If Only You Could Be Me

Jealousy is a very ugly feeling. I know I shouldn’t feel that way about my friend, but I do. The worst part about it is that my friend is despicably unreproachable. She is loved by all and is perfect in all aspects. She was the kind of kid in school who had good grades but wasn’t an outcast. Teachers adored her, boys loved her. She was pretty inside and out. She was the cool girl who didn’t even tried to be cool. She was just being herself and that was enough. Even now she lives the life I always wanted for myself. She created a family of her own that replicates the family she was born into. I haven’t seen her in ages but I know she has that perfect life. I am jealous because it’s not true that we are all born on an equal footing. She always had more. More money, more friends, more love, more happiness…I deserve to be happy too, but I carry the burden of a sadness that was passed on from generation to generation. My legacy is entirely different from hers. In truth, I don’t want to be her. Not anymore. I just want a little bit of her happiness. If only she could be me. She would see how life is cruel and unfair.

I remember when we were twelve, we tried to sneak out of our dorm room at night. We wanted to find out if the rumors were true and if our school was really haunted. Every time the wooden planks creaked under our feet, my heart skipped a beat. We managed to pass by Miss Monica’s room without her noticing. Maya and I had to stop ourselves from laughing upon hearing her loud snoring through the door. All the students called her "the bulldog" because she always barked at us when we misbehaved or when we didn’t wear our uniform properly. Miss Monica smelled like withering roses and always wore those long beady necklaces. Sally, the meanest girl I have ever known, once said during lunch time that Miss Monica never married because the man she loved ran off with her younger sister instead. All the girls at our table gasped in surprise or pity, I couldn’t really tell. Content with the initial response, Sally didn’t stop there. She continued to eat her soup for a while, waiting for the murmurs to die down, for the girls to focus their attention back on her. I didn’t particularly like Miss Monica but I didn’t hate her either. At that moment, I actually felt quite mad that Sally would say something so awful without any proof. It was clear to me that she was trying to spread a rumor about our housemistress because she got caught smoking in the bathroom on the third floor. I felt a powerful sense of righteousness spread in my body. My heart started to pump faster, my hands felt suddenly cold and sweaty but everyone seemed to believe her lie. Sally would’ve made me her next target if I had spoken against her and I would’ve become an outcast as a result. “Miss Monica is an adult”, I thought. “She can take care of herself, but I, on the other hand, will be squashed like an unwanted insect if I ever fall into Sally’s evil hands.” I hated myself for not speaking up, but it was Miss Monica or me. If Maya was there, she would have said something and the other girls would probably have believed her instead of Sally, but on Thursdays Maya had piano lessons. I resumed eating without saying a word. After setting down her spoon, Sally finally opened her mouth and said: “Miss Monica is an old witch and we all know that men never go for that sort of women. She’s too ugly now to find a suitable husband. She’ll be for ever a Miss!” Her laugh sounded cold and harsh. The other girls laughed too. I joined them to fit in but later that night I cried myself to sleep. I never told Maya what happened because I was scared she would hate me for it. I didn’t want to lose her friendship. However, the night Maya and I sneaked out of the dorm was years before Sally’s ugly rumour. At that time, I still saw Miss Monica as an old, scary and shapeless figure of authority and so when we made it to the library without a scratch, it really felt like a had defeated a monstruous dragoness. Maya wanted to go in front of the gate made out of wrought iron at the far end of the library that led to the garden because that’s where the ghost of Marianne supposedly lusted for vengeance. Since the beginning of October, the story of Marianne the bloody maiden was the only thing our year talked about. It all started when Lucy-who was getting a book for Mrs. Durhamel- heard low ominous whispers coming from the deep shadows seeping from the gate. Before running out screaming at the top of her lungs, leaving Miss Abigale, the librarian, quite mad about the disturbance, Lucy claimed she heard a girl’s voice say: “I’m Marianne, the bloody maiden. Remember my name for I will exert my vengeance on all the girls who live past my age of death”. Now that I’m reminiscing about that incident, I realize how bizarre it sounds to externals-people who didn’t go to our private boarding school for girls- but to us it seemed perfectly reasonable. When Lucy told the rest of the class, the horrific story spread like wildfire to the other classes of our year and soon enough, Marianne’s name was on everybody’s lips. She was the only thing the girls talked about in the courtyard, between classes, at lunch, in class behind opened books, in the bathrooms and at bedtime just before lights out. Miss Monica prohibited all talks about the female ghost saying it was the devil’s work but that didn’t stop us. We were all morbidly fascinated by that girl who died on the school’s sacred grounds because we were told the sisters who founded its construction in the nineteenth century were somehow still protecting us from evil. Regardless of her bubbly and innocent nature, Maya loved to investigate supernatural events and so when we arrived at the gate, she peaked through the iron rods, leaning her face into the darkness. I stayed in retreat, scared to see Marianne face to face. We didn’t hear a sound for a few minutes until low murmurs started to emerge from the shadows. It was probably just the wind passing through the corridor, but we both bolted out of the library, screaming as if our life depended on it. The night would’ve ended only with a scare if we had not come across the security guard who thought a burglar had entered the school. He came running in our direction while we were screeching across the halls. Maya came from a very wealthy and respectable family whereas I was born into the middle class and attended our school only thanks to a scholarship. That is a very important detail because when the guard was made aware of the situation, he immediately thought I was the one who influenced Maya and pushed her to go against the rules. In order to prevent an unnecessary scandal in the high cercles of society where Maya’s family belonged to, I was the only one punished for that midnight excursion and had to write fifty times: “Disobedience is a sin” which is utterly untrue when disobedience leads to social revolution for the greater good, but I don’t think that is what Miss Monica had in mind when she forced me to write this during recess the next day. When she executed that punishment, Miss Monica looked kind of sad as if she felt truly sorry for me. I was old enough to see how unfair it was that Maya was able to play with the other girls while I had to bear the consequences for us both. That was the first time I felt jealous of her. When I graduated from that school, Miss Monica came to see me after the ceremony to talk about that particular event. She apologized to me, putting the blame on herself and on a corrupted society that always favors the same kind of people. She went on about the fact she whished she hadn’t submitted herself to the rigid hierarchy of the educational system when the headmistress told her to spare Maya. Even though I had years to forgive and forget, it felt strangely good to right the wrongs. A sense of release washed over me. I hadn't realized until then how badly I needed a figure of authority to tell me it was wrong what happened to me. Sure, Maya thought it was unjust as well and gave me all her macaroons sent by her aunt who lived in Paris when I was done copying that sentence but her pity only made me even more livid. I did feel grateful that she felt that way and I must say, the macaroons were absolutely delicious. However, I was the scapegoat and she was the untouchable. The feast provided by the rich to the poor always has a bitter taste.

That being said, the second time I felt harrowingly jealous of her was when we were sixteen. Our school was a few miles away from an all-boys school. We were aware of its existence only because Mademoiselle Jeanne, our French teacher, had a brother who went there. I was eating on my own under the willow tree when I suddenly heard a loud thump. Startled, I glanced in the direction of the fence that surrounded the school grounds. A boy was standing there, lips slightly parted from the fear of having been discovered by me. Unlike the other girls, I didn’t particularly talk about boys. I felt that those sorts of conversations were childish; I believed I was above the fickle attraction between human beings but when I made eye contact with the boy who climbed over the fence, I felt my cheeks burning up. Trying to hide my embarrassment under a commanding tone, I said: “Who are you and why are you trespassing on my school’s property?” The boy didn’t say anything for a while. He just stared at me. “I’m sorry”, he finally said while fidgeting with his hat, “I lost a bet and my friends dared me to visit the girls’ school. My name is Sam.” “A dare you say?”, I murmured. “Don’t tell anyone, please?”, Sam added. I thought about what he said and decided I didn’t want him to get into trouble especially since the headmistress, for some reason, was having a pretty bad day. “Hmm okay your secret is safe with me but you have to tell me the rest of the story. I’m Eloise by the way. It’s nice to meet you.” Sam gave me a smile and shook my hand. From that moment onward, we became friends. We didn’t get to see each other very often. It was risky for Sam to sneak out and I didn’t want to leave to school grounds, too scared of what the headmistress would do to me if I did. However, we were able to write letters to one another. I kept my promise to him and never told Maya or anyone that he existed. Our friendship lasted for a few weeks until Maya found one of his letters that had fallen from under my bed and apparently laid on the floor for everyone to see. “Who is Sam?”, she asked with curiosity, eyes sparkling. “Is he your lover? How on earth did you two meet?” I tried to pry the letter out of her moving hands but she kept on running around the room, laughing and giggling at my expense. “Give it back!”, I screamed while chasing after her. I finally caught up to her while she was standing on my bed and obnoxiously waving the now crumpled paper above my head. “You shouldn’t have read it”, I said as I snatched the letter out of her hands. “It’s personal”. “Since when did we start keeping secrets from each other?”, she asked with a seriousness that surprised me. Her laugh was gone and so was her smile. She seemed hurt even though I was the one whose privacy had been violated but she was right. We were supposed to be like sisters. Before I could answer, Maya gave me a hug. “I’m sorry I read your secret letter. I hope you will forgive me. I hate it when you get mad at me”. That was the thing with Maya. I could never stay mad at her for too long. There was something about her that made you yearn for her attention and her approval. You just always wanted to see her smile. “It’s alright, really. I should have told you, but I promised Sam I wouldn’t tell. He goes to that school not too far from here.” Maya’s expression became lively again. “Oh really? How exciting! Is he handsome? Please tell me he is handsome!” “Well, I can’t say he is not, but it’s not what you think. We’re just friends.” The last words came out of my mouth a little too fast but Maya didn’t notice. “Do you think I could meet him too? You know how boring it gets here with all the rules we have to follow.” I hesitated. Deep down I didn’t want the both of them to meet. “Okay. He’s coming on Saturday.” Maya squealed. “What should I wear? My parents sent me that dress from Italy last week. It’s a tad too long but I think it’ll be just fine for the occasion.” Maya was so happy I didn’t have the courage to tell her I changed my mind. “Yeah, I think you’ll look pretty.” For the next few days, the excitement I felt in the anticipation of seeing Sam again was stained by a sense of dread. When Maya was around, she always became the center of attention. For once in my life, I made a friend outside of school that saw me for who I was. In Sam’s eyes, I wasn’t the “poor girl” or “Maya’s friend”. I was Eloise. When Saturday finally came around, I had already made up my mind. I wouldn’t let Maya’s presence ruin my time with Sam. Just like the first time I saw him, my cheeks turned red when Maya and I approached the willow tree. His back was against the bark, his honey eyes were closed. He appeared to be in deep thought, his mind wondering to places too far for me to reach. “Hey, it’s me”, I said when we were close enough. “I brought a friend along. I hope it’s okay.” Sam smiled upon hearing my voice. “Eloise!” His eyes briefly landed on me before settling on Maya. Surprise then shyness appeared on his features. He approached us with caution. “You never told me you had such a lovely friend. May I ask for your name?” He took the hand Maya extended in front of her and kissed it with a smile. “I’m Maya and you must be Sam, the secret admirer.” Sam gently laughed. “Oh you got it all wrong. Eloise is just a good friend of mine.” Even though I said those words before, they stung like a bee. Was this really how he felt? I should have known. Maya smiled back and just like that, Sam was bewitched by her. He continued to write me letters. In fact, I still have them stowed away somewhere but they were not the love letters he wrote so beautifully to Maya. Like I said, she always got everything she wanted.

There are so many other incidents that stained my relationship with her. I doubt she ever noticed. In her defense, all these years I never once told her how I truly felt. After high school, she made all the efforts to keep in touch with me. I seldom wrote back or accepted her invitations. Eventually, we drifted apart. However, I still call her my friend. It must be due to the power she has over the people that collide with her life. If only you could be me. You would understand how much I love you and hate you at the same time. You would understand how special you were to me and how the ways of the world corrupted our friendship with jealousy. I hear you are in Greece nowadays. Write to me again. I’ll be waiting.