Young Writers Society

Nobody has to tell me I’m crazy for missing you. Nobody had to tell me I was crazy for ever being your friend in the first place. I already know that.

I remember being curled up on a hard, cold seat somewhere in the middle of the bus when I was thrown forward, smashed into the hair of another confused child, my book was tossed onto the muddy floor in the process. Straightening myself and pulling my backpack back onto the seat next to me, I smoothed the now ripped and dirty pages of my novel and frowned to myself.

My head flicked sideways as my bag collided with my thigh. An unfamiliar face slid into the empty seat beside me. I snatched my bag and pulled it onto my lap, huddling into the far corner of the seat; pulling my leg away from his and burring myself back into the depths of my book.

He pressed closer to me, peering over the edges of the crinkled paper. I could see him curiously reading the smeared print and I pulled the cover shut and shoved it back inside my backpack before loudly zipping it closed. I stood up as the bus halted and waited for him to step into the isle. He waved other people ahead of us, smiling as they passed by and wandered off the bus last, with me trailing behind him.

I growled; irritated, and sped in front of him, meandering through the busy hallways to my locker on the complete other side of the school. He struggled to follow behind me, shoving people aside as he clumsily wandered through the hoards of people looking rather unblissful as he dove through patches of congregating people.

I giggled slightly at the unruly sight of this new, strange child.

It’s strange to think after such an outlandish first impression, we became close friends. It all started with a bike encounter while riding around the block and turned into a daily afterschool date. A quick wave goodbye took you off the bus and racing your sister down the gravel road to your home at the end. Only to meet up after dinner an hour later at the edge of the pond.

Our relationship slightly reminded me of something in the movies. I’d dash off into the trees behind my house when the sun started to set and race to the stream to meet with you at the water’s edge. Many fall afternoons were spent thrashing around in the rainbow trout pond and jumping from the bride we’d built across the stream.

Our laughter erupted into the sky as we joyfully hurled clumps of mud in each other’s direction, ruining our previously clean shirts.

Your dogs galloped beside us as we trekked up the side of a densely wooded hill and sat alongside us as we watched the sun disappear beyond the corn field sprawled in front of us. The way back down proved to be a challenge as we scrambled through the raspberry thorns in the growing darkness.

I watched hesitantly as you sawed down a perfectly strong maple tree that was just beginning to grow and observed as you yanked it from its stump and trailed quietly after you as you pulled it up the hill into the backyard and stayed completely silent as you reburied it and claimed you ‘replanted’ it.

I sat quietly in the bushes peering anxiously over the plant at our extremely chubby, shirtless history teacher as he mowed his yard. I glanced at your squinted eyes as you peered through the binoculars, laughing every now and then at the man before us.

I accompanied you when you pushed your paddle boat into the pond and watched as it drifted away into the algae and giggled softly when you waded out cautiously, complaining ever so slightly when you clambered out, completely green. And I screamed so loudly when you threw me in with you. Once we were wet in the cold, slimy water, there was no stopping us and we splashed and giggled in the still pond for hours until I slipped and cut my bare foot on a sharp rock hidden deep under the thick algae. My foot left a dark red trail through the deep brown soil as I stepped from the water and you offered an arm to lean on. Together we set off towards home, dripping a trail of mucky water behind us.

You had become a better friend than I had ever known, and when you approached me all sweaty-palmed and flushed on the hill in front of my friends on the last day of 8th grade and asked me to a movie, it broke my heart to tell you I just wanted to be friends. I rethought my decision for months but decided what I had already concluded was the right path. You were just about my best friend in the whole world and I didn’t want to risk losing that.

I cried when I raced down the hill, dodging the lumbering pine trees to your house after two weeks away at summer camp to find your house and yard completely empty and abandoned. My heart sunk and I walked away lifelessly.

An unrecognized phone call three months later left me wondering for half a second if I should ignore it or not but curiosity got the best of me and I flung the phone open.

“Hey.” I recognized the voice in an instant and my heart jumped up and down in my rib cage. A smile sprawled across my face. Before I could ask any questions he spoke again. “I wanted to tell you I love you.”

My heart told me to respond ‘I love you too,’ but my brain told me he was still just my friend. “I missed you. A lot. But, I always thought of you as my friend.” I whispered, a tear falling from my eye at the thought of breaking his heart.

“Oh. I’m sorry.” The happy moments were over. We had ended in a jolt of disappointment and sadness; the memories of the woods behind his house were left to fade into the past. His house was put up for sale and I never got a chance to return to the land that the beautiful friendship thrived on. As quickly as it started, it was over; and that was that.

"I still miss him."

"I told you to stay away from him." My best friend growled.

I guess, everything good has to come to an end.