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Her name was Natalie when I knew her. I don't even know what it is now. My god, I always used to joke about this! To tell the truth, I was always just a little curious who it was going to be. It could just as easily been Courtney or Laura or Tabitha, but Natalie?!? She was so sweet, always seemed so innocent. Now, two years later, she's got a tattoo on her leg, a tongue ring, and a videography.

I wasn't ready to believe it at first. Then I heard her accent as she said the most vulgar thing I never expected a girl like her to be able to say. She was raised in England, you see, and still had a vestige of that old middle-class roll in her speech. The result was some sort of valley-girl/Emma Thompson hybrid that made her such a pleasure to listen to.

Sure, I liked her back in high school. Every guy did. She was sweet, and nice, and funny, and beautiful, and smart, and all the things a body could want in a girl. Now I see her doing something that just has to hurt more than she lets on. Why aren't I looking away? I don't know. Maybe I'm a voyeur, fascinated with the idea of watching her do something for a stranger that I wish she would have done for me. Maybe I'm just a guy that way, I don't know. Maybe I'm a little sad for her, here on my high horse pretending my life's so much better. Maybe I'm worried about her, wondering if maybe she was strapped for cash or on the bad end of a needle. Maybe I'm secretly hoping it's not really her, so I won't feel so bad anymore.

I always knew it was going to happen to somebody I knew. But why did it have to be Natalie?

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