(Never) Again

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I’ve never been bitch slapped. Technically. But after the last few months I can imagine how it feels. If life had hands, its fingers would have imprinted on my cheek.

Two weeks into my first semester at Farmingdale State, I walked into the English building like I always did with my best friend, Sadie, on my right and my boyfriend, Joe, on my left.

Joe’s fingers interlocked with mine, and I leaned my head against his narrow shoulder. When he told me he’d be attending the same college as me I nearly tackled him. It made up for the disappointment of not making it into my dream school.

Sadie strutted beside us, black hair accented by a braided headband, falling in waves on her shoulders. Emerald chandelier earrings that her parents bought her on their last trip to India swayed with each step.

Joe released my hand as we got closer to our group of new and old friends. He needed it free for high fiving and back patting.

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