Paula by Gia C. Manalio www.lifeissurreal.com I like my new bangs, she said, I think bangs give the look of confidence. I watched her brush aside the hair, that was new to fall short on her forehead, that used to hang straight by the sides of her forehead, which was pale, which hadn’t seen the sun for years. She had come to New York City from a small town, somewhere unremarkable, in Pennsylvania I think. She was somewhat unremarkable, cute, smart - the girl next door - just like the girl next to your door. Her parents loved her, my parents would have loved her, your parents would have loved her. But she was remarkable. She reached out to anyone and anything she felt would show her the world that was outside of that small town in Pennsylvania I think. To her everything was beautiful. She trusted and loved and befriended, with all of her heart. And then some. She would be a legend, she would live forever, what the university didn’t teach her, dancing and a pipe would, she would know all and be all and see all and she would never fall. She even found god. Or really, a goddess whom she carried with her with lots of ink over the entire span of her back and with whom she cried and prayed and meditated in circles with friends in an old abandoned building lit by candlelight and warmed by bonfires and bonding. That is when the cops weren’t walking through the frame of the door. And with these friends and this goddess and some other things as well, she did come to know all and she did come to see all and she did come to fall. And I watched in silence when I should have tried to catch her and remind her of the beauty she taught me to see. But she slipped through my fingers, The girl next door who was remarkable and who found confidence in bangs and in loving and in befriending and then some. And who wanted more than that small town somewhere in Pennsylvania I think.