I was a High School Cheerleader

I joined the squad my junior year of high school, not out of any particular love for gymnastics, but out of sheer desperation to fit in. I was coming into a new school, in a new town where I didn't know a soul and the answer to my social problems seemed to sit right on the shelf of the shoe store wall. I bought those bright white cheerleading shoes and history changed.

I was a high school cheerleader. From a beret wearing, poetry writing art school protege to a short-skirt wearing, pompom waving cheerleading fool in a few short months.

Yeah, I sold out.

The captain of the squad could've starred on Heathers. Well, except her name was Alison. But you get the idea. A total prom queen slut. The kind of person that goes down in [insert your high school name here] history as the biggest bitch you've ever met.

Alison and I hated each other on sight. I dated her ex-boyfriend. She put glue in my cheerleading sneakers. Yes, you read that right. She glued my sneakers to my feet. I was not a happy camper that night when I went to take my socks off. This rivalry continued all the way through the rest of school until graduation. I went off to college and she went to nursing school.

That should have been the last time I ever heard from her. Guess what?

It wasn't.

A few years later I was in a major car accident. I don't mean I totaled my car and walked away. I mean full on collision with a tractor trailer travelling at 60 miles an hour plus. Needless to say I didn't walk away. I spent a fun filled six weeks in the hospital hearing that I may never walk again. But that's another story.

One of the unfortunate side effects of not being able to walk after major surgery is learning to use the facilities, all the while never leaving the hospital bed. After the first time I did this, I called the nursing assistant to come clean me up. Imagine the horror on her face, and reflected on mine, when I stared up into the face of my greatest high school nemesis, Alison the Cheerleading Queen.

I honestly don't know who had it worse. I had to endure the humiliation of having my butt wiped, and she had to endure the humiliation of wiping it.

In a cheesier story, this would have ended with Alison and I becoming great friends, bonding and learning about each other. But this is real life. I did however form a very close relationship with the nurse call button.

Ding! These sheets needs changing! Ding! My food is cold! Ding! I can't reach my water!

Alison couldn't do a thing but smile sweetly and do what I said. It was great.

It's been two years since I was released to home care and I haven't seen Alison since. I assume she's graduated from wiping butts to passing meds. Maybe not though. She always was kind of stupid.

Our high school reunion is coming up soon and I'm thinking of attending. It'll be worth enduring the company of those losers just to smile at her all night knowing she cleaned my ass.

It's decided.

She definitely had it worse.