The Ladies: pt.1 Meesha

Meesha

She's like a faint memory, a ghost of my soul that still haunts me and the person I am.

We met when I was 14. She was a year older than me. A young mulatto girl who lived in New Haven. What she ever saw in a awkward fat kid from Northford I'll never know. We were friends for maybe 2 months before she decided to kiss me one night at a party. I think it had to rate as one of the worst kisses of all time, I just sat there with my mouth hung open because I couldn't comprehend why she was doing this. However the second kiss more than made up for it.

We were together for maybe 6 months. We spent our weekend time laughingand goffing around. We had friends we hung out with in New Haven, but the best was our precious alone time, so very little of it. Long talks. Learning about the differance between boys and girls. We never crossed the line, but we sure pushed up against it when we could. There is far more to sex than just intercourse, and every lady since owes her thanks for teaching me everything about foreplay. To both my eyes and everyone who knew us we were so happy.

But Meesha had a secret. She was a Manic-Depressive. And at some point she stopped taking her medicine that helped stabilize her. Apparently she would be happy and energetic whenever I was around, then sad and despondent when I was away. And since I was only ever around on the weekends (Had to get a ride with a friend of mines older brother) that left her far too much time for the see-saw of her emotions to work on her.

After just over 6 months together she committed suicide.

I never told my family about her. They thought I was hanging out with the kids up the street from us. They also didn't understand the depressions I went through for next several years of my life.

Was it my fault? No. Was I old enough to understand that? No.

Maybe if I was around more... maybe if I told her I loved her just one more time... maybe if I had called her more than just once a day...

I still don't know why I didn't end up killing myself. I wanted to. But there has always been a stubborn part of my soul that just wouldn't let me. As I aged I gained friends who didn't know what had happened, but they cared about me and helped me see through the depressions that haunted most of my teenage years.

I decided that I must be the worst boyfriend the world have ever known. I wouldn't date again till I was in college, and have always felt somehow insecure in my relationships.

I have no pictures of Meesha. She is a memory that gets a little fuzzier in my mind every year. I don't think I could draw a picture of her face anymore. Yet in some ways she will always be with me. Her death has been a factor in ever relationship I've had since, both Romantically or Platonic.

Through her I learned to never miss a chance to let someone know you love them. To try my best to be there when someone I love needs me, even if it's inconvenient. I learned to be tolerant of the problems others have. And I learned that I was pretty dang good with my tongue.

I don't know how my life would have been if she hadn't done what she did, but I do know that I'm glad I had her in my life, even for so brief a time. Because without her I wouldn't be who I am today.

And as long as thats true, then in a way she'll always live on....