anna

part 1: i tried to eat like your girlfriend

square - mitski

i met anna when i was thirteen. 



7 am on a school day, 
and she was standing in front of me
with wide eyes and a dainty face,
smooth slender hands and powder pink lips,
yellow teeth.

the perfectly imperfect girl; anna.

she was a friend of a friend, 
and as she introduced herself i lingered on the way 
her lisp caught in her teeth 
and she swallowed her l's.

i asked my friend about her,
and she said, "oh, anna?
i love her."



she smelled like orange blossom
and only drank diet soda.
laughed like the sound of marbles in glass
and never ever wore her hair up.

anna played piano. the first time i heard her play
it was if time stopped along with my heart
along with the whole world. every leaf on every tree
ceased its swaying and held its breath
because anna was playing piano. 

her fingers were pale and delicate 
and so gentle across the keys. 
when she finished playing, i looked down
at my own hands, and regarded my fingers
disappointedly. my blunt, stunted nails
and calloused fingertips. nothing like anna.
i played the violin.

one day i asked anna earnestly
if she was a ballerina. 
laughing, she said, "oh no,
i'm not pretty enough for that."



my friend and anna left school 
early one day, just after third period
right before lunch. 

i had sat at the cafeteria for eight minutes
alone, wondering where they had gone,
when anna's two friends 
(who sat with us occasionally) 
arrived. they didn't acknowledge 
the absence of anna. and they didn't
acknowledge me at all. 

i sat uncomfortably
one space removed from the two,
my lunch on display in front of me
like an art project.
anna's friends were the type to eat
halved grapes and celery
and call it a meal. i zipped up my bag and
got up to leave. they did not even 
look in my direction.

when i finally found 
my friend and anna,
they were outside, leaned against 
the greyish brick wall. 
i watched from a distance. 
the weather was sickly hot
and damp and i felt my hair
sticking to the back of my neck.

anna's mouth was moving
but i could not hear. i only saw
the slow movement of her little
pianist's hand as it made its way
up my friend's leg,
from the knee along the inside of her thigh,
stopping just short
of the bend at her hips
and i turned away.

my vision burned as if i had
stared at the sun. i smeared sweat
off my upper lip. anna 
and her hands—
i felt so sick. the heat began
to boil at my stomach. 
i lunged towards the school doors
but they had locked behind me
so i just ran,
ducking to avoid windows,
as far as i could from my friend.
from anna. i ran with my school bag
thudding against my back
until i found myself slouched against 
some wide chain fence. 

i willed myself to vomit
but could not. it was an empty nausea.
the image of anna
curdled in my stomach
but i had not eaten lunch.



two weeks later,
i was standing in front of the mirror
in the girl's bathroom. i let my mother
braid my hair that morning, 
but pulled it loose
the moment i had gotten to school.

i combed my fingers through my hair
to sort out my uncertain curls.
they frizzed outwards and drooped
over my shoulders, 
disappointingly coarse,
unseemly. undainty.

"you should really try straightening,"
said a voice from behind me.
i thought for a moment i was crazy,
and turned to look over my shoulder.

i smelled the orange blossom
of anna's body lotion 
before i saw her,
that perfect pale face
as if she were ceramic.

she took my hair with both hands,
smoothened it out.
"you would look slimmer
with straight hair."
she said with a coy smile. 

and with that, 
anna pushed the hair behind my ear
and kissed me,
right on the soft skin below my chin.



i listened
to the sound of her footsteps 
until they were swallowed
by the hum of the tube lights.

then i looked up,
into the image of myself
in the mirror,
7 am on a school day,
with a smudge of pink shimmer
on my neck. 



after that day,
anna and i became friends.

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