Where the Sidewalk Ends Again

"I don't understand."

She said it so quietly I almost didn't hear her. But I did. And I hated it.

We were sitting on the swings behind the school, the metal chains creaking every time we moved, like they were groaning with the weight of everything unspoken between us. The sky was getting dark, and the air had that almost summer feeling, warm but not heavy, like the day hadn't quite decided what season it wanted to belong to.

I looked over at her. Mia.

She was still wearing that hoodie she always wore, even when it was hot. Her fingers were wrapped tight around the swings chain like she was holding herself together with them.

"What don't you understand" I asked, already knowing.

She didn't answer right away. Just looked at the ground, toes dragging in the woodchips like she was searching for something under the surface. Maybe an answer. Maybe an escape.

"I don't understand how you're just... okay."

I blinked. "Okay?"

"Like, with everything. With, this. With us."

And there it was. The word we'd both been avoiding.

I tried to swallow the lump in my throat. "I'm not okay," I said finally, and it was true. "I just... I don't know what to do anymore. You don't talk to me the same. You hang out with them all the time now. I feel like I'm always reaching, and you're just, gone."

Her head snapped up. "Gone? Seriously? I'm right here, Grace."

"No, you're not," I said, voice shaking. "You haven't been for months."

And the thing is, I didn't want to be mad. I didn't want to sit here crying on some playground like we were little kids again. But I also couldn't keep pretending nothing changed when everything had.

She looked like she wanted to say something, but then she didn't. Just let out this small breath like all the fight had left her lungs.

"It's just... I didn't think it'd be like this," she whispered. "I thought we'd always be us."

"Yeah," I said. "Me too."

We'd been best friends since second grade. The kind of friendship where you know the other person's lunch order, favorite song, and exact eye roll before they even make it. We'd made up dumb dances in my room and slept in the same bed at every sleepover, whispering secrets until we couldn't keep our eyes open. We'd cried over boy drama and laughed until we couldn't breathe over stuff no one else even thought was funny.

But then high school started. And Mia started hanging out with different people. People who wore Air Jordans and made TikTok's in the bathroom and called me "quiet girl" like it was my actual name.

I wasn't mad at her for making new friends. Not really. I just didn't know how to be part of her world anymore.

The late night FaceTime's turned into quick texts. The "I miss you"s got replaced by "sorry, I was busy." And I kept wondering if I was doing something wrong, or if maybe I'd just stopped being enough.

The swing squeaked again as Mia turned to look at me.

"Do you think we could go back?"

"To what?" I asked.

"To the way things were."

I shook my head. "I don't think so."

She looked down again, nodding a little like she expected it. "Yeah. Me neither."

And that hurt even more. Because I wanted her to fight for it. For me. For us.

But maybe that's the thing about growing up. You start to realize that some people aren't meant to stay forever, even if they mattered more than anything for a long time.

We sat there a little longer, not saying anything. Just listening to the wind in the trees and the faint sounds of traffic from the road behind the school.

I wiped my eyes and stood up. "I should go."

She nodded. "Yeah."

I started walking away, but after a few steps, I turned around.

"For what it's worth," I said, "I still miss you."

Her eyes met mine, glassy and soft. "I miss you too."

That night, I scrolled through old photos. Us at the beach. Us in Halloween costumes. Us on the last day of eighth grade, arms around each other like we had the whole world ahead of us.

Maybe we did.

And maybe it just looks different now.

I don't understand everything. Not yet.

But I think that's okay.

The next day at school, I saw her in the hallway. We didn't say anything. She was with her new friends, laughing about something I didn't get. I was with mine, holding my books like a shield. Our eyes met for a second. Just one. And it was weird, how one look could say a million things and nothing at all.

I wondered if she thought about last night. If she replayed the words like I did. If she felt that ache in her chest too.

In English, we were assigned to write about change. I stared at the blank paper for fifteen minutes before finally writing.

Some things don't fall apart all at once. Sometimes they break in quiet ways, in distance, in silence, in all the things you don't say until it's too late.

It wasn't perfect, but it was true.

At lunch, I sat by the window, earbuds in, watching clouds drift by. One of my newer friends sat next to me and started talking about this show she liked. I listened. I laughed at her jokes. And it wasn't the same kind of laugh I had with Mia, but it still made my chest feel a little lighter.

And maybe that's what healing looks like. Not pretending it doesn't hurt, but letting the light in anyway.

I don't understand why things changed. I don't understand how people how people who felt like everything can turn into strangers with shared memories.

But I do know I'm going to be okay.

And someday, that'll be enough.