I wrote this for my English class, but I really enjoyed writing it, and it was really the only non-essay thing we did in that class so I was pretty proud of it. Anyway this is a memoir of a moment between a long term best friend of mine back in 8th grade.
“I wouldn’t care if you killed yourself.” The words spewed out of me as harsh and cold as the winter air. In fact, it was harsh enough to sting me a bit. Marisa didn’t yell, curse obscenities, or even get violent. She simply just walked away silently, abandoning me on her moonlit street around midnight. My arms wanted to catch the words as soon as they were said and shove them back down my throat. Each of those words could’ve torn away a year we had clung to each other as best friends and “twins.” I suddenly felt colder, and hugged my winter coat closer as I watched her crush snow on the side of the streets, as she normally did, and wondered how she managed to stay warm while wearing ballerina shoes. I had no idea what to do about us anymore. That fact was even more obvious, considering I could ever say that to someone, let alone someone I thought of dearly. Should I walk away? That would have seemed even more cruel than what I just said. Try and take it back? It was probably too late, and knowing myself I’d say something even worse on top of it.
While my brain was doing somersaults in my skull debating what I should do, I stood motionless for at least twenty minutes. She had followed the street around the block, and was far past the point where I could see or hear her. More ideas festered in my head, which didn’t help the worrywart in me. Even if she was older than I, and was not even part of my actual family, I went into parent-mode. I knew these neighborhood streets inside and out, but I doubted she wanted me searching for her. Maybe she already went home never wanting to speak to me again, and I didn’t notice considering her house is several hundred feet behind me. At least a million words flew inside my mind before I finally turned back around and scuffed my feet back to her house. I didn’t dare step inside figuring her parents would wonder why I wouldn’t know where she was. Instead, I leaned uncomfortably against her father’s old truck in the driveway, so I could see when, and if, she headed back.
Approximately another twenty minutes had past before I heard the familiar crunch sound, and faintly saw her silhouette in a dim light provided by her neighbor’s front porch. She just stared at the ground. I highly doubted she even noticed I moved, or maybe she just didn’t care. After loads of anticipation, stress, and worry, she once again was five feet in front of me. We shared an awkward, uncommitted wave to each other, both of us staring at our feet. Marisa was the first one to speak like normal, and for the first time in a while, she had some waver to her voice, and showed the weakness she always claimed to have. “So uhm… you’re still sleeping over right?”
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