Amazing Kids! Magazine

The Long-Distance Friend

By Georgia Methe, age 13, Ohio

 

We met in the first grade, but we only noticed each other till the second grade. I was about eight at the time, her being seven. We were a pair of hyper little jerks, so that was probably what made us become interested in the other in the first place. She moved in one house down from me. I already knew her; we had gone to each other’s homes before, but now she lived right there, so there really wasn’t anything stopping us. We made so many plans, like having double dates and making our kids call the other aunt, even though we didn’t really understand what that all meant. We were just two kids that wanted to achieve greatness together, just like any pair of best friends would.

Compared to me, she was a whippet while I was a greyhound. She was always the short one out of us while I was considered tall for my age. Her hair was blonde like the Florida sand. It waved like a morning breeze and was commonly up in some kind of ponytail or pigtails—unlike mine, which was an auburn brown like a redwood tree and curled in every uncontrollable way possible. Her eyes sparkled a vibrant blue like a lake while mine were a murky blue-green like the sea. Her skin was always soft and pale like a rabbit in the winter snow while mine was always coarse and tan like a young doe’s fur in the morning fall.

I changed schools in the fourth grade, and soon after, she moved up to Columbus, Ohio. It was heart-wrenching for me. She was able to move on and not get upset over the fact that she was gone, but I couldn’t for months, even years. I started showing signs of depression, and I’d constantly have breakdowns in tears. The pain of her being gone felt like a shadow of despair and grief had taken over, like half of myself left with her. We still talked and visited each other, but it was never the same.

Over the summer I visited her again. On one particular trip, we were lying on her bed with the coral pink bedding. The room had a sweet vanilla scent that drifted through the air. I had been doodling in my sketchbook like always, probably drawing one of my many cat characters when I asked her, “Do you ever think we’ll grow apart?” My voice shook a bit as I spoke, and my hands grew clammy as I anxiously waited for her response. But she didn’t seem to hesitate at all with her answer. It was like she had seen into the future and knew what I was going to ask. She didn’t really look at me when she spoke, for she was distracted with the hair tie she was playing with, but she glanced at me from the corner of her eye.

With a simple nod, all she said was, “No.” No, that was all. Nothing else remotely related to the topic. Just hearing her say one word made that shadow that had loomed over my head disappear. It was like her words were a breeze of soft feathers that cast away the distressed lifeless form that was in place of myself and was replaced with who I really was before all the sadness and regret. A wave of relief washed over my head and shoulders, filling me like a bottle with hope. Just that one word sounded like a light at the end of the dark abyss. I remember smiling and nodding, tears almost forming in my eyes, but I held them back, not wanting to show my emotions as that’s not really what my family does. I just lay there on the bed and nodded, and all I said was, “Cool…”

Looking back, I see how miserable I really was and how I really needed to hear her say that. I can look back, remember all those things we did and the plans we made, and know that even though some of them can’t happen, like going to prom together, we can make the rest work. This long-distance thing is finally working from both ends.

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