The Confession




JAZZ (18), beautiful, piercing eyes, high school senior, sits across from a COLLEGE RECRUITER.


She’s poised, very confident, almost cocky.


JAZZ


It’s not that I didn’t like her its just that I didn’t fuck with her, there’s a difference. Growing up with bourgie ass cousins and their bourgie ass parents and bourgie ass friends, I’ve been around girls like her my whole life. What’s that song say “They smile in your face but all the while wanna take your place” haah, back...stabbing...ass... BITCHES. I can spot them from a mile away, hell I can smell them from a mile away... ahahahah. Sorry I’m a little high... ahahaha.


Wait what was the question again? Oh yeah did I purposely try and make her life hell. You damn right and oh, don’t go trying to say it was cuzza jealousy, no fuck that I ain’t never been jealous of shit. I know compared to her and the rest her friends I wasn’t shit, I’d never have shit and was never gonna be shit... in their eyes. But you wanna know the fucked up thing about that? Her mom. Her fucking mother asked my mother if I could tutor her. Believe that shit? Talk about irony. The girl from the wrong side of the tracks had a 4.0 and scored a fourteen sixty on the S.A.T. and the silver spoon princes was flunking basic algerbra.


You’re asking yourself why I toutored her then if I didn’t fuck with her. It was cuz I was curious. I wanted to see how the other half was living. And I guess a little part of me also wanted to see what she was about.


BEAT.


Her eyes get a bit misty. For the first time she looks vulnerable.


JAZZ


So when I saw that the way she was living didn’t match up with the way I thought her life was supposed to be, I can’t lie I felt some empathy for her. My family may not of had much but what we did have is love and respect for one another. There was none of that in her house. I mean the way her parents talked to her...


BEAT


JAZZ


Fucked up. I realized that the same treatment I was giving her at school was the same treatment she was getting at home and that shit made me feel bad. I mean I know I was a bully but I’d never consider myself stone hearted. So that um.. morning. I decided I was going to have a real heart to heart with her and apologize but um... she never... um... she never showed up. And when I went by her house that afternoon and saw all the cops and cop cars and news van and reporters I um.... I’m sorry one sec. I’m sorry. I um... she was dead. I know they say check on your strong friends or look out for warning signs but before that none of that shit hit home. But that afternoon, that shit hit home like a mother fucker and that... That’s what my short story was about. I’m sorry. Is that all cuz. I can’t um... fin... um... you know.


She continues to cry uncontrollably.





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