At the Drop of a Hat Almost every weekend would be spent with my best friend, Lucy. We were inseparable. From the age of 5 we were friends, and everyone knew how much we cared about each other. Everyone at church knew we would always be sitting together, always laughing together, and always joking around, even when we weren’t meant to be. Together we were unstoppable, and we loved just being around each other. So, it wasn’t ever a surprise when during the summer we’d spend entire weeks going to each other’s houses, taking turns where we spent the night. That’s how it was, we didn’t have any responsibilities except to be friends. Our summer job was to be friends forever. As we got older, it got harder to maintain that close relationship. Friendships
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When you’re close to someone, you assume there’s nothing you can’t know about them. What’s worse is when you don’t know what they think about you. So there I was, at her house, just starting to get homesick. It was late at night, she had fallen asleep, but I was still awake and watching The Parent Trap on her small pink TV.
I must have dozed off, because all of the sudden I woke up crying, wanting my mom. I woke her up, asked her if I could go home, and she laughed.
“You’re ten, calm down. You don’t need to go home. Geez, go to bed.” I felt like I was being ridiculous, of course she was right. I felt my face grow red, and was thankful for the darkness of the room. I layed down, trying to keep myself from crying any more, but the tears only came harder. For the first time she had said something that hurt; for the first time I found myself resenting her, resenting her newfound maturity. I continued crying until I fell asleep, hoping that tomorrow I would forget her words, and forget the pain in my chest her words had left. When I awoke I felt a hole. I wanted to go home, to leave, to forget the entire incident. I did not feel comfortable looking her in the eyes, I felt she should understand the aftermaths of a nightmare that leaves you breathless.
I asked her parents, “Can I go …show more content…
The tension was terrible, the temperature in the room seemed to rise, the conversation was a balloon leaking air. A waiter brought us our food, we had ordered the same thing; four chicken fingers, fries, sprite, and of course the special Cane sauce that everyone knew was just A Thousand Island dressing. The chicken seemed overly greasy, the sprite overly watered down, and the fries soggy. Nothing was right, nothing was how it was supposed to be, and the conversation sounded like the color grey. Then Lucy said it, like it was nothing, like it was a normal thing to ask
When you’re close to someone, you assume there’s nothing you can’t know about them. What’s worse is when you don’t know what they think about you. So there I was, at her house, just starting to get homesick. It was late at night, she had fallen asleep, but I was still awake and watching The Parent Trap on her small pink TV.
I must have dozed off, because all of the sudden I woke up crying, wanting my mom. I woke her up, asked her if I could go home, and she laughed.
“You’re ten, calm down. You don’t need to go home. Geez, go to bed.” I felt like I was being ridiculous, of course she was right. I felt my face grow red, and was thankful for the darkness of the room. I layed down, trying to keep myself from crying any more, but the tears only came harder. For the first time she had said something that hurt; for the first time I found myself resenting her, resenting her newfound maturity. I continued crying until I fell asleep, hoping that tomorrow I would forget her words, and forget the pain in my chest her words had left. When I awoke I felt a hole. I wanted to go home, to leave, to forget the entire incident. I did not feel comfortable looking her in the eyes, I felt she should understand the aftermaths of a nightmare that leaves you breathless.
I asked her parents, “Can I go …show more content…
The tension was terrible, the temperature in the room seemed to rise, the conversation was a balloon leaking air. A waiter brought us our food, we had ordered the same thing; four chicken fingers, fries, sprite, and of course the special Cane sauce that everyone knew was just A Thousand Island dressing. The chicken seemed overly greasy, the sprite overly watered down, and the fries soggy. Nothing was right, nothing was how it was supposed to be, and the conversation sounded like the color grey. Then Lucy said it, like it was nothing, like it was a normal thing to ask