Scarred for Life

“You wanna do something fun?”

I look up. I’d gotten distracted, tracing my fingers along the scar on my palm.

“I said, do you wanna do something fun?”

I blink my bleary eyes into action and shift in the direction of the familiar voice, but no one is there. There’s a tap on my opposite shoulder that sends goosebumps down my spine. I turn to see her beside me, grinning from ear to ear as if nothing about this is unusual.

“Awe, don’t do that. You’re creasing up my perfect face.”

I look down to find my hand clenched around the pamphlet I’d been given before taking my seat. Flattening it out on my knee, her familiar face is staring back at me, frozen in time. It was the first picture I’d ever taken on my new digital camera. I was so excited that I wore the Nikon around my neck for an entire week.

“It was a good picture,” she muses, “but it was an even better day. Remember? It was a snow day, the first of the school year and we—"

“W-what are you doing here?” I interrupt.

She squeezes my shoulder, “you didn’t think I’d just up and leave you, did you?”

I hesitate, glancing to the center of the auditorium and then back to my friend.

“Well, I couldn’t do that without one last hurrah. So, do you wanna do something fun?”

I give her my focus, the service fading away, and I smile, “obviously. Anything would be better than this,” I gesture to our surroundings, “what should we do?”

“I don’t know…” she places a thoughtful finger to her chin, and then her eyes light up, “oh, remember that time we rode that rickety old wagon down the hill?”

“Oh my god,” I laugh. I can see it perfectly—can feel the sun beating down on our backs and the wind whipping through our hair as we fly down the road. The cement was so uneven that we had to hold the rails of the wagon to keep from tumbling over the side.

“And then we saw a car coming and you abandoned ship,” she pouts.

“Did you really expect me to die for the cause? Besides, you were able to steer it into the ditch, so it was fine.”

“It was not fine. The wagon flipped over into the trench with me in it. I walked with a limp for a week!”

Humming softly, I attempt to pull a more successful memory from my brain. “I’ve got it, we could go shopping and buy identical outfits again.”

“Oh yeah, that went over great last time,” she scoffs, “it was fun playing hooky though.”

It was. My mom had taken us to the city to go shopping. We’d thought it would be hysterical to buy the same thing and wear it to school the next day. Turns out a peacoat, a purple toque and black and plum striped fingerless gloves are not comfortable to wear indoors, even in December.

“The jeans were a success though,” I remind her.

She laughs, “yes, that’s true. But shopping isn’t going to work in this case,” she sighs, motioning to the cherry wood box set carefully at the foot of the stage.

“Right.”

She lifts an exclamatory finger, “I’ve got it, we could take out the ATV. You were always such a terrible driver. The first time I let you drive, you rammed it straight into a tree.”

“I was trying to read the sign.”

“What sign?”

“The sign on the tree."

“That’s why they tell you to look where you’re going.”

“I was looking where I was going. I went into the tree.”

She laughs at this and then shrugs, “at least no one was hurt, the ATV included. Though it wasn’t nearly as thrilling having to do the walk of shame home.”

This makes me grimace. Having to inform her father that I’d gotten their new bike stuck in the mud was certainly a humbling experience.

“What do you say to that then? Let’s take out the ATV,” her smile is infectious, but I’m unable to return it.

“Your parents sold it,” I remind her, though I guess she wouldn’t remember, she slept through most of it after all. She frowns making me feel like I must explain further, “to pay for your treatment.”

“Well, that was a waste,” she scowls, “it didn’t even work!”

Despite the vulgarity of the comment, I burst out laughing. A dozen heads swivel towards me, glowering, and I fight the urge to flip them the bird. Instead, I sink into my seat and stifle my laughter.

“Okay, you think of something then,” she says, oblivious to the other occupants.

“I bet we could score some booze,” I offer, “surely, they have a wine cellar in an old catholic church, right?”

“A subtle nod to the time we stole from my parent’s wine cellar, I like it.”

“Yeah, except you’ll drink your own this time,” I say, raising an eyebrow. The first time we’d ever gotten drunk together we’d swiped a bottle of wine and two beers from her dad’s stash, only to find that it tasted horrible. Now in our defense, we didn’t want to steal the good stuff, then he would have noticed it was missing. After the beers we got started on the wine, but about halfway through she tapped out, unable to stomach another drop. I was forced to take one for the team and guzzle down the remaining wine to the sound of her chanting, ‘chug, chug, chug.” When the bottle was empty, she promptly rolled over and fell asleep, leaving me shit faced to watch as the room spun round.

“I wish we could,” she sighs, “but we’re out of time.”

With a stab of disappointment, I look up to see the minister closing in prayer. I hold her hands in mine and stare into her face, ignoring the tears prickling in the corners of my eyes.

“Friends for life,” I say, tracing my finger along the scar that runs the length of her palm.

“For life,” she agrees, imitating the action.

“I have to go,” she whispers, and I notice the shuffle of bodies exiting the sanctuary.

“Already?”

She nods, her eyes downcast.

I pull her into a familiar embrace, yet this time it feels different. “I’m going to miss you.”

She nods and then that mischievous, unencumbered grin spreads across her face, “do something fun for me, okay?”

“I will. I promise.”

“Don’t forget this, you’ll need it to remember me by,” she winks and puts a piece of paper into my hands.

Her smiling face is still crinkled down the middle. I run my palm over the crease, but stop, something feels different. My scar is gone.

I lift my hand to show her, but when I look up there is no one there.

I am alone.