We Used to Be
Friends
anna Braun
We used to be friends--good friends--the cliché type that was capable of nearly reading each other’s minds, the type that couldn’t stay mad at each other for long, the type for whom a mere glance would bring out some sort of giggle. Honestly, I’m not sure what happened – why we stopped talking. Maybe we just didn’t have much in common anymore. I like to think we each aimed for something different or, more formally put, we grew apart. She cared to be superficially liked by everyone, to have “The True High School Experience” as she called it, while I preached I wanted to find people I really cared for, knowing they cared for me. But looking back at it, I don’t know if it was all just silly. Was it my fault that we are strangers now? Maybe I was jealous, or maybe I subconsciously wanted the same things as she. Did I just stop caring? Did she? I guess at this point, it doesn’t really matter anymore. Nevertheless, I can’t help but wonder if she ever questions our estrangement the way I do, especially after one of those rare, once-in-a-blue-moon moments when our eyes meet and we both awkwardly smile, not sure how to react. My mind swells with memories – those times we sat in long car rides, making friendship bracelets, laughing at made-up words, or all the times we did handstands on the wall in our school gym. When she asks, “How are you?”, I sputter, trying to think of how to reply, my eyes focusing on the figure before me, standing under the school’s fluorescent lighting. “I’m pretty good,” I say, as my heart for whatever reason skips a beat. “How are you?” I return the question. “Good,” she says. We go on to complain about some class, lacking the creativity to talk about something truly meaningful. Throughout the entire empty conversation, all I can think is that I was unfaithful to someone and now I’m here.
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