Hello! I'm Angie.

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She's been everybody else's girl. Maybe one day she'll be her own.


We sat on the floor of the common area of the Margaret Nance dorm, and I pretended to listen to the residence hall director talk about whatever she was talking about. I was intrigued by the pretty girls sitting next to me with the naturally curly hair. They seemed reserved. Artsy. I was wearing an oversized sweatshirt and my hair was pulled back in a headband. A cheerleader. I wondered if that's what they saw when they looked at me.

That night I broke the ice. I knocked on their door, which was right next to mine. "Do you have any sharp scissors? I need to cut my bangs." I'd been growing them out all summer and I'd had enough.

They had scissors. I found kindred spirits.


Heather's in the middle, snapping the photo. Lisa's on the right. That's me on the left (with the bangs).

Recently, I opened an old trunk and released a wellspring of memories—chapters of my life story tucked away for safekeeping. And I found the collage Heather and Lisa made for me that year.


Even now, I'm impressed with how well they knew me. How well they saw me.






That year, they gave me a theme song. One by Tori Amos that goes:

She's been everybody else's girl. Maybe one day she'll be her own. 

It seems like they understood the journey I was on, better than I did. It seems like they—even then—knew what I'd become.

My own girl.


This is part two of a series inspired by mementos found inside an old trunk.  The parts stand alone but together, they tell a story. The story continues here.To start at the beginning, click here.

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Learning to accept the things I cannot change

Open the box