It was the middle of ’04, and you could call it summer, except it was perpetually summer there. We sat in a circle in the grass and laughed at every little blade of grass, feeling that startlingly enchanted feeling of friendship fill us up like licorice balls and fries. My writing was illegible even then, as I wrote what friends meant to me in the lines of the torn out paper from someones biology notebook.
It was so at odds with what I feel now- the mantra on my lips now of “I hate life sometimes, I love life, sometimes.”
We dumped our notes into an old yellow ice cream bowl that one of us had randomly rescued from the trash, and filled it up with leaves and rocks and sunk it to the bottom of the lake. It would stay there forever.
I wonder if its still there, that ice cream bowl full of notes of what friendship meant to us all those years ago, at the bottom of the grimy green algae-filled lake where only the hardest fish can swim, the most concrete like be-gilled creatures.
We grew older and we grew apart. It was strange to me how the others were so wonderful back then, and how I detest them on some level now. One of us never talked after we graduated from school, because, she stated so frimly, she didn’t beleive in friends forever after school ended. One of us talked way too much, that she overrode what any one else had to say and never ever listened properly. One of us hurt others, and was hard and cold and unforgiving and never apologised even when she hurt others. She hurt me every time we met, without fail. And last there was me, the judger, the quiet one, and the one who couldn’t forgive any of the slightest of slights, even when I was at fault too.
Because I didn’t keep in touch, I didn’t talk and I hurt them too.