Golden Age

“Kimi,” she starts, “I’m sorry, but you’re being dumb. You think we’re gonna stop being friends? You may be moving onto a bigger town, but you can’t get rid of me.” She smiles at me then turns her head back towards the sky. We’re laying on a quilt in the grass at the park by my house that we’ve walked to a thousand times. The sun is heading west and the clouds are filling up the sky, the cue for us to start packing up our usual picnic supplies. I break the silence, “I don’t even know if I want to go! This town sucks and I really don’t want to see these people anymore, but what if we grow apart and never talk again until we’re like old and wrinkly and only see each other at Target? And even then, it’s barely a wave or a quick conversation and an even quicker hug, you’ve seen our moms do that exact thing!” She groans into the air above and turns her whole body towards me, saying, “We’re not our moms and we’re not as old as them, ok? I will text you from my room here and you will text me from your room over there. And on top of that, we’re seeing each other every other week or so, right? We’re moving our usual picnics to the beach so get used to the seagulls.”

            I turn my body towards her and try to smile, but I can’t hide it. There are tears building in my eyes as I say, “You have to visit, ok? I will lose my mind out there without you, Lani.” She just nods and I can tell she’s holding her emotions back as well. Still, we forget about that and turn our heads back to the sky, now painted with different shades of pinks and oranges. As I lay there with Lani as I have many times before, it feels as if a heavy mass is surrounding me, forcing me to accept the end of high school and friendships. I should be proud of myself; I’m leaving this small town and stepping outside of the box but, with that, I’m giving up the comfort of the box. I’m leaving behind the gas station on the corner where we stop to get ice cream before going home. I’m leaving behind this park that still has the same playground from when I was four. I’m leaving behind Lani, who’s been my best friend since fifth grade. 

            This time, she breaks the silence, “I want to share something with you before you leave.” Lani sits up and gestures for me to join her, so I do. “Remember in fifth grade when we first met each other and we sat next to that one kid. I think his name was Ruben, remember him?” She says as I roll my eyes, thinking about how we only became friends because we both “like-liked” Ruben. Lani gets the hint and moves on, “Anyways, my point… we became really good friends after that. Even when we were in a group, we still came out as the only people really left in our friend group. We’ll always be connected, intertwined, you know? But I’m not getting all sappy so you can’t get all sappy. I just think we’ll always be tangled together somehow.” I hold back the tears and just smile at her and bring her in for a hug. Aulani’s never been good at emotional blab, so we just sit there clutching each other for a few minutes.

            In this moment, our friendship replays in my head; I go back to the day we first met. I always got nervous around the first day of school, especially this time seeing as it was a whole new school. I thought about big kids, new friends, and, most importantly, what everyone was going to think of me. That morning, I remember my mom dressed in her scrubs with her thick, dark-brown hair pulled quickly into a bun, held together by a stretched out hair tie. I remember walking through the gates as my mom waved goodbye and tried to remember what she told me in the car about not getting anxious. I search for the name Mrs. Alvarado on any of the open doors and then, I see it, accompanied by a short-haired, smiley-faced woman in a bright dress and a yellow cardigan. She greets me and I walk into the classroom, now trying to find my own name written on a desk. I find it in a group of four and set my stuff down. As I sit down, I look up and see there’s another girl already sitting across from me. She has long brown hair, outgrown bangs, and a big smile on her face as she reaches her hand out towards me and says, “Hi, I’m Aulani! There’s a really cute boy that sits next to you. He’s over there, see him?” I take her hand while she signals with her head where to look. Ever since that handshake and those first few words, we’ve never left each other’s sides.

            We let go of each other and I realize we’re still on the quilt in the park. With the sun setting in the distance, we spend the last few moments of our day together reminiscing on our friendship and laughing into the sky above us. We laugh until our ribs hurt and we lay there until the sky is a deep blue filled with faint white stars.

            For the last time, we get up from the quilt and fold it into a square. For the last time, we pack up our picnic supplies into the tote bag and walk out through the fence onto the sidewalk. For the last time, we stop at the gas station on the corner to get ice cream before we walk back to my house. At the end of the night, we hug and, for the first time, Aulani lets herself cry as I remind her that we’ll always be tangled together somehow.