Realizing my best-friend breakup in highschool was really a breakup

came bit by bit, 
20 years after I cried so

hard in my boyfriend's trailer 
I thought I'd die,

the mean dog the guys
kept tied up outside barking

a hole through my heart.
Margaret never liked

my boyfriend; 
I liked

Margaret's red hair & loud 
laugh, the satin

underwear she bought 
special. We liked

talking about boys, riding
around in her old Camry

with the broken radio, 
the Sony CD boombox warm in my lap

while we sang along 
to The Killers. I thought

the heat in my thighs 
came from the music,

I thought my breathlessness 
was laughter —

How was I supposed
to know I was in love

as we drove to Zaxby's
to stalk our crush?

The one with the 
long hair & shy smile.

What did we call him? 
All the time we spent

crafting notes to leave on his car, 
we spent more

hating each other. 
I can't remember why.