Without Preface

Or alternatively, “Those in the Orbit of Others.”

She is 4 and at preschool. There is a girl whom others orbit around, and this girl, you just know, is going to be one of those bitches later in life. “Later in life” as in third grade and seventh grade and a junior in high school. “Later in life” as in a senior in college, a secretary pool honcho and the future leader of Yahoo. A bitch whom others circle and attempt to befriend, willing to be the patsy or the tag-a-long or anything that gets her into the circle, be it on the fringe or close enough to get burned by the all-powerful sun.

This girl, way back then, on whimsy or who-the-fuck-knows, has others kowtowing to her just to belong. At all of 4 years old.

And I hate her. And I hate what made her.

And we fast-forward to fourth grade when another girl has taken her place. Another girl so full of insecurity that she doesn’t invite particular “friends” to birthday parties because they would usurp her ownership of others.

And I hate her. And I hate what made her.

And now they are in high school or middle school. Who really cares? It’s all the same. We grow up and talk about how junior high never ends. The players just all get older.

I am feeble in attempts to comfort a Daughter who is exposed. Exposed because she is not one of them. Exposed because she could never be one of them. Exposed because she is better than them.

And I wish she would know that life has a way of evening the scales. And if life doesn’t even the scales, at least we can go to our graves having never been one of them.