Chapter 2: Illness Illusion

Chapter 2: Illness Illusion

It started around Christmas time, when we both were in high school. We were both fifteen, although Angela would be sixteen that February.
It was such small things at first. In gym class she started to slow down. She used to be very good at volleyball, and was even thinking of joining the team the next semester, (she insisted she wanted to study really hard because she had both math and science together that semester, which was a killer mix of subjects.) She had been fast on the court, always spiking the ball before it could hit the ground no matter how far down the court it traveled.
But now she couldn’t do it anymore. She would try, but instead of quickly catching it, she would fall, and end up bruised at the end of the class. I would see her terribly bruised legs in the change room, and even noticed the purple-blue marks on her arms.
“What’s a matter, Angie? You used to be so good at volleyball. And what on earth has happened to your arms and legs?” I asked her, after class one day. She sighed, looking down at her bruised legs.
“I don’t know. I guess I’m not cut out for the team, huh?” she replied, a little breathlessly, smiling at me, but she looked weary too.
She had really wanted to join the team. I had even said I’d try out with her, although I was no where near as good as she was.
Now she seemed totally disinterested. Dark circles started to appear under her eyes, and she became really lethargic. She even left her star position on the volleyball court at the front, and moved to the back where she couldn’t be relied on as much.
It was just a once a week gym class game, but she had been counted on by the rest of the girls in the class. She had let them down, and they weren’t as understanding as I was.
“What’s your problem, Michelli?” a more popular girl named Kari asked when Angela was sitting on the bench between games, breathless, and hanging her head between her knees.
“Yeah, you used to be so good, what are you doing switching positions on us?” Katy added.
“I-I’m sorry.” Angela said, breathlessly, looking up at them. I rubbed her back.
“You’re so tired lately, Angie. Maybe you should take a break.” I said feeling concerned for the first time as she literally struggled to breathe.
“And to think I was about to recommend you to the team. What a disappointment.” Kari muttered, and I couldn’t tell if she were being intentionally mean, or kidding with my good natured friend.
“Hey!” I shouted anyway, standing up to face the dark haired girl. “She can’t help it if she’s not feeling well. You know very well she’s the best player you’ve got.” I told her, angrily.
“It’s OK, Marissa.” Angela said, sounding better now. “I’ll just wait until next term.” She smiled at me, and Kari looked guilty, and I felt bad. I was too overprotective.
“I’m sorry, Kari. I’ll work harder.”
“It’s alright. This is just the coach side of me talking. Go see a doctor or something, and I’ll be sure to hold a place on the team for one of the best players I’ve ever seen.” Kari smiled at Angela who smiled back. But her smile soon disappeared and she looked down.
Hikari “Kari” Tanabata was sixteen and captain of the 10th grade girl’s volleyball team. She was tall, (especially for an Asian girl), with thin, black hair that hung down her back, and she brushed to one side. She had a slender face, high cheekbones, and a naturally very pale complexion. Her eyes were what could put you off though. They were so highly slanted that she might come off as fierce looking. But everyone knew that Kari was a sweetheart, whose piercing black eyes were just part of her charm and exotic beauty.
She just happened to be in our gym class, and had been evaluating Angela’s performance. Angela had been basically guaranteed a spot on the team that semester. But she lost it like so many other things as her health deteriorated more and more.
That was our last day before Christmas vacation, and there would be a big celebration at the end of the day with food and drinks, and a talent show. But Angela never made it there. She came down with a fever during our last class and went home before she could see the show.

When Christmas came she seemed a little better. She still was tired, but she was given some money for Christmas, so we went out boxing-day shopping together. I dragged her around the city, and although she was a little run down still, we had fun together.
She bought a little blue backpack that was made from shiny material with white stitching and had little fluffy angel wings hanging from the sides. I bought a purse that looked like a radio. We found out later it actually was a radio. The dials on the sides actually worked.
Very cool.
Then Angela bought a jacket with her favourite brand name on it. The name was Melissa, (how she kidded me about the closeness of my name,) and every time you bought a product by her some money would be donated to cancer research. I knew that was how her mother had died, and she was very into charity.
It was after that that I began to call her Angel Angela. Because she was kind and selfless, and now, she had wings.
Later that day we joined an already in progress volley ball game, and Angela played like she used to, surprising the other players, (some who were years old than us)
At the end of the game she was sweating, and out of breath, but this time it was because she had played her hardest and won. She could definitely get on the team the next semester.
But that was the last time I ever saw her play volley ball.

After the holidays was when things really got bad. Final exams were coming up and I noticed Angela was really pushing herself. So when her tiredness returned I told myself that she was probably studying a lot, and was wearing herself out.
We were in art class, and I was watching Angela draw a portrait of Kari who sat across form her, instead of drawing Eric Lowry, my required portrait person.
I couldn’t help it. She caught Kari’s high cheekbones, thin lips, and Japanese slanted eyes perfectly. As I said, Kari sometimes looked fierce, but Angela and me both knew she wasn’t what she appeared to be. And Angela softened her looks so she looked like the kind and personable girl she really was. I couldn’t help but stare at the picture.
I was about to tell her how great the picture was when I heard the angry voice of Eric behind me.
“Hey Marissa, how am I supposed to draw you when you keep looking down like that?!” he demanded, angrily.
I sighed and shook my hand at him, telling him to lay off, when suddenly a red dot appeared on Angela’s picture in the space between Kari’s long ebony hair that was still being drawn in. Then another one appeared beside it
I turned around, missing Angela’s face, to see where it had come from.
“Hey Angie, someone’s spilling red paint on Kar-“ but before I could finish, the real Kari suddenly gave a little cry, and rushed over to Angela, who I now noticed was bending over her paper.
“Oh my God, Angela, are you alright?!” Kari cried, frantically.
Angela had her hand over her mouth, and what I thought had been red paint was steadily flowing down her fingers.
It wasn’t paint. It was blood.
Her nose was bleeding, and it was bleeding a lot.
Her fingers that she used desperately to hold back the flow were covered in blood.
“Angie!” I cried, coming to her side. She looked at me, but couldn’t speak for fear of making the blood come gushing out.
“I’ll get a teacher.” Kari said, and left to find our art teacher.
I quickly grabbed a pile of tissues, and moved Angela’s hand to apply them under her nose. There was so much blood, and when I felt her hand, it was very hot.
She had a fever again too.
Finally the teacher came over, took one look at her, and told me to take her to the office.
As I helped her walk down the halls, I vowed never to rely on a teacher for any sort of medical emergency again. They didn’t know what they were doing.
Our high school, (damn it to hell), didn’t have a school nurse, or even an infirmary. In fact, all they had was ice that I used to help stop the bleeding for her, as she sat hunched over in a chair.
When at last it came to a stop, I breathed a sigh of relief, and felt her forehead.
It was warm.
“Angie, I think you have a fever.” I told her, worriedly.
“Marissa, thank you.” She said, weakly, ignoring the fact she had a fever. “You helped me when no one else could. Thank you.”
She was always so grateful to me. That’s something I’d always remember. No matter how small a task I’d try to do for her, she would always be grateful to me as if I had saved her from drowning.
But then again, that’s sort of what I would do.
Angela came back to school the next day, still pale and tired looking, but otherwise she was alright. And she stayed alright until that Friday.
It happened again.
We were in gym class not doing much of anything because the semester was ending, when she got another massive nose bleed. This time her white track shirt was stained red with blood before she, or anyone else noticed it.
She cried out, and held her hand over her mouth and nose again.
“Angie!” I cried, when I saw her current state.
I rushed over to her, and started helping her off the court. She continued to cover the bottom of her face, but even my arms that I held on to her with felt the drops of blood.
The rest of the class, including Kari, watched worriedly, as the teacher decided to join us for whatever reason.
She couldn’t do anything.
I was starting to become some sort of nurse for Angela.
But that was not a good thing.
As I was thinking this, I suddenly felt Angela start to fall back. She went limp, her knees buckled, and she fell right into my chest.
“Angela!” I screamed, pulling her back up. She had let go of her mouth and nose and was now covered in drops of blood.
But she was conscious.
She had almost passed out in my arms, scaring me to death. I breathed out in relief, and took her down to the office. She didn’t speak, she only continued to nurse her bloodied nose.
“Angie, you’ve got to go to a doctor. There’s something really wrong with you.” I told her, shakily.
Finally the nosebleed had stopped, but I’d had to get the assistance of the secretary to help me.
Angela was very pale, and lay back on the chair looking like she would fall asleep any minute. Or faint.
“I’m fine.” She mumbled. “I used to get nosebleeds a lot. I guess they’re coming back.”
I sighed. I was starting to get really worried about her. She had had these nosebleeds twice in one week, and today I was sure she was going to faint. There was something very wrong with her.
“Have you gone to a doctor at all?” I asked her.
She shook her head.
“I was getting better, so I just thought I’d had the flu or something.” Her voice was weak and shaky.
“Are you OK? Do you want to go home?” I pressed.
“No, I need to hand in my history essay. I worked too hard on it to make it a day late.”
The history essay….
Something I had written at the last minute the night before.
To think she refused to go home when she was very sick for something stupid like the history essay, angered me.
“Angela, don’t you get it? You just about collapsed in there. You have to see a doctor!” I shouted at her.
“No!” she shouted back. It was the first time she raised her voice to me. It was the first time I’d ever heard her raise her voice.
But she calmed down. Or she was too weary to shout.
“I’m fine, Marissa. Really I am. I know you’re worried about me, but I really don’t want to have another late assignment.” She paused. “I promise I’ll see a doctor after exams. I just need to get through the exams.”
I didn’t understand what that meant, but it didn’t satisfy me in the least.
“Please, Angie, go today, go tomorrow. Just get better. You’re scaring me!” I pleaded, feeling tears in my eyes as I remembered watching my happy and vibrant friend become sicker and sicker each day.
She looked surprised to see me crying, and then, lowering her eyes, she said,
“Alright. Tomorrow. I’ll go tomorrow. Don’t cry, Marissa, hon, I’m sorry for scaring you.” She put her hand on mine. “OK? Let’s get to class,”
I nodded, wiping away my tears, and walked down the hall, holding that damn history assignment in her now clean hands.
Our history teacher was very strict, and it was true she might get an earful for not handing it in, but it didn’t seem worth it to risk her failing health over.
I hated that essay.
I hated it forever.

I took my seat inside the history room next to Angela, who smiled at me. I weakly smiled back, and then took out my own pathetic essay and flipped through it, ignoring her.
I was still angry at her, and I didn’t feel like looking at her. She could hand in that stupid essay all she wanted. I didn’t care anymore. I just wanted to go to my next class.
Cosmetology.
Angela wasn’t in that class, and it was fun, and something I was actually good at. We got to put makeup on other students, make fashion decisions, even cut and style hair. It was a special program for those destined for a community college like I was.
Just then the teacher called for us to hand in our essays. He went by our last names, but backward, so that my name, ‘Collins’ came after Angela’s, ‘Michelli’.
“Angela Michelli.” He called her name, and I looked over at her, expecting to see her pick up her paper and confidently hand it to our teacher. But to my surprise, she seemed to be sleeping. She was slumped over her desk, leaning on her arms, and breathing heavily.
What was she doing?
“Hey Angela, wake up.” I muttered to her, but she didn’t even stir.
“Angela Michelli~~~~” the teacher called again, not seeming to notice the girl had fallen asleep.
“Angie, he wants your essay you wanted to hand in so much, so get up and give it to him.” I continued, harshly.
Still no response.
“If you wanted to sleep, why didn’t you go home last period?” I demanded, pushing her shoulder, but she still didn’t move.
I was starting to get worried now.
This was strange.
She wasn’t responding to anything. At first I had just been frustrated with her stubbornness that she was now sabotaging.
But now I was scared.
“Come on, Angela, its not funny anymore!” I shouted, getting up and shaking her shoulders.
She did not wake.
“Angela!” I cried, shaking her more and more, my heart pounding loudly in my ears.
“Alright, Angela obviously isn’t ready—“ the teacher mumbled, but I cut him off with another cry.
She wasn’t waking up. No matter what I did she wouldn’t wake up.
There was something wrong.
Something terribly wrong!
“Miss Collins, are we having a problem?” the teacher asked me.
The class had turned around too.
“What’s with Angela?” one boy asked.
“I wish I was that heavy a sleeper.” Someone else added.
“There’s something wrong with Angela! She won’t wake up!” I cried, my eyes filling with tears of fear.
“Oh come now, Miss Collins. She’s just sleeping.” Mr. Dawson, our boring history teacher said, calmly coming over to us.
“Angela, this is Mr. Dawson. If you don’t wake up now, I’m going to have to send you to the office.” He said, putting his arm on her shoulder. But suddenly her arm slipped off the table, causing her to bang her head on the desk.
This would have woken any conscious person.
Angela didn’t even stir.
I covered my mouth. “Angie!” I screamed.
Now the teacher seemed worried, and started to shake her.
“Angela, can you hear me? Angela, Angela Michelli.” He called.
“She must have fainted from when she lost all that blood today.” Suddenly I heard Kari say behind me.
I looked at my friend. She was extremely pale, her eyes closed, her heavy breathing somewhat irregular, as she lay on the desk with her arm hanging over the side.
What was happening to her?
“Kari, go call 911.” Mr. Dawson said, and then, (defeating my previous disbelief in the caretaking of teachers), picked up Angela, who was completely limp, making my heart race, and brought her to the front of the classroom where he lay her back down on the carpeted floor.
Kari had disappeared down the halls, but the rest of the class gathered around her.
“What’s wrong with her?”
“She fainted.”
“Why?”
“Is she dead?”
I would have beat up whoever said that, but I was too busy worrying about my friend.
“Stand back, everyone. Give her some room.” Mr. Dawson said, concernedly, grabbing a pillow off the seat of his chair, and laying Angela’s head on it. Then he moved a chair over to her, and propped her feet up on it.
I was shaking I was so scared.
The teacher put his ear to Angela’s chest to check her heart beat and irregular breathing, then he lifted up her wrist, and felt her pulse.
“Hmm… it’s weak.” He observed.
My breath caught in my throat, and I felt dizzy, having to hold on to the desk beside me as I knelt down beside my unconscious friend.
What was wrong with her?
What was happening to her?!
Was she going to--
I stopped the thought in my head as I heard sirens in the distance.
I took Angela’s hand, and held on to it, blinking back tears.
“Hold on, Angie, help is coming.” I told her, squeezing her fingers.
Within moments, the sirens arrived outside our school, and Kari came back leading two uniformed paramedics who wheeled a stretcher into the class room.
Mr. Dawson rushed over to them explaining what had happened, leaving me alone with Angela.
Her breathing was slow.
Too slow.
Her chest hardly rose.
The paramedics rushed over with the stretcher and their medical bags, and proceeded to repeat everything Mr. Dawson had done.
He had actually known what he was doing.
They took out a breathing tube which they used to pump air into her chest, and then lifted her up on the stretcher, covering her with a blanket, and still pumping the tube, whisked her out of the classroom, and down the halls.
I wasted no time, and chased after them, followed by Mr. Dawson, Kari, and the rest of the class.
The ambulance waited outside the school’s front entrance, and a crowd had gathered there to see what had happened.
“Hey, it’s Angela!” I heard someone shout.
“Angela Michelli?”
“No way! What happened to her?”
“Was she hurt?”
“She collapsed in class, and she’s not breathing.”
The voices of the students echoed in my ears, as I helplessly watched the paramedics lift the stretcher into the ambulance, and turning on their sirens, hurriedly drive away.
“Marissa, is she alright?” I suddenly heard Kari ask me, worriedly. I looked over at her briefly, and then ran down the driveway toward the bus stop, carrying only enough change to get me to the hospital where they had taken my best friend.

First quote

I have always preferred having wings than having things. -Patricia Schroeder

Chapter 1: Don’t cry, Angela

Marissa
~

Angela Michelli is my best friend.
She always has been.
I was twelve when I met her. She transferred to our school in the middle of the semester. The teacher said she was from Italy, but she spoke perfect English. I knew there was something special about her as soon as I saw her.
It wasn’t because she was extremely thin, or that her hair was such a light shade of blonde it was almost white. It wasn’t even because she wore a white surgical mask for some reason.
It was none of these things.
It was her eyes.
From my seat at the front of the classroom I could see that this new girl had the most kind looking eyes. I could even tell she was smiling under that strange mask.
Yet, her eyes held a deep sadness to them. Even though I was just a kid, I could understand she was very sad inside.
I wanted to be her friend right away. I knew that even then.
I was tired of being involved with the tomboyish, delinquent, even bullying group of girls I’d befriend at the beginning of that year.
I had fallen on the wrong side of the tracks, and I needed a way out. Befriending this kind, elegant, Italian girl would be my first step up.
That’s what I decided anyway.
Although she was pretty.
Beautiful even.
Her eyes were a shade of blue that almost seemed violet, and from what I could see of her face, it was shaped nicely, her long, wavy, white-blonde hair falling down her shoulders, with long bangs around her forehead cascaded it elegantly.
That’s what she was.
Elegant.
The girls in group three, who used lip-smackers, and read Teen Beat, would probably whisk her away to become a bubble-gum-pop-princess.
Everything I hated.
I was tall, skinny, and had long, light brown, scraggly hair. Sometimes it would curl naturally at the bottom, but usually it was just straight and boring. I looked older than my twelve years though, (if you didn’t count my flat chest.), with a narrow face and large hazel eyes. I usually wore whatever t-shirt with a brand name I could find, and loose fitting jeans. I didn’t value fashion very much, but I did have to follow what was ‘cool’.
God, I was an idiot.
“My name is Angela Michelli. I’m pleased to meet you.” The new girl suddenly said, very formally, with a touch of an Italian accent that seemed to be fading. I wondered how she knew English so well. Even though it was muffled by the mask a bit, I could tell that her accented voice was kind, and the English perfect.
Maybe I could learn Italian.
“Miss Michelli’s doctor needs her to wear this mask for the next while. She has been ill, and this special mask will help keep her well.” Our teacher said, putting her hand on the girl’s thin shoulder.
She had been sick?
I wondered what was wrong with her.
What could make a kid like her have to wear those weird masks I only saw when SARS broke out?
“Now, I expect you all to respect that, and make Angela feel welcome.” Miss Emerson, our terribly strict 6th grade teacher said, particularly looking over at my group. “The gang of very bad girls”, was what she called us.
She was middle-age, with graying brown hair pulled in an old fashioned bun. Her nose was too big for her glasses, and she was overweight.
No wonder she wasn’t married.
I scowled at her when she wasn’t looking.
Stupid fat cow. I thought to myself.
Which was a name I only reserved for Ms Emerson.
The new girl did end up sitting with the Bubble-gum-pop group, but they mostly ignored her to my relief.
But at lunchtime my wonderful group decided to show her what it was like to be a new kid with a strange flaw at our elementary school.
And I didn’t do anything to stop them.
“So what’s with the mask?” Erin, one particularly nasty and bullying girl grinned, stepping in front of the girl so she couldn’t even sit down to eat lunch.
Savages.
“You afraid of SARS or something?” Nicole added.
I grimaced.
I wanted to stop them.
Really I did.
But I wasn’t strong enough yet to betray my own group.
I was weak.
I needed my “Gang of very bad girls” to survive the wicked playground.
I was just a follower.
“No, it’s not that….” Angela said, trailing off. She sounded a little confused, but not afraid or hurt that she was being picked on.
She was so brave.
“It’s a doctor’s order. I’ve been sick, and he wants to make sure I don’t get sick again. So I wear the mask to protect myself.” She explained, a little shakily now as she realized the group of girls in front of her was not going to move anytime soon.
“Like from SARS?” Nicole snickered again.
Angela said nothing.
Ugh, not SARS again, I thought, as I watched them without moving a finger to help.
I was a coward then too.
SARS was this strange lung disease that was brought to our city a few years ago from China by someone who had it on the plane. It put people in a panic, closing down hospitals ad clinics, and destroying the tourist industry, (because no one wanted to come here and get SARS.) So people started to wear the same kind of mask Angela was wearing now to protect themselves from getting the infamous disease.
But that was years ago, and our teacher had explained why she wore the mask to us. I wished my friends would just lay off.
I wished I could do something.
“Hey, shut up, and leave her alone!” I would shout.
“Oh, but Marissa, we’re having so much fun.” They would plead, patheticly.
“Not another word!~”
Then I would walk away with the new girl, and we would become best friends, and the class would cheer, and Ms Emerson would give me straight As and get a nosejob.
Then things would be good.
That’s what I wanted to happen. But instead I sat there while they tortured her about her Italian heritage now.
“Is your father in the Mafia?
“Do you make pizza?”
“Heeeey~ Bambino!”
Now they’d seemed to have gotten to her. She hung her head, and turned to leave, and that’s when I got enough courage to do something.
“Wait!”
I shouted, standing up at my now empty table.
Everyone turned to look at me, and so did the girl. Her eyes were filled with tears. It made me angrier and therefore stronger.
“Hey Marissa, what else do Italians do?” Erin asked me then, as if she’d just noticed me.
“They don’t do anything but make pizza, and join the mob.” Nicole laughed.
Then the girl ran from the room.
I ran after her.
“Wait!” I cried again, chasing her down the halls. She wasn’t very fast, and I soon caught her arm, stopping her so she turned to me.
I’ll never forget how sad she looked. How her tears flowed, and her sad eyes glanced at me with pain and mistrust.
“Please, leave me alone!”
She cried, trying to cover her tears with her other hand.
I let go.
I didn’t know what else to do.
She knew I was one of them.
She knew.
I had done nothing to help her. She probably hated me more than Erin and Nicole.
I hated this.
I’d wanted to be her friend in the first place.
I hadn’t wanted this. It made me want to cry too.
“:I-I’m sorry!” I shouted, stammering a little. Angela looked up at me.
“Why?” she asked, rubbing her eyes a little. “You didn’t do anything.” She sniffled. “You were the only one not making fun of me.” She sighed and hung her head. “Are they mean to you too?” sudddenly she looked over at me and asked. There was innocence to her question, and I realized she didn’t know.
She didn’t know I was part of the group of girls who were mean to her. That I hadn’t helped ever even though I very well could have.
Then it was me who started to cry.
I couldn’t help it.
I felt so bad and angry with myself.
“D-don’t cry.” She stammered through her own tears, coming over to me. “They’re just words. Although they hurt, they can’t really get you down.” She smiled slightly, or it seemed like she was smiling the way her tear-filled eyes softened and crinkled at the sides.
She was comforting me!
This was wrong!
This was all wrong!
“No! You don’t understand!” I finally cried out, my own tears coming down my face now. “Those girls are my friends.” I told her straight out.
She stepped back.
“Oh.”
“But they’re cruel. I wanted to help you, but I couldn’t. I-I was scared.” I paused, starting to cry more. “I’m sorry.”
Angela was looking down, away from me as I stood there crying.
I felt like such an idiot.
Erin and Nicole probably would make fun of me if they saw me like this.
“But you did help me.” Suddenly I heard her say much clearer and warmer than before. I stopped crying, and slowly looked up at her.
The mask now hung around her chin, and she was smiling.
I could see that without the mask in the way.
“You’re helping me now.” She continued her warm smile still strong.
“Thank you.”
She pulled the mask back over her face, and picked up her bagged lunch, which she had dropped when I grabbed her.
Stunned, I managed a ‘you’re welcome,’ before I fully realized what had happened.
Somehow my crying had made her be nice to me and comfort me.
I didn’t understand it, but that’s what happened.
So I went along with it.
In any case, now I could try to be her friend.
And now it looked like she wanted to be my friend too.
I watched as she slowly walked down the hall, and wondered what it was about her. I would always wonder that.
Angela Michelli could entrance me, as if she were a bearer of her own name. As she walked off into the sunshine that canvassed her hair like a halo, I finally figured out how to describe her.
Ethereal.
A girl almost not of this world.

That was how I met my best friend. My first and only best friend who would forever change my life.
That day, after I finally told her my name, she told me that her father had died that past year, and that was why she had started to cry when those terrible girls, (who from then on I avoided as much as possible.) made fun of the father they didn’t even know.
She had lost her mother at five years old, and was now living with her aunt. I was shocked to find out she was an orphan. I had never met an orphan. To me, they didn’t seem to exist. I only heard about them in fairytales.
My own family was no great accomplishment, but I couldn’t imagine being completely alone.
But she was OK.
“Where I come from everyone wears masks.” She told me at lunch, happier now, but totally confusing me.
“They do….?”
She giggled. “Yes. At Carnival everyone must wear a mask or they could be arrested.”
“huh?”
“I am from Venice, a city that floats on the sea. And every year Venice celebrates Carnival. People come from all over the world to join the festivities and see the beautiful masks.” She reached out her hand, stretching her fingers against the light of the late afternoon sunshine, a far off look in her sad eyes. “The sights, the sounds, and the colours are beautiful.” She smiled. (I think) “You would love it.”
I blinked, trying to imagine the fantasy world she was describing to me. Could it really be real?
“I pretend my mask is part of Carnival, and I always can celebrate.”
“But aren’t you sick or something?” I asked.
Angela turned around and looked out the window, taking a deep breath before turning to me.
“Even the sick can enjoy Carnival.”
That first description of her home, and her life stayed with me, and it wouldn’t be until years later that I truly understood what she had been saying to me.

Angela wasn’t ever bitter or unkind about her misfortunes. She never even confronted the girls who had hurt her.
As for me, I worked hard to be rid of my bad-girl reputation, but it wasn’t something that could happen overnight.
Although Erin turned her back on me the moment she found out I was associating with the strange new girl, Nicole didn’t seem to mind so much. She even apologized to Angela, and she forgave her right away.
Angela was very quiet, so no one had any real reason to torture her after that first day.
She was also absent a lot. Sometimes days at a time. I got the feeling that whatever had been making her sick before she started school was still causing her problems. She wouldn’t explain much to me, but because I was only twelve I didn’t question her much farther.
I visited her house many times, and met her aunt who was very kind.
Francesca Costa.
A beautiful woman, with a small build, like Angela, thick, straight brown hair that she usually wore down, and tousled to one side. Her eyes were large, and a chocolate brown colour that sparkled when she smiled, and her smile was large amongst her pale, round face.
Angela showed me a picture of her mother once, and Francesca looked exactly like her. Angela’s mother had been ten years older then Francesca, and now she was twenty-six, the same age as her mother had been when she died. I thought it must be a little freaky being with someone who looked so much like her dead mother….. but Angela didn’t.
Angela’s family was really rich, actually. Her house was like a mansion.
We would spend hours together at that house. Because outside of school, poor Angela wasn’t able to do much else. She was so tired a lot, that she would need a nap before dinner. But she fascinated me with the stories she told about her magical city. She had a new story everyday. I would sit on her white canopy bed and listen to her beautiful tales, and we would both be transported back to the place she grew up.
Everything about her was mystical in a way, especially her colours. I didn’t know if it was because of her illness, or something Venetians experienced, or if she was just special, but Angela could somehow see colours where there weren’t any colours at all. She saw black letters as multicolours, imagined names in her head with specific mixed colours like a paint palette, saw coloured shapes with sounds and music, and even could sense what people were feeling by the colour of the aura around their heads.
I thought this was the most amazing thing I had ever heard, and I never had any reason not to believe her. She even painted a palette of her coloured letters for me to see. She said she remembered things by their colours, and could literally feel music. She painted our names together to show me their colours, and I was disappointed to see that mine was a dark brown and maroon colour as a result of the two Ss in my name.
M A R I S S A
But hers was a lovely rose and daffodil colour that reminded me of spring.
A N G E L A
She said that my name was beautiful because it looked like the earth that she so dearly loved. That made me feel better.
Sometimes I would come to Angela’s house on a day she didn’t come to school to see if she was alright. It was rare I would get to see her though. Her aunt would usually say she wasn’t feeling well enough for visitors.
But sometimes, I would see her at the top of the big staircase in her house, and she would smile at me. Then she would come back to school, and seem like nothing was wrong.
She was secretive, but also very kind.
The school started to notice this about her too, and instead of treating her like an outcast, she had respect from most of the students and even the teachers, (who would always pester her about why she hung out with a Very Bad Girl like me.)
At first, I wondered why too. We didn’t have much in common, and I certainly wasn’t kind and smart like she was, (she made straight As!)
But she was always there for me, and I always tried to be there for her. Even though she had a lot of hardships, I tried my best to help. But sometimes I was at a loss at what to do.
Like one day after she had been absent, we were having free reading time. I was engrossed in a manga, (instead of the required novel we had to read. ‘A little Princess’ made a very good hiding place for my intense Japanese comic.), so I wasn’t really paying attention to anything, when Miss Emerson, (who always was concerned about Angela’s frail health.) called out my name.
I was afraid she’d found out I wasn’t reading a novel, but instead she asked me to go find Angela. She said that Angela had asked to go to the bathroom awhile ago, and hadn’t returned. She wanted me to go see if she were alright.
I looked over at Angela’s seat, and sure enough she was gone. I hadn’t even noticed she left. She excused herself from class a lot too, sometimes not coming back, but she always let Miss Emerson know.
I felt a little worried, and hurried to the girl’s bathroom.
I found her there, crouched in a corner at the back of the bathroom, and she was crying. No matter how many times I asked what was wrong, she couldn’t answer me through her cries that shook her whole body.
I knelt down beside her, not knowing what to do, and she suddenly held onto me in a hug that was like she was a baby, and I was the mother. It was so strange to me that I almost pulled away.
My family was never very affectionate. Especially my mother, who had never even told me she loved me. So I didn’t know what to do, but hold her too.
“It hurts, Marissa! It hurts so much!” she cried.
“What does?” I asked over and over again. “Angela, what’s wrong with you?!” I cried, feeling close to tears myself.
Why couldn’t she tell me?
She couldn’t tell me anything.
I didn’t know what to do.
I had no idea.
“Angela, lets go to the school nurse.” I finally said, pulling away, feeling tingling from where she had held me. She nodded, blinking away her tears.
I helped her up because she was all shaky, and would sway to one side if I didn’t hold her.
It scared me.
I had to hold her all the way to the nurse’s office, and she clung to me like a child.
Before we reached the little infirmary, she stopped, and weakly looked up at me.
“You’re my best friend, Marissa. Thank you for all you’ve done for me.” She said, and I couldn’t say anything back. I felt choked up with emotion, and silently continued to lead her to the nurse.
She would say these exact same words years later, and I still wouldn’t answer in enough time.
The nurse took Angela in right away, and thanked me before closing the curtain.
I ran down the halls, hardly noticing or caring that I was now crying too.

It was only a few days later that Angela came to school smiling like I’d never seen before. I had only seen her smile once, but this time she was glowing. Her eyes sparkled, and her smile was visible.
She no longer wore the mask.
I was so happy for her that this time it was me who grabbed her in a hug, and refused to let go. She continued to smile brightly, and all the teachers and even our class were happy for her.
“We can finally see your face.” One of the boys said, and she smiled at him, making him blush.

From then on Angela was never sick again. Sure she would get a cold, or flu, but nothing like what I’d seen when I first met her.
We got to hang out together more, especially when summer came. We spent the whole vacation together. Eating ice cream, playing volley ball, (our favourite sport), and swimming. I grew closer to her then I ever had to any friend before. She was just such a kind, fun and vibrant person, now that she was no longer ill.
Angela was already twelve going on thirteen, while I had only just turned twelve, and was still small and skinny. But she was starting to grow up, and the boys were noticing her. After that summer she became very popular with the boys, and was always the object of someone’s affection. But she was shy, and eventually became just a secret crush for the boys to pine over.
Angela and I grew up together, her always a step ahead of me in everything but height. I grew even taller when I was thirteen, and was one of the tallest girls, (I was already taller then all the boys), in the class.
Angela stayed thin and petite, and would always look younger then she was. As I entered junior high, my reputation slowly dwindled as I began to see less and less of Erin and Nicole, or any of the other Very Bad Girls. Although I had stopped being friends with them in the sixth grade, I had always still seen them in elementary. But they just became another face in the halls when I got to junior high.
I was in junior high also, when my forever feuding parents finally decided to get a divorce. They announced it to me the year I turned thirteen, and was finishing the seventh grade. After a bitter court battle over none other than me, they officially divorced by the time I reached eighth grade.
The court battles only made me angry with both my parents, the divorce was what hurt me. My mother had won custody over me, and I couldn’t stand the thought of living alone with that cold, uncaring woman.
My father had always been a little silly, and good natured. He gave me a great childhood, but my mother was the exact opposite of him. She was prim and proper, neat and tidy, and very strict. I was already rebelling against her at eleven years old. The worst thing about my mom was she could never get close to me. Not only did she never say she loved me, but she’d never hugged or kissed me either.
My father had always tried to lighten the mood when things were tense. He did it for me, and I knew he loved me, just from the hug I would get once in a while. With my mother, I could never be sure.
It hurt me to be unloved.
The day after I had been told of the new living arrangements, I came to school and told Angela, (who had been worried about the out-come, and me all through the court battles), speaking as if I were telling her about a movie I had seen on TV. In public, and with a straight face.
I didn’t want to let myself get upset over this.
Especially in front of her.
Divorce was so common these days, and it wasn’t like my parents were dead like hers, they were just separated.
I had no right to cry.
“Well, the good news is I’m not moving anywhere.” I told her, smiling, but she frowned.
“I’m so sorry, Marissa.” She said, sincerely.
“Its alright, its alright. I’ll see my dad on the weekends, and you know, just stay out of mom’s way.” I said, waving my hand.
I had told Angela straight out about how strict, and cold my mother was, but I think she had figured out that I felt unloved.
That was something I could neither hide, nor admit to her.
“What’s the difference, anyway? I hardly ever saw my dad before…… now things are just going to be the same.” I muttered. Angela tilted her head to one side.
“Dad’s not moving far. Just up town. Near the children’s hospital. I can see him whenever I like…. He just won’t be across the room from me……” I trailed off, as Angela looked at me with sympathy.
It angered me.
“I’m fine.” I muttered, never having any reason to be angry with Angela until now. “I don’t care!” I actually shouted at her. “I don’t care that my parents are divorce just like half the class, or that my mother’s a heartless bitch, or that I have to take the damn subway to see my father, alright! I don’t care!" I cried then, and I found myself really crying. The tears wouldn’t stop, no matter how much I wanted them to. So I ended up stumbling out of the school, and crouching on the grass, with my knees to my chest, and continued to cry my pain filled tears.
And Angela stayed right beside me, never leaving my side, even when the bell rung.

That was the least she had ever done for me. Just being my friend showed me that I was not unloved. I had a friend who cared for me. None of those girls from the sixth grade could ever compare, or fill the void in my heart like she could. I was so glad to have a friend like her. I would never go back to my old gang-ridden days.
I had joined them to feel needed, and accepted, but I didn’t need that anymore. I forgot everything about then. My bed rep, the snotty teacher whose name I couldn’t even remember, and even my best friend’s chronic illness. She was just so vibrant and cheerful now that it was hard to believe she had ever been any different.
But all that was about to change....

Angela's wings

The Ethereal Friendship


The story of an unbreakable friendship
between two girls,
even when faced
with the possibility of one of their deaths.

A novel, by Allanah Kurishima

Empathy

“Empathy is a wonderful feeling to have. Without it I think there would be many more lonely people in this world. Experience is empathy, and I will use mine to help people all over the world.”
~ Angela Michelli