Life Changer [Editing Again]

Boys and Doors

Today is the day.

The rain spills down his face, mirroring the tears streaming down mine. His once bright blue eyes are dim, especially in the street light, but Matt, being the macho 10-year-old he became, resists his urge to cry.

I remember when he was younger he would cry at the littlest things, but after he hit double digits he grew out of it. I was always scared he would stop hanging out with me after that. I worried he would find new friends with cool Hot Wheels cars and BMX bikes, but when I asked he said, "I never ditch my best friends, Kayce." But now here he is, unintentionally breaking his promise.

He wraps his arms around me for one final hug, and I sob and hiccup like the whiny 10-year-old I am. The 10-year-old who cries when she accidentally kills a bug, or cries when she hears a sad song.

The 10-year-old that's crying because her best friend is leaving.

His mom honks the horn again, signalling her impatience, but I really don't want to let him leave.

"I have to go, Kayce." He chastely kisses the top of my head, a thing he always did when I was crying. Gently, he tightens his embrace, and then he lets go.

Through a blurry gaze, I watch as his short figure retreats from my grasp. He opens the door, climbs in the car, and his mom drives off.

Today was the day.

I turn around and face the door, getting the same view Matthew often got when he came over.

∆

Boys and Doors

Doors are fairly interesting things and I believe we take them for granted. While we only swing them open and close them, a door does so much more. It provides us with privacy, shelter, and, because doors don't usually have windows, a surprise. Which is what I got when I opened the door on that Friday afternoon.

I had just walked through the threshold of my room and dropped my backpack to the floor. It was Friday at last, and it felt great. Even though school had already ended, and I had pretty exceptional grades, my mom had insisted on me taking summer school: population 3. Luckily, today was the last day I would ever be back there.

Though I would have rather slept, I opted to start unpacking more of my room. We had just moved to Florida, and unpacking everything was still on the to-do list. During the process I picked up a particularly heavy box. Quickly, I placed it down on the floor, slightly eager to have a look at its contents, and began sifting through the loose papers and pictures. I didn't remember packing it, so it must be one of the boxes I packed when Matthew left.

Matthew. It had been such a long time since I thought about him. Now that we are in the same place maybe we could rekindle the flame in our friendship.

My eyes landed on an envelope. Scribbled handwriting covered the back of it. The letter I never sent. My body went rigid as I felt the anger coming back.

Maybe there's not enough wood left for that fire.

I had about half my room unpacked before I glanced at my clock, only to find that it was 6 in the afternoon. My mom was probably in the kitchen now, making either pizza or Ramen. That may sound a bit cheap, but we had just moved, and hadn't done a lot of shopping yet.

I decided to get off my bed and walk down the hallway to the kitchen. My mom was at the stove, and from what I could see she was making an actual meal. It looked like chicken and mashed potatoes. Maybe she was tired of Ramen.