My name is Betty and I have this friend, rather, I had this friend.

She had the clothes, the friends, the grades, the job.
Most importantly; she had him. She had Paul and I did not.

My attempts and ploys were foolish.
I can see that now.
I can say that now.

Though gone and seldom remembered, I find myself falling into that same old game of mine.

Copying my supposed friend had become natural and systemic.
What she had, I sought. What she prized, I held aloft.
But she had Paul and I did not.

Vindication came.
Victory came.
In the form of a table, I was allowed to win.

Her prized thrift-store-find shown as a beacon of a turning tide and I was one to quit while I was ahead.

My end came swift and painless; according to plan.

It would be remembered that we had the same table while it would not be known that I held sway over her through our shared vintage.

My gaze remained fixed on her perfect life.
Her perfect husband.

My perfect love.
My perfect revenge.

I’ll take her apart a piece at a time.