A Guaranteed Success?

My friend used to say nothing would ever separate us if we trusted each other. From the day that I learned she was special, I knew I would never do anything to break our connection. Friends are the family you can choose, I heard from my enthusiastic mother when I told her about my new friend. My mother, like her, was always open to new things. I was too, thinking that progress could go in a straight line.

But that was the trouble. 

*

12:00-3:00

Our first meeting with each other was in High School, born strictly out of curiosity and self-benefit. It was in our Python class, but unless I hadn't been impressed by how effortlessly she presented her mid-year project to the class, I might not have paid attention to her at all the rest of the day. Turns out I wasn't the only one who was impressed. What began as a few attempts to help each other better our understanding of various topics soon aged into head-deep fascination. 

We weren't anyone who seemed offbeat in any way. On the surface, we looked like two good friends who shared classes and talked once in a while, but we both knew the events, objections, and agreements that murmur, argue, or explode around us had little to no effect on ourselves. 

We couldn't meet on certain weekdays. She said her parents demanded her presence at their home no later than 5:00 on weekends where she said she needed her days of focus apart from her days of atrophy. My mother needed me on Mondays and Wednesdays to help prepare our dinner. More often than not, she would look out our pantry, stacked with at least 50 cans of beans and rice, and decide to order from a restaurant. Takeout of course because my father never made enough to get a reservation at any respectable joint. The only times I ever would get a taste of decent quality such as that was either on holidays or if my dad made good money on a deal. 

But the days we could meet were requisite. It was during those days when we would share our homework and study for our tests. Feet up on the empty chairs side by side in a lounge begging for souls to house it, causing commotion. But most often we would test our projects in Python class on each other. Beyond being all on point, her code was efficient, using techniques and shortcuts I had yet to practice myself. When I exchanged mine with her, I would give a low tone of relief every time she smiled approvingly. If it impressed her, the rest of the world could shove their criticism right up their assess.

Other times we would just talk about our lives. The brutal simplicity of hers and the desperate adversity of mine. It is often during those tired silences when she and I would lean shoulder to shoulder after an hour of intense work and sometimes glance at each other. I would love it, and I could tell she would too, her face alive with arresting emerald eyes. Awkward as letting the thought escape into vocality, I sometimes let my sentiments free and surprisingly, she returned some of her own. She wasn't necessarily flawless, in her appearance, skills, or her words, but she was always herself, and that was perfect. I firmly believed that anyone patient enough could learn something from her. 

*

3:00-5:00

I thought relationships usually are straight lines, diverging outwards into more and more colors. I was wrong. 

I had to leave for Europe because my father had finally acquired a new job that would require a years-long stay after struggling with his current job amidst tripping in the world of careers. As I watched him lay his 2 piece suit to rest inside his suitcase, I could only stare there watching his smile. My father always had a confident smile as if everything was going to work out. He had it even as he broke the news to my mother who, quite frankly, didn't know what to make of it. 

"We're going to be back in three years. All of us. Just make sure to tie up all your loose ends before we step into our new future." He said firmly yet pridefully, as though this would change us forever. 

The words shot out in all directions like invisible daggers, hitting everyone sitting at the lamp-lit rectangular dinner table. My mother seemed stupefied then complacent with the situation. That was not the case for me. All I could do is hang my head against my folding chair, feverish. 

*

5:00-6:00

She begged me not to go. She said she wouldn't know what to do without me. I assured her that her other friends would help her. She told me that admirers weren't the same thing. 

"You'll call me, right? Every now and then to help. 

"Everything will be just the way it was. I promise." I said innocently. 

I still loved her hope, but I hated my innocent remark. It makes me feel like a liar. 

*

6:00-8:30

For three years, I swim in a grey sea, devoid of any sustainable debris and of waves. Swimming on and on hoping for any natural disturbance. But it seemed to be designed to instigate reflection. Reflection on those precious moments, the ones that flicker and spark with age but never fade. 

They are distant and yet I thought about them every day. Them, like my chair, swirled around my room. The temptation hissed at me, beckoning me to call her just once. But I didn't. 

I never called her once. 

*

8:30-9:00

3 years later, my dad regained his financial stability and was ready to make his 'glorious' return to his country, 'a new man' he claimed. On the plane, my disgruntled expression would have been assumed to be a result of my annoyance with my dad. But something far worse was happening. 

It wasn't that I was sad to leave, I had made a few friends and attempted to thrive, but not nearly as much as my old school allowed me to. I would call them occasionally, and one even said he would visit during the summer. That at least made me change my perception of 3 years in hell to purgatory.

I'm finally going home to my old life. The life that I thought I could keep dust-free. The life that's supposed to be ageless. 

*

9:00-11:00

My body felt like it was being sucked into the earth at a much heavier and faster rate than at which the plane smothered the asphalt with its prolonged roar of return. 

My limbs cuddled inward to my chest in spite of the warm humidity of the outside air. Although it was probably just the feeling, I thought I smelled something familiar yet foreign to me there. It was as if the city had never washed its hands and you could smell every citizen coming a mile away.

My parents had managed to purchase our old house a few months prior to our departure. As we walked inside, dumped our bags on our furniture and bathroom and bedroom floors, that same sense from earlier arose again.

It was distracting. Distracting from the celebration my parents were laying in.

When they gave me a cheerful yet oblivious countenance, I managed to give a smile. I could feel that energy emitted from the walls of the steakhouse we always yearned to dine at. I could see it in the reflective black windows offering more than just the lamposts and couple strolling across the street. I could taste it in my New York Strip. It seeped into my crevices, filling me with something. What was it?

"Honey, you seem down. Anything to say to mark the occasion? It's back together again." My mom summoned me back.

Plastic as both my mind and body felt, I gave her a smile, "I'm glad you're happy. I feel good too, being back here after all this time. A lot's changed though."

She blinked, maintaining her smile, "Well, you've changed too, for the better I believe. Everything else will fall into place, dear. Plus, you gotta be excited to get back to school, and back to her. She'll be so happy."

I nodded and for a moment considered what she said.

"We thank the Lord for this meal and all of our future. Now please, enjoy your dinner."

That's what it was. Dread. It was dread.

*

11:00-11:59

The next day I saw her, I wish I hadn't. As she sat on the soccer bench out on the field with her team, she tore off her cleats and shoved them into her backpack. I began walking toward her, taking long slow breaths every 3rd step. Before she reached for her sneakers, she paused and the motion almost knocked me backward before I mimicked it. She raised her eyelids lazily yet sharply, stabbing me in the eyes. 

A coward would have looked away. A coward would have looked at the colorless choices I made and breakdown. A coward would jump to the conclusion that hell is inescapable, and all good things turn to ash. 

But her face, red as it may be, reminded me of the candle that continued to flicker, and suddenly imploded into color. Perhaps it was simply the dirt from the unhealthy green grass, but she seemed bruised. But more than that, her face began to relax, as if in resignation.

Another player shot her a 'congratulations', prompting her to turn and do likewise. The player, who I didn't recognize, caught sight of me and then gave a thrilled beam to her. Then back to me. Then left.

She turned again to face me and shrugged. I let a closed mouth chuckle loose as I fidgeted my hand.

The wear and tear of her initially friendless journey were molded into something strange. Bent, bruised and scraped by the troubles I was unable to help her with. People may have called her by another name, saw her in a new light, but I knew that she couldn't screw the cap on. She promised me, nothing would ever let that happen. 

Refreshingly though, a wave, that was actually a gust of wind, swept over me. There it was. That feeling. The perception I carried with us long ago. The idea that there was still something to learn from her. Against all odds, I saw something myself reflected back at me once again.

So, with the courage of hopelessness, I will try.