I would totally send plagues and locusts.

I’m the most mellow, easygoing person you know. I don’t take things personal; I start with the most generous interpretation of other people’s motives I can find and I top that off with the benefit of doubt. I walk away from people doing annoying things with a grin and a head shake, on the grounds that life is too short for drama. In my entire life, I may have been in one or two arguments with raised voices, but I haven’t been in four or five. I would remember.

It takes extraordinary provocation to get me mad, but when I am finally angry, it is forever. When my ex and ex-best friend told me, they were instantly expelled from my life. A week later I called Sean, bewildered and hurt. “Sean,” I said, “I don’t understand. There are people who think I should forgive them.” He laughed and said, “Oh no, Meggie. You’ll never do that. You’re Old Testament.” He’s right. I am.

The only other person I’m angry at is Laura, from sixth grade. Margie, Tracy and I can all tell exactly the same story. Each of our best friends from childhood through fifth grade decided to be popular in sixth grade and started climbing by turning on us. I had no idea it was coming; by the time she was done I was untouchable. After a couple months I gave up hope that anyone in my class would look at me or talk to me. I just read all the time. I didn’t know this then, but Mom told me later that my beautiful, popular sister used to cry after school because kids were so mean to me.

I went to nerd schools after that. Junior high gradually got better; nerd high school was great. But Laura cost me two miserable years and she did it as part of a deliberate plan. Tracy got an email this weekend from the girl who was mean to her; she thought hard and then responded graciously. Not me. I wouldn’t. I maybe think of Laura once a year. When I do, though, I hope that bitch is having a fucking awful life.