Jenah and Joë

I don’t even know who she is anymore; I thought to myself while waiting in the little café in my old hometown. My heart pounded in my chest and my throat tightened. It felt as though I could have been sick at any moment. The doorbells jingled. Someone else had entered the café. I kept my gaze downwards, pretending to scroll through my phone, not actually reading a single word on the display. Was it too late to cancel? Maybe I could say something came up, I thought to myself. Who was I kidding? She would know I was lying. Finally, I gained the courage to look up. It wasn’t her, thank God. There was a tiny sliver of hope that maybe she wouldn’t show up.

It had been about fifteen years since I had even spoken to my ex-best friend, Sarah. We used to meet up at this coffee shop, formerly called the Coffee House, almost every day after school. The name had since changed to Beans on Broad; I like the old name better, way more hip.

 I glanced around the recently refurbished café. It had undergone such a transformation that it was now unrecognizable. Where there were once big cozy couches now only sat cold black and white plastic tables and chairs, all perfectly lined up against the wall. The 1970s wallpaper was replaced with modern off-white paint, while the cozy lamps were replaced by bright overhead lights, giving the café a clinical feel instead of a welcoming ambiance. Such a shame, this place has no soul anymore. 

“Zoë!”

The sound of my name pulled me out of my thoughts. And my stomach dropped as I turned towards the voice. It was only the barista holding up my hot cocoa. I smiled at her as I took my drink. The hot cup warmed my still icy hands, and the sweet aroma of chocolate filled the air.

“Thank you,” I said in a shaky voice. I took my hot cocoa and sat down at one a table, facing the door. Despite my desire, it would be impolite to choose the chair with my back to the door. As I sat down, the song “Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!” By Dean Martin came on. I couldn’t help but to hum along with the nostalgic tune.

I looked through the large, frosty display window at the front of the store. Snow had built up and the imprints of shoes dotted the pure sparkling white that blanketed the sidewalk and road. I then noticed a new sushi joint where Sun Gin’s, a Chinese restaurant of questionable quality, used to be located. The big empty space above that restaurant was where Sarah and I would go to concerts almost every week. It was always crappy local metal bands that we pretended were good. We would dress up in the tightest and most revealing outfits we had and put on cheap makeup, then flirt with the band members (never with much luck since we would have been cringy middle schoolers). I remember one time laying right in the middle of the sidewalk outside because I had strained my neck from head-banging too hard. Someone had made the comment that I was passed out drunk. I guess back then people didn’t care as much about underage drinking. 

Although we were good kids, we did have some rebellious moments in high school, going to a party or two and pretending to be drunk after drinking cheap wine, but that was the extent of our mischief. We never touched anything harder than wine. Heck, one time at McDonald’s when I was heartbroken over some older boy, we swore to each other over a French Fry box we would wait until after high school to “do the deed”. We both kept our promise, and I had even saved that French fry box well past high school. I wonder whatever happened to it.

There was one item from her I dared never lose. From my bag I pulled out a small, ratty looking stuffed puppy named Bandit. I ran a finger down the half-chewed dull brown ear that years ago was a rich brown color. Sarah had given me her in the fourth grade. She also had her own stuffed puppy named Jingle Pup. Her puppy was a special edition Christmas beanie baby, hence the name Jingle Pup. Her puppy once had a little Santa hat sewn on top that she cut off and made her own outfit for her. We spent years playing with those puppies, creating countless scenarios for them. Bandit even had a husband and two kids; Sarah’s puppy was a strong independent woman, well… Dog, and never needed a man. We would have weekly sleep-overs and “play puppies” all night long. I wondered if she still even had Jingle Pup. 

“What do you say, Bandit? Ready to see Jenah and Jingle Pup?”

Confusion always arose from the nicknames we had for each other. During a middle school trip, a classmate thought Sarah looked more like a Jenna, and I changed the spelling to Jenah to blend it with her actual name. I got the name Joë, also with the altered spelling to match. Would it be strange if I greeted her with Jenah? Had it been too long for our silly nicknames? 

After putting Bandit away, I looked down at my phone. Ten minutes past six, when we were to meet. I opened up my text messages to see if maybe she had sent something. No new notifications awaited me. My throat was dry as bone, making it impossible to produce anything but a croak. With my phone still open on our most recent texts, I took a sip of my hot chocolate. The warm, sweet liquid slid down my throat, offering some relief. 

I took another sip of my drink, then scrolled through our conversation. Squinting in the bright lights, I read the first message I had sent to her in years. 

“Dear Jenah,

Ummm hi. You probably think this is totally weird. I’m not even completely sure what I want to say, but I guess I’ll just say I’m sorry. I’ve been planning and thinking about writing to you for longer than I care to admit, but never had the balls to do anything. I still think of you often. I should have never let you go like I did. I regret it and am sad I’m not a part of your life anymore. But I love seeing how well you are doing and your little family! Your little one is just so cute! Don’t feel like you have to write back or anything. I just wanted to let you know that I still and will always think of you as my best friend growing up even though we grew apart. I was too stubborn and sad and an asshole. If I could turn back time I would but I guess that’s just life but well yeah... anyhow I still don’t know the point of this... I still have Bandit, but she looks worse for wear....

Love,

Joë”

I read through my message twice and cringed each time. I sound so pathetic! To spare myself further torment, I switched off my phone screen and glanced out the window. The sky was nearly dark now. Still nothing.

Sweat soaked into the underarms of my T-shirt. I scooted my chair back, and it scraped loudly across the floor, momentarily blocking out the soft Christmas music playing in the background. Then I unzipped my heavy winter coat, and a gust of cool air flooded my body, giving instant relief. 

The streetlights flickered on, and snowflakes sparkled in the air as they slowly glided to the ground. I took another small sip of my hot chocolate and while lifting the disposable paper cup; I realized I had already drunk almost a quarter of it. Not wanting to finish my drink before Sarah got here, I pushed it away from myself in a feudal attempt to pace myself. 

Looking back down at my phone, I gave a shaky sigh. Twenty minutes past six. She’s not coming. How much longer should I wait here? I should have known.

The doorbell rang out, and my head lifted. Instantly, I felt my cheeks grow hot. It was her. My legs turned to jelly, refusing to support me. I lifted a hand and gave a timid wave. 

Sarah gave a small smile from under her round rosy cheeks. She came over to where I sat, and I lifted my gaze. What do I even say to her?

“Hey!” I said with a bit too much enthusiasm.

“Hey,” she said in a much cooler tone.

Flecks of snow still clung to her dirty blonde hair and long trench coat style puffed jacket.

“Umm, I already have my drink if you want to get yours.”

Sarah raised her brows and looked to the counter while saying in a forced cheerful voice, “oh sure!”

While Sarah waited for her drink, I fidgeted in my seat. I was never good at talking to strangers, but I always felt comfortable with Sarah. Had, being the keyword. I ran through some safe small talk questions in my head and took a deep breath to calm myself. I then took ahold of my hot chocolate and noticed that my hands were shaking. 

Sarah returned with her drink in tow and sat across from me.

“So, how have you been?” I asked with a slight quiver in my voice.

“Pretty good,” she said lightly.

Dead air filled the space. I felt my entire body tighten as I thought of another question to fill the void air.

“What did you get to drink?”

“Oh, hot chocolate. I remember, back in the day, that's what we always used to get.”

I felt the tension in my body ease, and I smiled.

“That’s what I got too, gotta keep up with the tradition!”

“For sure,” she said.

Both of us fell into silence, locking eyes. It didn’t feel like I was sitting here with an old friend, but maybe someday we could get there again. 

“Have any Christmas plans?” Sarah asked me.

“Yeah, me and my husband have a big Christmas dinner at our house every year, so we do that… ummm, what about you and your family?”

“We have a small get together at our place, just my mom and his parents.”

“Nice,” I said while groping for anything more I could add, dreading the idea of anymore awkward silence.

"This place has changed since we were last here," I said, scanning the room.

“Sure has. It’s actually kind of sad. Like that was a piece of my… of our childhoods.”

“Yeah. Plus, it just looks like crap now,” I added.

We both took sips of our hot chocolates simultaneously.

“Hot chocolate isn’t nearly as good either,” I said.

“Remember those huge mugs they came in? Weren’t they doused with whipped cream and more chocolate?”

“They were, those were the actual best. Or maybe it was just because we were young, and we thought it was cool hanging out in a coffee shop.”

We both popped a smile.

It didn’t feel as tense anymore. I felt my heart slow down and my posture ease. Even the room felt warmer. It was almost as if some of the old magic that had once occupied this little café was still hidden deep in the walls behind the blinding white lights and paint. 

In a lower voice, I asked, “hey, do you still have Jingle Pup?” 

Sarah’s face lit up like a light bulb, then she turned and reached into the brown purse sitting on the floor next to her. From it she pulled out a yellow puppy that nose appeared to have been chewed off. 

“Yup I still do! She hasn’t aged very well, though. As you can see, my daughter got ahold of her.”

I giggled, then pulled out Bandit. “Bandit knows the pain. My puppy thought this was one of his toys,” I said while pointing out her ear.

We continued to chat long after our hot chocolates were empty and the shop had become silent. It took the barista coming to our table and telling us it was almost closing time before we finally got up. It no longer felt like we were strangers. It was almost as if we picked up right where we had left off. My heart felt warm, and my cheeks were aching from smiling so much.

“We should do this again and like for real. Everyone always says they should hang out or whatever, but we should actually do it,” I said.

“We really should. This was nice.”

I glanced at the barista, who leaned against the counter, observing us.

“I think we better leave before we annoy her anymore,” I said, nudging my head in her direction.

We both walked outside, and the barista locked the door behind us. A cool wind instantly burned at my cheeks and bare hands and I pulled my zipper up as far as I could. Sarah appeared to do the same thing.

“Well, this was really nice. Let’s do this again, Joë.”

My face lit up as soon as she used my nickname. It was as if a wrecking ball had crashed through, breaking the last wall barrier. 

“Absolutely Jenah, we will.”

That’s how I dreamed it would go anyway, if I did ever actually send that message. It has been almost three years since I typed out that letter to Sarah and since then it’s sat in my files, unsent. I know I won't actually send it; I don’t have the guts. I’d rather just live in my little fantasy. It's likely I'd be left on read if I did actually send it. If only we could pick up where we left off, but that’s not how the world works though.

My story isn’t unique, a tale almost everyone is very familiar with, best friends that drift apart or have a falling out. Maybe some lucky ones rekindle their friendships, I wish we could be so lucky. It's best to move on and leave the past behind. We are both different people now, anyway. Nothing can ever really go back to the way it was. It wouldn’t be right. The world has moved on, and I know I should, too. I still dream of her, though, dream of rekindling our friendship. That’s all it is, though, dreams of my once best friend.