July 3, 2011

Megan wasn’t my best friend, but she was still a friend. When she went to jail, we weren’t close enough for me to cry but I could still feel the unusualness of her absence.

Before the incident, the only gun Megan had seen was the one her high school boyfriend pointed in her face. She didn’t flinch until she realized how drunk he was. She didn’t walk away because she was scared of him but because she was smart enough to know how powerful a strip of metal can make someone think they are. 

Megan’s father is a state representative. He shared a phone with his daughter and that’s how Megan was the first one to find out about the affair. Megan told her mother and held her while she cried. Shortly after, the Michigan economy took away her mom’s job and the divorce lawyer. It was re-election season and she couldn’t talk about it because the idea of two unemployed parents was more terrifying than the infidelity looming over their king-size bed. 

I didn’t need a prosecution lawyer to tell me why Megan slid into the passenger’s seat of a stranger’s car to help her friends hold him at gunpoint. It wasn’t for the money. It wasn’t for her boyfriend. It was because she wanted to destroy something. Sometimes we all just want to destroy something. Watching things collapse reminds us that gravity is reliable even when people aren’t.  

In two years, I will be leaving Kalamazoo College to return home with my bachelor’s degree. Megan will be leaving the Connecticut Penitentiary for Women to return home with a toddler to take care of that she gave birth to in a prison hospital.  

Almost anything can be destroyed if you use enough force. 

12:17am  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZnSAKx6h-cOL
Filed under: writing friends