I met her on the jungle gym. She was standing on the bridge wearing a blue dress with white polka dots—so was I. With the few words that were passed between us, we became best friends. She was different form everyone else; somehow, though only in grade one, she possessed a philosophical nature in her.
I was a wild child that came from a broken family, and she was able to calm me down. She wasn't exactly selfless, but very close to it. I, on the other, was rather selfish, but aren't most children like that when they're six years old?
We used our recesses to play imaginary games, most of them involving some aspects of chivalry, like princesses in great peril, saved by that knight in shining armour, followed by a beautiful wedding. Our class mates used to laugh at us, because we played those strange games. That mattered nothing to us. We didn't want to be like them. We made a promise to never like pink. Pink represented all the shallowness of girls. We didn't want to be "girly-girls". We shunned the very thought of it. Instead, it was agreed that our favourite should be blue, a tranquil colour, full of depth and meaning.
As time went by, we grew very close to each other, and hoped that we could become sisters. We thought that if we wished hard enough, it would happen one day. We already fought like sisters. I was a very jealous girl, and things could bother me easily. She had temper and was prone to crying fits. I thought it quite funny to watch her madly jump up and down, and burst into tears. Of course, she never told on me; the arguments were always forgotten.
Problems at home always plagued me; she was my only confidant. I trusted her with all my secrets, and she never let me down. I didn't have a happy life, and had many schemes about running away or similar rash ideas. She listened closely, sometimes scheming right along with me.
In grade four, she had a strong liking for William Shakespeare. It added to the imaginary games we still played. We often tried acting out Hamlet or Romeo and Juliet. Other tragic stories were done, one of her favourites being the opera Carmen.
During the summer before grade five, she met a girl in her gymnastics class. When school started she was put into a gifted class, along with the girl she met. They became best friends. She said to me "People change; we can't always have the same best friends our whole life; we need to move on." It wasn't at all out of her character to say something like that, but it hurt nevertheless. The fact is that she never changed. You might not believe me but it's true. To change means to go on a different road leading in a different direction—I did that, suddenly wanting to fit in with the other kids in my class—she just kept getting farther on the same road that she was on all along. That’s not bad thing; actually, I think it takes a lot of strength to stick to your own ways without wandering about or being forced into a different course.
We were still friends, but it was never the same. Maybe if I wasn't so caught up in being like everyone else it would have been different. In grade six I moved to another school almost on the other side of the country. I haven’t seen her since.
I think that a lot of who I am is because of her. Without her I would've been just a mindless, shallow, self-centred teenager. There's more to life than endless gossip about who's dating who, and breaking into your parents liquor cabinet when they’re not home and throwing a party. I like classical music, Jane Austen, and many other things that are considered to be "un-cool", but I'm totally fine with that. I'm thankful that I had such a good friend.
