A Collection of Scary Stories

Best Friends

Amanda

This is a picture of me and my best friend, Kristen. We've known each other since kindergarten, when our mothers ran into each other- almost literally!- in the school parking lot. Afterward, while they were waiting for us, they got to talking and realized we lived only one block apart, which meant each of them could drop us off and pick us up half the time if they car-pooled and took turns.

It was like Fate.

We were destined to be inseperabe best friends. Kristen loves my mom just as much as I love hers. It's like we both have two families.

As kids, we used to share toys; now that we're teens, we've moved on to sharing makeup. On occasion we have been known to share homework. (don't tell the teachers!) We've always shared clothes. That's one of the main reasons to have a best friend! We once even shared a boyfriend- though that, honestly, was a bit of a test of our relationship. But then we figured you can get a boyfriend- especially one of Chuckie Zarpentine's quality- anywhere. But how often are you going to find a forever friend?! So we both dumped him.

This picture is from last summer. Every year for like, the last five years, Kristen's parents have rented an RV for a week at Darien Lake and- because they know better than to try to separate two best friends!- they invite me to go with them. Camping, swimming, enjoying all-week passes at the amusement park, being together day and night: It's like one, never ending pajama party for two.

You can see the Ferris wheel in the background. Kristen and I love riding on Ferris wheels! Notice how we're wearing matching Mickey Mouse t-shirts? "You're like twins," my mother said, then laughed, when she brought them home for us "separated at birth."

Kristen and I love those t-shirts.

Kristen

I know I sound like a cold, hateful monster when I complain about about Amanda. But, oh, those retarded Mickey Mouse shirts. I don't think I ever truly hated an article of clothing as much as I hated those. I mean, c'mon, we were about to start high school, not third grade- and they were secondhand from the Volunteers of America Thrift Shop. The one Amanda gave me had some sort of anonymous stain on the front, like maybe the previous owner had a problem with getting food into her mouth in any consistent manner, or maybe she just drooled a lot.

Amanda might or might not have noticed. She could be pretty hard on clothes herself. She was always borrowing my stuff and returning it with stains or spills or snags or stretched out waistbands. But "Be nice" my mother kept telling me, "The Morrison's haven't had as easy a life as we have It wouldn't hurt you to be bighearted."

The Morrisons. Poor husbandless, friendless Mrs. Morrison, who worked at Stop and Shop in the afternoon and as a bartender in the evenings. Ever since they met, when she almost ran my mother down in the school parking lot (and any truly sane mother would have taken that as an omen), she and my mother were supposed to take turns driving us to and from school, But Mrs. Morrison was always calling to say, "Could you please drive the girls in tomorrow? I'm having to work the late shift, and morning comes around so fast when I haven't gotten home till 3 a.m. I mean, I could do it if you can't..." Or, "I know it;s my turn to pick the girls up, but I need to cover for one of the other cashiers, who didn't come in today..."

Even on days when she said she'd pick us up, Amanda's mother wasn't reliable. After she forgot us at school two or three times, my mother learned to hang around the house around  the house two forty-five or three o'clock so I could call her, just in case. Don't tell me Mrs. Morrison didn't count on that.

"It's rough for her," my mother would defend her "With no husband and having to work two jobs." She didn't seem to mind Mrs. Morrison taking advantage of her, and she didn't seem to mind Amanda taking advantage of me.