When my best friend was fifteenth she got a tattoo of a rose of her hip. Her mother gave her so much hell, but my best friend didn't give a damn. She showed off her body art with every chance that arrived that summer, with crop tops that revealed her tiny waist. The tattoo started to fade after a few months. Probably due to the fact she only paid twenty five bucks for it and it was done in a trailer park. But regardless, I still loved the drawing that was permanently inked on my best friends hip, because even though the color was now just a washed out tint, and the ink was seeping a bit too deep through her skin, I still saw the beauty in the image that was stained upon the smooth surface.
My best friend and I smoked cigarettes together and talked about the boys we wanted to kiss. We skipped church and instead stayed home and listened to our crappy music, while complaining about the things we hated about our self. We questioned why life on us was so tough. We wanted a second chance at just about everything because we simply felt as if nothing was good enough.
My best friend cried to me about how she gave it away to some stupid guy. And maybe then, I couldn't fully understand, I couldn't say, "Yeah, I've been there," because we both knew the farthest I've ever gone was just holding hands, but as my best friend cursed his name into the night, I swore id hate him for the rest of my life. Because he hurt her, and took something he didn't deserve.
Stealing from the corner store was the biggest adrenaline rush I've ever received. But my five finger discount of a ugly bottle of nail polish didn't compare to my best friends high. She told me, for once her world didn't seem so upside down and for once, it seemed worth sticking around.
As we sat on the roof of my house, my best friend blew smoke out of her mouth. She glanced to the ground, that was way below our feet, and she wondered out loud, things like: how much it would hurt if she was to fall. Would she break a few bones, or maybe all? Would it be right to take a few pills before-, if she decided to jump, would numb it a little more? Or for the big leap of death, would it be better to be sober? It would be a fast trip, and then its all over.
My best friend gazed deeply into the sky that was full of diamond stars, and with her, I looked too. Still staring at the sheet of shining dots that laid far above our head, her face grew cold and frozen, like a porcelain doll, but no matter how hard I tried I couldn't see what she saw.