Charlotte

In a land before social media took over, I was a seventh grader with glasses, an afro, and more sneakers than I could stand in. This was the age of Norbit, a famous Eddie Murphy character who I resembled much more than made me comfortable. Some people may suggest that I was bullied because people had things to say, but I had style, witty comebacks, and I was athletic. In these low-stakes encounters with other students jockeying for social positioning, I learned my talents and life’s purpose. Everyone doesn’t have the blessing of a life long enough to uncover their mature identity.

In 7th grade, I had my first kiss with a girl who we’ll nickname “Charlotte.” She was one of the coolest people I had met, and despite our “differences,” our friend groups organically connected. Before facetime, we had ooVoo, and before that we had 3-way phone calls. This is where she introduced me to her best friend, who we’ll call Kelsey.

Like Charlotte, Kelsey was a good time. Middle school relationships rarely last 3 weeks, and my early-puberty, romantic connection was short-lived. The break-up was amicable. Charlotte and I remained close friends, and I occasionally chatted with Kelsey until early high school. She was from Washington Township, a nearby town with colonies of doctor, dentist, and specialty healthcare offices. A year or so after we met, Kelsey was enrolled at a nearby catholic high school.

Through the grapevine (Charlotte), I learned Kelsey had a jealous, older boyfriend and that she wasn’t likely to reply to my Myspace message. I didn’t quite understand the power dynamics of abusive relationships, so I took it personally. How could a person forgo spending time with close friends for a new relationship?

A few months later, Charlotte was randomly absent from school. Then, the rumor mill spilled a story to me: Kelsey passed away following a heroin overdose.

An emotional medley surged through my body, but confusion was strongest. How could someone I know, a student, pass away in such a graphic way?

The rumor was true.

Every now & then, I wonder about the cultural connection between a town full of people who can prescribe dangerous medication and this tragedy.