Maggot

The first time I saw her she was screaming.

I'd heard of her before that day, a friend-of-friend situation. I think it was Bridgett who first brought her up, referring to her as "that skinny bitch that Tom hangs around...you know, that wispy little blonde that never shuts up?" I had no idea who Bridgett might be referring to.
I made a point to avoid Tom when I could, as he tended to attach himself to unsuspecting girls like a hungry tick; once he'd latched on he was nearly impossible to shake off without serious, painful effort. I like Tom a lot, which is why  I wasn't willing to play host to his parasite.

Bridgett, however, was more than willing, which, I guess, is why Mag came up. "You'd remember her if you knew her," Bridgett told me. "She's too fucking obnoxious to forget." Bridgett proceeded to whine about this girl I'd never heard of, never citing a concrete reason for her hatred of "the crazy bitch," apparently only able to describe her insufferableness with vague insults.

I was partially listening, partially doodling birds in my notebook. "So, wait, what did this girl actually do?" I eventually asked.

Bridgett sighed. "You just have to meet her. She's insane. I don't know, seriously, you just have to meet her."

After Bridgett's tirade, I wanted to meet her, mostly just to see what she was like, just in case she really was psychotic. Psychopaths make the best characters, and I've always loved a good character.

When I finally saw her, I didn't know it was her.

She was standing near the bike racks outside The Coffee Beanery, both hands in her hair, screaming. I looked up from my book and just watched her through the window. I wanted to talk to her, to try to calm her down, to try to make it better, but all I ended up doing was staring. When her screaming fit ended, she looked up and our eyes met briefly before I turned my head, attempting to pretend I'd been looking at something else. My face went red. I'm not sure if I was embarrassed for myself or for her.

I never told anyone about that, not even after Mag and I became close. I'm not sure if she remembers it, I never asked, even though I'm fairly sure I've pieced together what may have been the cause of the screaming. She probably does remember it. Those aren't the kinds of things she forgets.

I met Mag officially a few months later at an art showing. By this point, Bridgett and Tom had started dating, though I'm not sure that Tom's feelings for Mag had quite subsided. I'd been planning to sit alone in my room and watch Dirty Dancing while crying and cursing life for never being quite as romantic. Bridgett insisted that I leave the room, something that I had no interest in doing since a week prior to this evening, my boyfriend of a year had cheated on me for the third time in four months. I was eventually persuaded to go to the showing with the promise of free wine.

It was Mag's artwork that was on display, along with a few other Visual Arts majors from our school, though Mag wasn't there when we arrived. I'd had three glasses of merlot and was staring at a striped abstract print that looked like a caterpillar when I squinted at it when I felt a warm hand on my back. I turned around and found a petite blonde with a pixie cut and a piquant face smiling at me.

"You're Ivy, right? Tom's told me so much about you." She extended a hand. "Mag."

Up until this point, I'd always believed her name to be Meg, which is why I stared dumbly at her before responding, "Meg?" and letting her take my hand and shake it enthusiastically.

"No, it's Mag."

"Oh. Like as in Maggie, short for Margaret?"

She looked amused. "No, like as in Mag, short for Maggot." Her lips split into a grin that has since painfully etched itself into my mind.