The Day I left Her

Vignette about breaking up with a friend

The sun was bright. The dull, muted colors of the earth shone wanly. I sat at my table talking with a companion; when I saw her. She had a pink book bag and a black coat. Her dull blonde hair seemed to be like the hue of a ribbon. She is nineteen, an age when the only person you care about is yourself. We had known each other for three years. She had even been to my home, and had even helped me celebrate my twenty-seventh birthday. That was a true friend. She was carefree during the first part of our friendship.

She sat at a table on the far side of the cafeteria. Something seemed to be on her mind. Her name in Latin means "border." Gone seemed to be the days when she was carefree. Her childish innocence seemed to wane now. She looked serious, perhaps troubles. Things at home she had said were deteriorating. I of course doubted her to an extent. She once took me on a tour of her room. I saw squalor in it, when the rest of the house was clean. There was moldering food, milk curdling in its glass. Her clothes were on the floor, including her underpants. Her underpants had filth in them, like a runway at the airport. Some had bleach stains, others holes. They were childish too; flower prints and polka dots. She seemed to not care about any of it.

I remembered this and shook my head. Where had she gone? Where and when did she stoop so low in her state of care? I knew my friendship with her had reached its natural conclusion. It was like she didn't need me anymore. A new friend from Mashpee had taken top spot. My now ex-friend had lost something today. The two of them talked and bragged about going to Florida together in May. I was no longer needed. My feelings weren't hurt, only bruised. I sat at the table, computer in front of me. She walked over.

I said nothing.

She huffed. No longer was I happy to see her. I was now sad to see her. She was once a good friend and I treated her as such. We once drew together, made light of things, and had genuine laughs.

Now she was someone I once knew. I remember her laugh, it was a short snort followed by giggles. Sabrina lives on in my memory, not as the person I know now, but as the person I knew then. Sabrina was someone special to me, for we had the same issues. Now she was gone. In all honesty it ripped a hole in my heart the size of Long Island. No longer would I hear her laugh. No longer would we draw or make light of things. I was alone now, the ashen remains of my heart sinking to the bottom of what seemed to be an endless sea.