It was another rainy day, and I’d been texting him for a while now. “Why not,” I decided as I threw on my hooded jacket and reached for my keys. Once in my white jeep I put on the song “Skinny Love” by Bon Iver-always thought it was the perfect “rainy day song”.
The thing with going over to his house was that he was judged and classified by everyone in the town as the troublemaker, the one you should stay away from, the one who had the dirtiest reputation, the one who you’d do everything in your power to avoid. And here I was willingly driving over to his house. Would my strange friendship with him suck me down into judgement as well? I was another “good girl-go to church every chance i get-always doing the right thing” kid. I didn’t worry about what other people would think, I was just curious. I think deep down, I sort of craved for a chance to not do what society considered to be the right thing, to be rebellious. And I think pulling up to his house was, in a way, the small first step.