. We all leaned in ever so slightly to look closer at the picture. I looked away. I couldn't face it. Charlotte read out the headline in a shaking voice. 'Anorexic girl commits suicide after being¦' she trailed off. I couldn't blame her. I grabbed the paper and turned it over. I couldn't look at it.

That was a year ago now. Sometimes I think nothing has changed, sometimes I think everything has changed. Sometimes people just look t us as if to say Why? Or how could you? My answer is we didn't know. We didn't know he was knocking her around a bit, and we certainly never dreamed he could possibly rape her.

One thing has changed for me. Sometimes I have regrets.