Growing Up

The loneliest moment in someones life is when they are watching their whole world fall apart, and all they can do is stare blankly.

�" F. Scott Fitzgerald

Physically (and mentally) exhausted, I took to settling by the roadside, the cold spreading throughout my gluteal region within a few short seconds of sitting. I shrugged my backpack off, opting to hug it for warmth. It won't make my backside any warmer, but it was better than nothing.

Only upon sitting could I feel everything; from the aching muscles to the stinging eyes, all of them hitting me like a ton of bricks. A 'gentle' reminder of... of-- something...

Something? There must be a word for it.

I couldn't have gone senile. I'm still a teenager.

Have I lost it already?

I scrunched my eyes shut as I forced my brain to concentrate. So here I was, in the middle of... town square?

Why did I walk here, of all places?

Why was I carrying a backpack in the first place? And a trolley bag?

Was I running away?

But why--

"Don't spend it all on one place," a stranger said as I felt him throw something hard at my face, disturbing my train of thought. Cold and irked, I opened my eyes to see a group of coins lying on my lap;

"I'm not-- oh, eff it. Money doesn't grow on trees," I picked them off the ground, counting them as I did, "He could've given me more. 'Don't spend them all in one place', honestly,"

I am sick and tired of your erratic behaviour!

My father's words rang through my head, its sudden appearance jolting me awake. I held my breath, awaiting more.

You're selfish and self centered--

I remind you of her, don't I?

What?

Mom. I remind you of her. And you hate me for it.

That's--

Admit it. I am just like her. And I know how much you loathed her.

That is not true.

You're such a horrible liar.

I am not lying!

Well, today is your lucky day because I'm going to make things a whole lot easier for you.

And just like the pieces of a puzzle, everything that I thought was gone fell into place. The memories that I have chosen to suppress, coming and going in flashes of light. Not entirely clear, but visible, nonetheless.

I could still remember the feeling of blood rushing to my ears because of doing-- something, way too fast.

What are you doing??

I remembered looking for the trolley bag that I kept under my bed.

Running away from your problems. That sounds like something that your dead mother would do.

I remembered a lot of grabbing and throwing and screaming.

And where would you go?

I remembered slamming the front door shut.

Fine! See if I care!

And I remembered walking.

Lots and lots of walking.

---

"Fancy meeting you here, frog eyes," greeted a familiar sounding voice.

Crap, I could feel my cheeks burning from embarrassment, Please don't let it be someone that I know.

I slowly looked up from my phone to see an outstretched hand near my face, its owner wiggling her fingers as a type of invitation.

Yup, I thought as I pushed myself off the cold, hard ground,it's definitely her.

"What are you doing here, Guinevere?" I asked, feigning confidence.

"It's Gwyneth," she corrected irritably as she returned her hand into her coat pocket, "For the love of God, woman. Who names their child Guinevere in this day and age?"

"Uh--"

"Nice save, frog eyes," she replied sarcastically, her eyes traveling to the bags that were by my side, "What are you doing out so late at night? With a-- are people still using that?"

She pointed towards the trolley bag, her so-called 'question' laced with mockery. I would have probably called her a certain word at this point... but I hardly know the girl, so I'll just let this one slide.

"Yes," I replied, wondering what was wrong with it, "I don't remember it going out of style...,"

"Oh, well," she shrugged as she reached for the handle, "Come on,"

She then walked off casually, as if kidnapping someone else's bag was a normal thing.

What the f**k?

Her actions put me into a state of shock; I've always thought that she was... strange to begin with.

And quiet.

But never so forward.

Who was I kidding?

I should have seen this coming.

"Hold up," I demanded, hoisting my backpack onto my shoulder as I tried to chase her from behind, "you can't just walk away with someone's bag without context,"

"I thought that I was being obvious," she replied without slowing down.

"No, you weren't,"

"Yes, I was," she argued, "I grabbed your bag and said 'Come on'. How thick can you get?"

"Thick?" I repeated in disbelief, "What are you, British?"

"Welsh,"

"You don't even sound Welsh,"

"Cachu bant ti cachu mes," she said enthusiastically, her pace slowing down as we reached the edge of town square, "there, is that Welsh enough for you?"

"What does that--,"

"Shush,"she interrupted as she fished her phone out of her bag, "I need to make a call,"

"But--,"

"Manners, frog eyes," she tutted, putting the phone to her ear, "It's important that we not let it die. Now be a good girl and find something to do,"

I crossed my arms as a form of protest, demanding to be kept in the loop.

And also for her to be less of a bossy boots.

"Hey, cuz," she said into the phone as she turned her back towards me, "Guess who I just ran into?"

---

"And this is where we part ways," Gwyneth said as I sat on the park bench.

Nothing much was said during the entire walk here, despite my constant pestering regarding the phone call. She kept telling me to be patient, that everything will be revealed in due time;

"And it's best that you hear it from him,"

"Who?" I asked for what seemed to be the millionth time.

"You'll see," she replied smugly.

"You're leaving me here?"

It was nearing midnight, and the park was empty aside for us two. Now, we might be in the brightest part of the park, but that doesn't eliminate my fear of being murdered.

Or raped.

Or raped, then murdered.

Or being recruited into some kind of cult.

"Yup," she replied without so much as a blink, "Good luck,"

"You can't leave me here!" I demanded, "you can't just pick me up from a crowded place and leave me in a secluded one, that sounds like an episode of Criminal Minds! Or Hannibal. I'm not really sure about the other one, but I'm pretty sure that that's how it works,"

"I don't think so," she said as she walked away, "and try not to cry. You look horrible when you cry,"

"Are you even real?!"

"She is," a disembodied voice answered, lowering himself onto the bench.

Oh God, said the voice in my head as my breathing increased at a rapid rate, a wave of panic taking over me. I slowly turned my head, praying that this person wasn't a serial killer.

"Thank God it's you," 

The knot that was building up in my stomach was instantly gone as soon as I saw Andrew, the muscles of his face struggling to keep a smile.

"Hey there, stranger," I asked, squeezing his hand as a form of reassurance, "What are you doing out so late?"

His hands were warm and comforting, its touch reminding me of home. It hurt me to see him so sad; home should never feel as such. Home is where you're happy, a magical place where bad things never seem to happen.

"No particular reason," he replied with a strain to his voice, "I just felt like hanging,"

And that was when I knew; 

Andrew was not being Andrew.

I knew this because he looked pained, and that he was fighting to hold back the tears that was already flowing down his face. 

I knew because he was always full of life, and that that Andrew has been replaced by an empty vessel.

He needs his friend. I told myself, Don't make this about you.

"You're not serious?" I joked, trying to lighten the mood, "The Andrew Parker hanging around a shady park so late at night?"

"The park's not shady," he replied with forced laughter, "It only looks shady because it's close to midnight,"

I could see some of the twinkle returning to his eyes, its presence making me happier than I should be.

"Some of us are just more observant than others, I guess," he shrugged.

"Oh, darn," I said, pretending to be disappointed, "I thought that I had a chance at that title,"

"Maybe next time, Holmes," he said as he patted the top of my head, "Heat pack?"

And surely enough, he pulled a heat pack out of his pocket. 

"You brought a hot pack with you?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yup," he nodded, playing with it, "A little birdy told me that you've been out in the cold for quite a while now,"

I felt my face fell as I said her name;

"Gwyneth?"

"Who else?"

"So you were the 'cuz' on the phone?"

"Yup,"

"I didn't know that you guys were cousins," I said, confused at how glad I was to hear this piece of information, "You even called her pretty--,"

"Yeah, that was a poor move on my part," he cringed as he turned his head away, "I thought that that could've thrown you off-- you know what? Let's just forget that I'd have said that,"

'Throw me off'? I almost asked, deciding against it at the last second. 

It was not something that I wanted to explore anyway. It might just make things complicated.

"Oh, okay," I said, clearing my throat, "Um, so why are we here?"

It was upon hearing these words that his heat pack playing became more intense, looking as if he were in deep thought. He kept opening his mouth, only to close it soon after, shaking his head as he did so. This went on for quite a while before he nervously said;

"I haven't been very honest with you, Kristen,"

"What?" I asked, taken aback by his sudden statement.

"And Gwen was right," he went on, letting out a deep sigh, "I do owe you an explanation. This-- is not easy. Oh, gosh. I'm sorry,"

He massaged the back of his neck, avoiding any form of eye contact;

"Whatever it is that I'm about to say," he said, "I'm hoping that you'll-- try to understand how things are from where I stand. And I'm hoping that it won't affect our friendship in any way,"

I could feel my heart pounding against my ribcage, filling me with anticipation;

"This sounds... huge," was all I managed.

"And it's okay for you to be mad at me," he continued, keeping his eyes on the ground, "Because I'm kind of mad at myself, too,"

Click!

Our attentions were diverted towards the heat pack that was in his hands, the source of the soft sound. His eyes became alight upon hearing it, as if he had just remembered something.

"Your hands," he said as he grabbed them, "I'm sorry. You must be freezing,"

"I'm fine," I insisted, pulling them away.

"You're not," he argued, "They're stone cold,"

"Andrew,"

Andrew looked like he was on the brink of losing an internal battle, the kind that I knew all too well. It was something that I have struggled with every day and it has now affected him. 

My best friend. 

And the worst part?

That I couldn't do anything to stop it.

That I could only sit and watch as he crumbles and falls.

"Are you okay?" I asked; it was the only thing that I could think of doing. I couldn't really do much else.

"My hands aren't usually this shaky, I swear," he replied, his voice wet with tears. His entire body began to shake, his emotions besting him no matter how hard he tried.

"Andrew," I placed my hand on his, trying to calm him down, "Let's just take a deep breath, okay?"

"Shitshitshitshitshit," he cursed as he got up abruptly, slamming the heat pack onto the ground.

"Andrew," I said carefully, surprised by his sudden outburst, "Remember the deep breaths?"

I slowly got off the bench, approaching him with silent steps. He has now become a huddled figure, his rapid breathing fast and audible;

"I didn't want to," he gasped, "they made me,"

"Who did?" I asked as I sat next to him, slowly rubbing circles on his back.

"My parents," he answered, "they're making us move,"

Time stood still as his words hung in the air, our heartbeats heard over the silence. The pain of knowing that my best friend was leaving me felt like a shot to the heart. I don't know how I'd get by without him...

It can't be that bad, I told myself, it could've been worse.

"Finland," he said, his voice muffled.

"What?"

"We're moving to Finland," he lifted his head, turning his head in my direction.

Looks like it could. 

"Why Finland?" I asked, my tone angrier than I intended it to be.

"My sister just had a baby with that Finnish husband of hers," he began, his breathing slowing down to a normal pace, "And my dad's planning on retiring soon. So they thought that it would be fun to move there. To be with their first grandchild,"

"Oh," I swallowed as I slowly pulled my hand away from his back, "Okay,"

I dropped my gaze, not wanting to look at him. This day was proving to be one of the worst, and to look at him would remind me of it.

"That's it?" he demanded, "You're not going to say anything?"

"I think that it's good opportunity for you," I replied with much difficulty, keeping my eyes on the ground, "From what I've heard, Finland sounds like a really cool place to live,"

"No," he argued, "this isn't you. I know you, Kristen. You're not the kind of person to take this sitting down,"

"Then you don't know me well enough," I replied, forcing myself to look him in the eye.

"Drop the act,"

"What is it that you want me to do?" I asked furiously, "Cry? Beg you not to go? Is that what you want?"

"No, but--"

"Then expect nothing more,"

"Fine,"

I wanted to scream at him; tell him that I was mad at him for leaving me, that he wasn't being fair. That my father wasn't being fair. That everything sucks and how I'd rather die.

It feels like everything bad has always happened to me. Why, though? Was the universe against me? Will there ever be an end to it?

...

But that's the thing about life.

It was hardly ever fair.

That's what Andrew would say, anyway.

And I didn't want us to leave things on a bad note;

"Do we really want to end things like this, bud?" I asked, breaking the silence, "We've been through everything together. And frankly, you're my only friend in this stinking town,"

He remained silent for a couple of minutes, exhaling aloud before saying;

"I know,"

"I'm not your only friend?" I playfully pushed him with my shoulder, glad that he chose to reply.

"Shut up," he replied, a wide grin on his face, "Everyone knows that I'm such a f*****g loser,"

"You're not," I said, "I think that you're the coolest person in the entire universe,"

"Thanks, mom,"

The both of us broke into laughter; and for the first time in a long time, I felt happy. And it was the genuine kind, too.

This feeling, however, was temporary. For I realized, that at some point in our lives, that the both of us will be forced to grow up. And sadly, separation was a part of growing up. 

"I really hate that you're leaving," I bit my lip, hating the reality of it all, "Devastated, in fact. And I'd do anything to make you stay... but we both know that that's never going to happen,"

I took a deep breath in as my body started to tremble;

I hate this. I really do.

"And I know that you would be saying the same things, if the roles were reversed," I went on, holding his hand for strength, "I know that you're scared, well, at least I am. More than anything in the universe. But you're brave. And kind. And everything that is good in the world. And you're going to make it, bud. I know you will. And if anything goes wrong, always know that I'm just a phone call away. Or Skype, international calls are expensive,"

A mixture of a gurgle and laughter escaped my throat, betraying my attempt at sounding like a grown up. I guess that a lot of people were right, saying goodbye was definitely the hardest thing to do. No matter how hard you tried, one (or both) would always end up crying.

"Change is scary," I managed through heavy tears, gently squeezing his hand, "but it's going to be worth it, I promise,"

"I love you, bud," he said as he pulled me into a tight embrace. I nuzzled up against him, closing my eyes as I said;

"Me too,"