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Victoria was the first and only great friend I met at the orange playground. I was climbing up the metal grill ladder when she said "Hi" to me. Eleven years old and not yet so complicated, I was eager to know her. We became friends. Best friends.
We could talk forever, or not at all. Companionable silence as we pushed each other on the swing. Or the high, childish laughter, the last of my day, rang through the warm afternoon air. We would even walk across the sharp pebbles meant for reflexology, just for the fun of it, watching as the sunbeams filtered through the dark moss-green of the tree branches.
She would ask me about my favourite movies and I'd tell her about Shirley Temple. I'd ask her about what games she liked to play and she'd reply with hopscotch.
I didn't just choose her as a friend because she asked me to be one. her. I didn't choose her for her looks either, being a rosy cheeked, freckle faced girl with pale green eyes and golden-red hair. I chose her because she was just her simple, ten year old self.
I'm joyful and touched within the deepest circle of my heart that we were friends.
If only for three days.
I waited and waited for her to come, then I remembered the short Filipino woman in a suit who had come to fetch her home the last time we saw each other. Maybe she wasn't allowed to come anymore. I felt my heart grow sad.
But then I thought, maybe, just maybe, she thinks about how we'll meet again too.
That's so sad. Beautifully written though.
Awww thank you Caitlin! finally a long-awaited comment. lol.
sadly, it's a true story. sniffs.