I have known shame in the way a lover masters every inch of their partner. We have sat together and shared a glass of prosecco in quiet camaraderie. I know her skeletons and she has unearthed mine in all their mustiness. Our friendship was as unlikely as snow in Puerto Rico but we thrived in our differences.
We first met when she tripped me and I fell in front of my crush. He looked so delicious as I lay in the puddle unmoving. ‘You’ve got a little drool granny panties.’ That’s when my heart stopped and shame held me up to my feet.
Granny panties. The name stuck. Everywhere I went it was whispered and hushed giggles dotted my paths. She was never far away, a step or two behind but always alert to claim me to her side. The next time I choked on air and farted so loud when the dean was giving his inaugural speech. The silence was deafening and I died a million deaths in that time.
She struck again with no intention of subtlety, my skirt rode up during an interview and I was branded a siren. They labelled me wayward and denied my application. My head hung low as I walked out but she was not done. She stood on the sidelines as my skirt got caught on the door and was ripped apart in seconds.
I hoped and prayed she was done messing around, I was getting too old to keep up with her. Yet she stood sipping on a bloody mary in a corner as my boyfriend broke up with me in the most dramatic ways. He washed my face with a glass of brown on the rocks because I stared at the Deejay when in all honesty my mind was trying to recall the goddamn lyrics of the song he was playing.
Shame hid me beneath her cloak but the elements still got to me. The sun, wind, rain and sleet were merciless to my already-trodden spirit. Patronising, that’s what she was and I allowed it—a constant, unlike the temporary pockets of lifeworthy moments.
The cracks began when I cheated on her, we weren’t lovers but she had staked me as her own. So my deceit was met with repercussions that she gladly meted out. My new love interest shielded me, he was built steadily and every inch of his muscles was sculpted out of precious stone. In his embrace there was no shame, she did not exist not even as background noise.
Liberation, that is his name. He came in swooped me off my feet, and carried me on his shoulders with so much grace. His friends became my tribe; Grace, Freedom, Courage and Strength. They accepted and mended my brokenness. Shame tried to win me over with flowers, chocolate and trips abroad.
Freedom became my anthem, shame had no hold on me. I stood tall, the weight lifted off my shoulders and I watched her die a slow harrowing death. I could finally breathe.
© Twisted Empress™
