Tomorrow, it will be her birthday. I won’t ring, or send a card. I won’t text. But I will remember.
It doesn’t matter what age she will be. Well, she will be my age. She will be my age because our blue eyes met across a classroom when we were both five.
But we didn’t take to one another in a big way then. That didn’t happen until she took a daring short cut in a cross country run at school and I followed her into the trees.
She was unafraid back then.
But eccentric. I don’t know what age I learned to apply this word to her. I grew proud I had a friend who walked a different path.
Boys, it seemed, didn’t court either of us. At first, it didn’t seem to bother her. Then it did and much too much because she was creating webs of deceit in their place.
At first I laughed, then was perplexed. As paranoia visited. Then stayed.
I did try to help her. I did. But she will think of me as one who abandoned her. And I guess eventually I did.
Because the remembrances came less often. And so did the chastisements that I could have done more.
And there is no place for her now. Outside of my thoughts.