It's only three weeks.

The waitress handed the check to my mother, her gleaming smile was barely noticed by us. We were together, laughing, talking, spending time together. My face was hurting from the smiles, my mind was numb to everything else besides the happiness that surrounded me. My mom’s gaze turned to me, her expression became shadowed for a moment. 

“You ready to go?” she asked, her sweet voice didn’t reflect those bitter words. I saw clouds gather outside, mirroring the shadow that cast through my head. “It’s only three weeks.” my mother repeated, she knew a storm was coming, she loved watching the weather. 

My best friend looked up from her phone, she was supposed to be sending me photos of her prom dress. She turned to me, this was it, we had to leave. Her own mother had repeated the question to her, though the world seemed so quiet, it seemed as though it echoed through the bustling restaurant. 

I nodded, heaving myself from the sticking, leather booth, grabbing my bag as I stood. My best friend followed me out, her own bad strung across her shoulders. Her forgotten phone was still gripped in her hands, though her eyes were on me. There were clouds gathering outside, it would rain this afternoon. 

We slumped out of the restaurant, it was hard to believe only seconds ago we were among the laughing groups. Now I felt isolated, alone, a figure looking through a glass box. My best friend was watching the floor, the food-stained tiles passed under our feet. 

The door to the outside was hardly comforting, I saw my family’s old car hidden under a dying oak tree. I watched my mother glance toward me, her hand went to rest on my shoulder. 

I barely felt it. I looked up, there were clouds gathering overhead. 

My mom watched my gaze, turning to the sky. She sighed, her hand retreated from my shoulder. 

“It looks likes it going to rain Betty, so I’m sure your gonna want to get going,” mom said, her tone questioning by the slightest bit. As though she didn’t know what was going to happen next, the storm was an innocent distraction. 

The mothers looked toward each other, the slight question of what now loomed over the group. A silent question I didn’t want to know the answer to, in fear the answer would be what I suspected. I watched the mothers look at each other, they walked away from us, giving us a bare form of privacy. 

I watched my best friend for a moment, her discomfort, her sadness, her insecure stance. I pitied us at that moment, the way we held ourselves, it was obvious we were uncomfortable. Maybe even a little self-conscious, cowering in on ourselves, making our shoulders hunch. 

There was a small part of me that wondered why. Why did we stand the same? Why did we hold ourselves the same? Hiding behind masks we created to make others happy, with little to no benefit for ourselves. Why did it have to end? 

We were always together, since the first excited hello, to the crushes of each other guys. We stuck together, holding each other, support, comfort, love. It was always us, now it wouldn’t be. 

She would be halfway across the country, living in the middle of nowhere, while I continued my life here. Without her, my one constant comfort, my other half. I would have to talk to the other girls at school, the people who I’m sure thought I was annoying. 

Her arms shook me away from my thoughts, she was hugging me. Her arms gripping the back of my shirt, tears soaking my shoulder. I felt my body shudder, the weight grew heavy over my eyes, my breathing hitched. 

Cold tears ran down my face, leaving cold tracks in their place. Snot dripped from my nose, leaving my sniffling and ragged breathing. I felt weightless, my rock had lifted from my string, grounding me from the world. 

“It’s just three weeks,” I whispered, the words felt they were spoken from someone else. Someone who knew what they were doing, what the next step would be. No hesitance, or insecure stances to be found. I shook, reaching my hands behind her back. 

People were probably passing us, watching the scene before them. Betraying the little privacy our mothers had tried to provide us. My little glass case was cracking, leaving me with a world of people glances, and judging glares. 

I pulled away first, making sure she released the back of my shirt. 

Our mothers walked to us, comforting faces, and the one tone of voice only a mom could use. 

The world fell back to silence, the tears burned out of my eyes. 

We trailed to the car, sitting inside. 

My mom pulled away, I watched their car leave for the airport. 

Tears streamed down my face, making it stick. My eyes were puffy, feeling exhausted, and plain done. I wanted her back, back in my arms, back at the restaurant table. She laugh when I brought back the joke when I brought up the joke from years ago. 

It was just three weeks. 

Her calming words when I didn't get into the high school I applied for. Her simple presence had made me want to gleam with joy. The love and compassion you can only feel through a best friend. 

It’s only three weeks. 

The type of person who knew a knowing glance was more than that. Who you communicated with through very little words, simple words, the right words. 

It started raining, the rain pittered across the windshield. My mind was clouded, making the rain seem perfect for the experience. 

My mom put her hand on my leg, giving me a soft squeeze. Wordlessly, she turned on the radio. Letting it drone through the dead silence of the car. Making the air feel simpler, letting me run to hundreds of different worlds. 

Yet, my mom's hand kept me there. With her, a world without her. 

The clouds spread partly, she looked at me with that sweet smile. Speaking those simple bitter words. 

“It’s only three weeks.”