Looking Back at Jenny

Francesca and I continued sorting out my old diaries inside her bedroom. But in the middle of the search, she repeated the same question that was asked to me a few minutes earlier.

"What's with all the suicide notes scattered everywhere?" Francesca reiterated.

At that critical moment I stopped reading and turned towards the window. As Francesca looked on worried and distressed, I started crying and bit my lips.

"Christine, did my question offend you?" she asked. "I'm sorry if your feelings got hurt."

"Francesca, there's something you need to know," I tearfully opened up. "Those suicide notes were the result of Jenny's constant abuse and torture towards me. Read it for yourself."

As Francesca intently looked at those suicide notes, I stared at the sky and carefully pondered about myself. How could this harmless exchange haunt me anew after nearly two decades?

My first encounter with Jenny happened at the beginning of first grade. As I was introducing myself to the whole class, a girl sporting a ponytail and a narrow-eyed glaze uttered some mean words towards me.

"You're fat and ugly," she taunted from afar. "Your kind does not deserve to be here. Go home!!"

That kid turned out to be Jenny. From that point on, she became a constant thorn on my side with her annoyingly maniacal laugh and mischievous grin.

Ever since the first day of school, Jenny disowned me for my portly and near-sighted appearance. She always thought of herself as a superior being, claiming to be stronger and prettier than most girls.

Jenny's constant boasting offended a few of her classmates, in particular Michelle. In one instance, Jenny came out and mockingly waved a paper fan towards me.

"How do you like getting blown away?" she said with an evil laugh.

Michelle promptly stepped in and snatched the fan away from Jenny.

"Better think again," she angrily responded. "If you laid another finger on her, I would slap your not-so rosy cheeks."

Michelle dropped Jenny's paper fan, stepped on it, and stared intently at her. Not willing to be upstaged, Jenny offered one last warning.

"This is not over between us," she shouted from a distance. "Especially you, fat-face."

It was only the beginning of a lengthy feud between Jenny and myself. As we matured and advanced deep into school, Jenny became ever more scheming and calculative.

By fourth grade, a few other girls joined her in a quest to run me out of school. They virtually used every dirty trick in the book: from intentionally staining my uniform to stealing my prescription glasses.

Even as teachers and the principal reprimanded Jenny and her gang for their mischievous behavior, that did not stop them from wreaking more havoc at me. I grew so fed up a diary and pen became my constant companion.

That was when those thoughts of suicide started popping up. The meaning of life in this world became so worthless, all because Jenny continued to make me a miserable mess.

Just as I was about to continue, however, Francesca suddenly approached me.

"Christine, you truly experienced a terrible childhood," she commented bitterly on the suicide notes. "But suicide is not the answer. There is still a lot more to live for."

"I know right," my head nodding in approval at Francesca. "These personal diaries were only brought up because of Jenny."

As the sun started setting from the sky, we resumed reading the diaries. A few pages in, however, an unsettlingly disturbing entry brought Francesca's attention.

"I'd rather kill Jenny in cold blood right now," she read it aloud. "Christine, are you insane? Is your personal hatred of her really that intense?"

"I'm sorry Francesca," my immediate reaction to the diary. "The thought of putting Jenny out of my misery was the only way to silence her for good. I just couldn't stand her."

Fortunately, Jenny transferred to a different school as her family moved to another city. It had taken several more years before we renewed acquaintances, this time at a parking lot inside the arena.

"I felt worried about your experience," Francesca commented upon reading the final entry of my diary. "Jenny must be a really bad person."

"Come to think of it, she escaped some severe punishment," I tearfully recalled. "Jenny should've been kicked out, but she was just extremely clever and cunning to be taken notice."

At that point, my mobile phone vibrated loudly. Jenny had just sent another ominous text message.

The itsy bitsy spider climbed up the waterspout.

Down came the rain

and washed the spider out.

Out came the sun

and dried up all the rain

and the itsy bitsy spider climbed up the spout again.

"Just ignore her warning," Francesca sternly said. "Jenny's only here to intimidate you."

The following morning, I opened my laptop and continued blogging. The topic centered on Jenny and the recent encounters she had with me.

Later that afternoon, I received a personal message from Charissa on Facebook.

"Christine, you must return home," read the message. "We better talk."

I instantly replied back with:

"Sorry mother, but you should visit me at Francesca's home. I won't give any more details. Better figure it out yourself."

Late Tuesday morning, I spotted a familiar vehicle parked outside. Looking nervously towards the window, a lady dressed in a blue shirt and brown pants came out of the car.

"Christine, someone's looking for you," Francesca shouted from a distance."

Upon gazing keenly at the gate, it was my mother Charissa who paid a visit. But instead of a hug or a gentle kiss, I simply escorted her to the living room.

"Christine, I came out here to issue a sincere apology," Charissa explained. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings the other week."

"Karina and myself had talked about it throughout the week, and we sincerely wanted you to mend fences with Michelle," she continued. "It's just not the same without all four of us in one room."

"Mother, it's not easy to convince Michelle like that," I replied sternly. "She was extremely devastated after what happened between Jenny and me. Considering how much she despised her, apologizing is easier said than done."

"Okay then," Charissa begrudgingly accepted. "If you still harbor some personal resentment towards her then fine. But don't request any help from me if problems persist."

Charissa reluctantly left soon after, her head bowed down in disappointment. For now, mother and daughter were separated from each other, never to talk again.