I wrote this as an assignment in the person writing block of my 10th grade English class. The topic was "Surprise", where we wrote about an even in our lives that shocked us. I wrote about the day I learned my former best friend was going to move across the country to Oregon. It's a little rough, considering I changed my topic in the end, but I like it anyway. It brings back a lot of emotion for me.
Fraudulent:
We pulled into the Applebee’s parking lot at little after six in the evening, where the enticing smell of French fries and chicken fingers masked the polluted air of the busy street. The summer sun gleamed down on us we walked, as if to congratulate us for toughing out eighth grade and to prepare us for many fun times to come during vacation. Unfortunately, that sun would be quite faded by the time we finished out meal.
Anisia Dugala had been my best friend for about three years. In sixth grade, her family had moved to my town of Marlborough from Rochester, New York. She transferred into my school, Immaculate Conception, where we became fast friends, despite our many differences. Anisia was blessed with very curly, naturally toned brown hair, and mine is reluctant to coil even when coaxed by a curling iron. Her pale ivory skin is set off by the tan in mine. Her passions are more feminine sports like figure skating and dance, while I enjoy basketball and softball. She posses the most patience of any person I have ever met; I’m much more quick to anger. Considering this is only a sampling of our differences, it’s hard to see how we manage to get along so well. The main reason is that, in spite of our diversity from each other, each of us can totally and utterly understand the other.
Anisia and I were pretty much made for each other at IC. I was an eight-year veteran, ditched by many of my former friends in their vain pursuit for popularity. She was a newcomer, having been forced to ditch her New York friends in her parents’ pursuit of new work. I suppose each us sense that void in the other, and that’s the reason we latched onto each other so quickly. We were like peanut butter and jelly; an unlikely combination, probably put together when someone was lacking ingredient for a better sandwich, but mixed in perfect harmony. We did everything together through eighth grade. We rode the same bus in the morning, and had the same classes when it dropped us off at school. Our weekends were spent at the mall, our famous movie theater trips, or just at her house, holding movie marathons and swooning over the latest movie star. By May 2003, we had braved it through everything from biology to bullies, and were anticipating a fun-filled summer.
We were planning on going to different schools, so we already had devised a schedule that would allow us to remain friends, even if it was only on weekends. Nothing would change between us. Because we were to be separated coming September, we were determined to make the summer the most fun and enjoyable possible. We were ready for three months of swimming, movies, concerts, and silliness, ended only when our high school orientation began. This was going to be the best summer ever, and the dinner at Applebee’s would be just the thing to kick it off; the beginning of the perfect summer.
Inside the restaurant, Anisia, her family, and I sat at a corner table. The walls were decorated with movie paraphernalia, and a picture of Marilyn Monroe smiled down at us, encouraging our exciting summer to come. Anisia and I had just ordered our drink, Sproke, our own special combination of Sprite and Coke, to a waiter who had clearly been amused by our special order. Arrayed in shorts and a t-shirt, my legs clung to the black vinyl covering of the chairs, an awkward feeling, like the silence now between the members of the table. Despite the silence, Anisia and I grinned at each other, knowing that we were in for fun times ahead. Those were the last genuine smiles to cross our faces that night.
The silence was broken at last, and I very much preferred the quiet over what was said. We were just told us that, due to a job transfer, their family was moving across the country to Oregon in a month. My whole world came to a spinning halt right in front of me. I sat there in pure shock, while Anisia ran to the bathroom in tears. The summer sun suddenly wasn’t so welcoming, and Marilyn wasn’t smiling anymore; she was laughing at me. M best friend, who had helped me through everything imaginable the past three years, would be gone for good in a matter of months. What about all our plans? I needed my best friend’s support, especially now that we were entering high school. The intensity of all of this finally sunk in and slammed into me like a car crash. I felt the inconsolable tears welling up in my eyes, and Anisia’s mom, with a remorseful expression on her face, said, “Go ahead, you can cry”, and the tears, like water bursting from an open dam, spilled down my already sun-reddened cheeks. My legs stung as they peeled off the synthetic vinyl seating, and I went to the bathroom to console Anisia. We cried for what seemed an eternity before going back our to the table, angry at her parents and anguished at the situation.
The French fry smell now made me sick, and the movie paraphernalia on the wall reminded me of how Anisia and I wouldn’t ever be able to have our movie marathons again. Our appetites totally extinguished, my best friend and I choked down our salads as we choked down our tears.
There would be none of our famous movie days ever again. There would be no concerts. There would be no trips to the mall. There would be no sleepovers. There would be no hugs of support. There wouldn’t be anything left except a phone call every few months, and the occasional email now and then. I predicted the worst for this three-thousand mile move, and my predictions came true. Summer was completely void of any of our planned fun, and freshman year at high school was tainted and difficult without my best friend’s support present. Other than the occasional “How are you?” from Anisia, all I have now of our friendship are our snapshot pictures, fading in the top drawer of my desk.