Metamorphosis

Adalia Harper was my birth name. Ever since the fifth grade, I detested it. Of course there was a time in my life where I was proud to say my full name. I remember when my dad and I were close; he would drive me to the park every afternoon. It would always be after he got out of work. Every time we went I’d make a new friend, my dad would call me a ‘social butterfly.’ The first line I would say to my new friend would be, “My name is Adalia Harper, what’s yours?” I’d say that simple line with so much dignity you’d think there would be nobody to make me think otherwise. There was also that time in the second grade when I wrote my name in messy manuscript for the first time. That afternoon I went home beaming with my written name on a sheet of paper in my hands. I begged my mother to look at it but instead she raised the back of her hand. My mother always treated me like a headache she couldn’t get rid. I put the paper down in disappointment. Thankfully my dad was there to give me the attention I needed. My dad did his best, but there was a limit to how many bad memories he could stop from happening. But times of when I was proud of my name were gone. It was towards the end of fifth grade when I started to change.
My dad was in the kitchen packing up my school lunch. His black hair was slicked back. I used to tease him and say he looked like someone from the mafia. He stuck a plain peanut butter and jelly sandwich into my bag; I rolled my eyes at him. I sat at the island and poured milk into my already cereal filled bowl. I stirred the spoon in circles and suddenly I lost my appetite,
“Hey, you feeling ok today?” My dad asked.
He rubbed his hand on the top of my head,
“Don’t do that,” I snapped.
“Someone’s not in a good mood,” he said smiling.
He turned around towards the faucet and started washing the dishes. I picked up bag from off the chair and opened the front door.
“Bye Mom. Bye Dad,” I yelled.
“Have a good day at school,” my dad chirped.
I looked towards the living room to where my mother was propped up on the couch with her feet on top of the glass coffee table. I saw her hand emerge and I thought that for the first time she would at least wave goodbye but instead she reached towards the ashtray and flicked her cigarette.
I waited at the end of the driveway until the bus came. It was drizzling out and days like this made it harder for me to force myself to go to school. The bus stopped at my driveway and I climbed up onto it. Like always I was the last person to get on the bus. I sat at the front because all of the good seats were taken. It’s funny how some things never change. Even in high school, everyone wants to sit in the back. I nervously sat in the second row, my hands gripped on the green rubber seat in front of me. My knuckles felt oddly cold. I felt like everyone’s gaze on the bus was on me. I inched myself to the far edge of the seat, I wanted to be as far away possible from Nicky Faundel. Nobody wanted to sit next to Nicky, Icky, she was disgusting. She had glasses, braces and afro hair. If I wasn’t able to talk to one person other than her by the time we reached school then I’d be a loser. That’s how I lived my life. I turned around and started talking to the popular Chantal Carrington.
Chantal Carrington was the cliché rich blonde. At one time we were friends, but that was in Kindergarten when personality and looks didn’t matter. But at least we weren’t enemies, but we weren’t friends still either. Every boy fawned over her, she was the typical blonde hair, green eyed, typical American girl. She had small splashes of freckles on her cheeks. No matter how I looked at her, her physical appearance never matched with her stuck up personality. The freckles made her look innocent.
“Mission accomplished,” I said in my head. I stepped out of my bus to be faced with the same brick building I saw five days a week. The same flagpole waved in the sky and the same works of art hung from the windows. Rick met up with me at my locker. He had black spiked hair and had a goofy smile. He was one of the few friends I had, but the friends I had weren’t losers like Nicky. My friends were just normal. They were exactly the type of people my dad wanted me to hang around with, ‘the good crowd.’ All my classes were boring. It didn’t matter if I paid attention or didn’t, I was simply a straight A student. My family had high great expectations of me except for my mother. I don’t know what expectations she had for me. I hung my backpack on the hook inside of my locker.
Rick walked me to my class. For the first time he gave me a quick hug before he left for his own class. I felt my cheeks heat up. For a moment I stood in place. I had never thought of Rick anymore then a friend. I shook what had just happened out of my head, I knew better then to believe Rick liked me. There are no feelings in the fifth grade, it’s a time where your just getting over the ‘girls/boys have cooties phase.’ I sat at the same metal desk at the back of the class. My teacher passed out a short reading booklet that had questions at the end of it. I wondered where she got these, she never seemed to run out. We’ve been doing these since the third grade and never did she fail to bring us a new one, with a completely different story every day for an hour. A girl named Valerie sat next to me. Today was the first day I’d talk to her.
“Hey.”
“Hi,” I said in a whisper.
If she spoke again I knew the teacher would hear her and get her in trouble. I picked up my pencil and answered one of the multiple choice questions.
“Stop doing that shit,” she said jokingly.
My eyes went wide, she swore. She rolled her eyes at my reaction and snatched the pencil away from my hand. I looked towards the teacher, who for a moment stopped correcting work but then continued.
“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?”
This question was completely uncalled for. Now that I think about it, I’ve never done anything bad. When I took awhile to answer, she answered her own question,
“You remember that box of expo markers the teacher was missing and she said she would find whoever did it?”
I nodded,
“Well, that was me,” she said proudly.
My mouth dropped open,
“Don’t be a baby.”
For The rest of the day we talked. We talked about parents, school, music and even cartoons. By the time it was lunch we were both laughing in the hallway. The teacher yelled at us three times that day and threatened that we’d be sent to the office if this continued. At lunch we sat next to each other. The laughing stopped when she said,
“I dare you to steal an extra milk,” she looked over her shoulder. I followed her gaze to the crate of milks.
“I can’t do that!” I panicked.
“Come on don’t be a loser, I’m thirsty!” She pouted.
The word loser pounded in my head. I stood up from the table. Valerie started to grin. I walked towards the crate full of milk and when no one was looking I stuffed a carton under my shirt so quick I barely remember doing it. I power walked to the seat across from Valerie and propped the milk onto the table.
“Wow,” she said.
“What?”
“You were fast! I think I’m going to call you…Swift,” she snapped at the word, Swift.
“Swift?”
“Yeah, Adalia sounds like a stupid ladybug.”
For the second time today I lost my appetite. I threw my sandwich into the trash.
The moment I did the milk carton act I knew Valerie and I were going to best friends. I knew her secret of when she stole markers and she knew mine of when I stole milk. Our secrets would bind us together. By the time I would be old enough to realize that those two acts of felony were a joke it would be too late to just end our friendship. By then we’d have done much worse. Besides I don’t want to end my friendship with Tiffany, she was cool. That night I looked up my name on the net, and what do you know? A bunch of ladybugs popped up. Stupid ladybugs…
Honestly I don’t have many memories of fifth grade, but that was one of them. My second most important memory of fifth grade also involves Valerie. It was the first time I shoplifted.
It was Saturday and I was at the Solomon Pond Mall with Valerie. It was during Christmas Vacation. While I waited for her at the food court I ate Chinese food. I ordered to go since they give more when it’s to go for some reason. But I never finish. When I took a few full bites of food Valerie met up with me with her own platter of Chinese food. She was a different story, she finishes all food in sight. She was one of those people that we all know that can eat Thanksgiving dinner every day and still looks anorexic. It was the weekend before Christmas Eve so the mall was crowded with breathing bodies. After she was halfway through her food she looked up with Lomein coming out of her,
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
It was one of those days where best friends just don’t feel like talking. That’s what I liked about Valerie; she wasn’t one of those friends where if you were boring for two minutes they would move on to another friend. Valerie was without a doubt, pretty. Her hair was long and blonde. She had full lips, small nose, porcelain skin and wide hazel eyes with extraordinarily long eye lashes. Sometimes I caught myself staring at her with envy. But I don’t think anyone noticed what I noticed. I wonder if it’s actually looks that makes someone popular, I think personality is more dominant. There are some pretty ugly looking popular people. Valerie had the personality to be popular once you got to know her, but instead she simply chose kept to herself.
When she finished her food she threw away the containers into the trash and waved me over to follow her. I accepted the fact that I wasn’t a leader; I was a follower without doubt. To Valerie I was probably just a new accessory. In a hushed voice she whispered in my ear,
“Today, I’m going to show you how to shoplift. We’ll start with Clair’s since their easiest. It’s almost Christmas so no one’s going to pay attention to you. If you show your paying attention then it’ll be obvious to what you’re doing. Just be oblivious to your own actions. So just say if you ever get caught, play oblivious.”
This didn’t sound much different from stealing the pack of markers I stole last month. According to Valerie all that school stealing was just practice for the real thing,
“Don’t just pick up random shit. I mean choose something you actually like. There’s no point in stealing something you won’t use right? Duh. When you find that item that you want make sure you take off the sticker, that’s what sets off those stupid detectors, got it?”
I nodded obediently. She gave me a little shove on the back and then ran ahead of me. We were in the store for fifteen minutes, any longer then that we’d be a recognizable face for workers. Valerie had already stolen neon green and ruby read nail polish along with a few set of earrings. I picked up a red head band that had a small ribbon on the side. I looked up into the mirror that was almost on the ceiling to see if anyone nearby was watching. Nobody was watching so I peeled off the price tag. After that was done I sneakily slid it into my purse. At first this seemed similar to stealing at school but for some reason this gave me an entirely different adrenaline rush.
Valerie came up behind me with a knowing smile. I returned her smile with a grin. Before we left Valerie bought a makeup kit for real. She told the woman at the register that she was a few cents short because of the taxes but the woman waved her off. After Clair’s we sat on a wooden bench just outside of the store.
“Why the red face?”
“Intense,” I said shakily.
“Oh please that was no different from school. The only difference is that there are stickers to peel off.”
We went to Macys for our second and last store.
“There are two reasons to why shoplifters like us get caught; one is because they steal a shitload of stuff. I mean how could you not notice someone carrying an obese purse out of the store?”
She put up two manicured fingers up,
“And the second reason is that the shoplifter probably has shit for brains.”
I listened to her intently, as if she were reciting the gospel.
Macys in my opinion was easier then Clair’s. We simply brought clothes into the changing room and ripped off the price tag and slipped it into our purses. Valerie told me she was trying to figure out a convenient way on how to get rid of the security devices that were often times attached. She told me the only way so far she could think of was ripping the clothing slightly to remove it which she has done only when she desperately wanted the item. Valerie also told me that when I steal clothing that to make sure you only steal one piece from the armful that you have. Anymore then that will be noticeable by the cameras.
I walked out of Macy’s with a brand new mini skirt.
After the mall Valeria and I walked into the woods while the rain poured. For some reason she enjoyed it, later in my life, I did too.
No matter how much I was changing my dad never failed to notice. That night at dinner I was quieter than usual.
“Is everything all right at school?” He asked softly.
“Yeah. Can Valerie sleep over?”
He didn’t like Valerie for the record.
“Of course,” he said dryly.
My dad never asked me if everything was all right at school. I could hear it in his voice that he knew something was up.
“I like Valerie,” my mother said.
Those were the first three words I heard my mother say to me in months. I’m not sure if those words were directed towards me. It seemed like she was just saying it for the heck of it and to no one in particular. But it was close enough to me.
When Valerie came to my house later that night she said,
“OH! Mr. Harper your house is so beautiful!” She beamed.
My dad smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. My father and a man named Mr. Harrison (in which we’d meet much later in life) were the only people who saw past Valerie’s façade. Valerie’s eyes quickly scanned the house. Her eyes stopped at a picture that was hung up on the wall,
“Is that your dog?”
This time his smile reached his eyes, but not for Valerie but for his dog Max.
“Was. He was the best dog I had on the team. He could sniff things out for miles.”
I was dumbfounded by Valerie. I had only for a moment mentioned about the dog and I was positive she hadn’t been paying attention. I could see right through her in the way she had said, “Is.” She knew the dog was dead and only wanted to make a connection with my father. I realized Valerie was a living tape recorder.
Valerie nodded solemnly. She grabbed my hand and led me upstairs into my own room. She was always the one to lead me places, even in my own house.
“Your dad doesn’t like me,” she said sourly.
When I didn’t reply she went on,
“That needs to change. Normally parents like me after I get some personnel out of them.”
I nodded, she was right.
“Did I say something wrong, or did I miss something that you said?”
She pressed her index finger against her lips.
No, Valerie Emerson doesn’t miss anything.
At my age I didn’t know what word fitted Valerie’s people intelligence. When I got older I came up with the word, “Street smart.” She was the smartest person I knew when it came to this, for years at least.
I have a few more memories left before we talk about whats going on with me now. My next memory takes place in the seventh grade. By now I was on the same level as Valerie, when Valerie stole Gucci sunglasses, I stole Gucci sunglasses just as easily as she had done. But that was the problem, it became too, ‘easy.’ The adrenaline rush was barely there anymore. By seventh grade Valerie and I were popular in school. But not the type of popular that Chantal was. What I mean is that everybody knew our names and they respected us. Respect comes in many forms; the respect we got from them was out of fear. I didn’t realize this until freshman year. They only respected us for awhile until Dale came into the picture. That’s years later though.
It was Friday and it was the fifth weekend in a row that Valerie and I were together. My dad didn’t like my obsession. He said I needed more friends. I did have other friends but I wouldn’t dare introduce them to my dad. They were Valerie’s crowd, but she told me they were only temporary. She told me they were wanna be’s, that wanted to be us. Valerie and I were in her small filthy bathroom. There was grey and brown dirt build up in the sink and syringes in the trash. For a fact I knew Valerie didn’t do drugs. At least once a week she ranted on about our other friends on how they will never get anywhere in life. But it was a fact that her mother was the biggest drugged up parent in the city, everyone knew. Valerie opened a drawer under the sink and took out a bowl and brush.“Ready?” She asked smiling. I gave her a knowing smile. She took out a box of black hair dye. She sat me down on the toilet so the back my head was facing her. It took about a half an hour to get the dye in all of my hair. My hair alone took up the whole box. Then Valerie handed me another box of hair dye and I did the same for Valerie. As we waited we sat on the bathroom tile floor and prank called random people. Then we took pictures of the two of us with the foil in our hair. I’ll never forget this memory. When we washed out the hair dye Valerie and I laughed hysterically at each other. Valerie’s hair hadn’t come out black but rather a dark brown while mine was pure black,
“Why did you want us to dye our hair?” I asked.
“No one takes a blonde seriously.”
I’m not sure what this had to do with me since I had medium brown hair but I liked the black actually. After that Valerie made me put the remaining dye on our eyebrows. When that was done, Valerie’s new hair color looked much better now that her eye brows were done.
Valerie took me down a few backstreets which led to a thrift store. Valerie lived in the bad part of town; she lived in one of those duplexes. The area she lived in used to scare me, now I don’t know why. The thrift store was small and had some unattractive clothing on display. It was a small brick building that you’d probably miss while driving. I walked up the cement steps behind Valerie. She immediately headed towards the closest racks and started shifting through the clothing. There wasn’t a single piece of clothing that didn’t have black in it. Yes there were some grey t-shirts but there were always flecks of black on it. The black didn’t really appeal to me like how it did will Valerie. I picked out a few of the t-shirts and a couple of black sweat pants. Valerie was piling clothes into her arms, one was a mini skirt way to high that was black and had a thin ruby red line at the bottom of the skirt. Inside I felt like this wasn’t right. But since when have I been doing the right thing? I picked up a skirt similar to Valerie’s. With Valerie, I had no lines. Valerie was my role model.
We both went into the fitting room. When I came out I stood in front of the mirror. I couldn’t even recognize the girl in the reflection. Valerie came up behind me with one hand on my shoulder. In her other hand she held up her camera phone and flashed a picture of the two of us. The carpet was a nauseating gloomy pink and the walls were wooden for some reason. The mirror was tilted to the side. Valerie went back into the fitting room, when she came out she had the skirt on with fishnet stockings. The black t-shirt she wore was almost just as long as her skirt. At least her chest was covered up.
“We aren’t stealing these by the way,” Valerie said.
“I don’t have any money.”
“No problem, it’s on me,” she flashed a credit card.
When we left I only bought a few pairs of pants, a t-shirt and a skirt I knew I’d never wear. I never did wear that skirt. When I think back to these memories, I’m disgusted with myself. All I could think is, “Stupid girl, say something!” But I didn’t say anything.
We went back to Valerie’s house. But after we paid, Valerie changed into her skirt and fishnet’s. Valerie had so many bags that I was carrying some of hers. She flung the front door to her house so hard it banged against the wall. The light was on in her small dining room that faced the way we came into the house. Valerie’s mom was sitting at the dining table staring at the smoke that was rising up towards the small lamp above her. The hardwood floor had a layer of dirt as if the floor hadn’t been washed in years.
“Hey Mom!” Valerie almost screamed.
“Hi. I like your stockings,” her mother said in a daze. Her eyes were glassy.
In the blink of an eye I saw pain in Valerie. Not just in the eyes but in the way her lips were a straight line and how her face became pale. It was in that moment her hands shook and her knee’s shivered. But then all of that was gone.
“Thanks, mom!”
I realized that from the moment she went on the shopping spree to the point Valerie greeted her mom was all for her mother. Valerie thought her mom would finally notice her own daughter if she came home looking like a twelve year old prostitute. Valerie was prepared for her mother not to say anything like usual but not for her to compliment her. Valerie led me up into her room that was surprisingly the cleanest room in the house. The whole night I wanted to see another sign from Valerie that she was affected by what had just happened. As the night went on I became more and more doubtful of what I saw in Valerie. I asked myself, is she laughing more than normally? Is she smiling more? Are her hands shaking? I could have said yes to all three if it hadn’t been so subliminal. I was over thinking it now, we all see what we want to see. No, Valerie was acting exactly the same as yesterday, the week before and in fifth grade. When I look back at the past, if anyone else had known Valerie the way I did, anyone would think she was an absolutely insanely lost girl.
Sometime in the middle of the night I woke up to the flashing lights outside my window. The color blue flashed through Valerie’s curtain. When I pushed myself up from the floor I looked up and saw that Valerie wasn’t in her bed. I turned to the left and saw that her bathroom light was on. A second later I heard the toilet flush and then the sound of rushing water from her faucet. I heard her toothbrush scrub against her teeth. I heard her spit into the sink. She shut off the light and then opened the bathroom door. I closed my eyes as she walked by me. She climbed back into her bad and said, “Go back to sleep.” It was an order, so I went back to sleep.
I woke early that morning. I found Valerie on the tile floor in her bathroom covered in sweat. I gently shook her awake, her eyes opened reluctantly, “Oh,” she said. I tried to help her but I could tell she didn’t want me too. She stood up and collapsed onto her bed. Sometime later that morning her mother banged herself against the walls to get up the staircase. She held onto the banister as she peaked into Valerie’s room,
“Everything ok?”
“Valerie’s really sick.”
“Ok.”
Her mother went into her own room and didn’t come out for the next two days that I was there. For the rest of the weekend I took care of Valerie. Valerie was not the type of person to stay home when she was sick. I mean Valerie was sick just in a different way. She was sick of herself, sick of what she wore and sick of her mother. How did I know this? Best friends just know. And there are some things you never mention to your best friend, this is one of them.