She

One.

I didn't even believe it myself at first. The feeling was just so unreal. Just so... fictional... 

***

Aliyah and me have always been friends. Since first grade, we rode the bus from school together. I had the window seat, while Aliyah sat on the inside. We were never in the same class; not even in the same grade. Even our names were opposite, Aliyah's first name begins with the first letter of the alphabet, while mine, Zoe, is at the end. Aliyah plays every sport you could ever imagine, while me, on the other hand, well, I... tried sports... let's just say it didn't work out, okay?

Anyway, we rode the bus together and hung out as often as we could (it wasn't very often). Believe me or don't believe me, but every time I saw her, my eyes lightened up. Every time we saw each other, we acted as if we were family. We had a connection that no one but us would understand, because no one of but us were sane.

"Zoe, can you lend me a hand with the dishwasher, please?" My mom is always interrupting me right when I get into the zone. This annoys the hell out of me, but I nod and pick up a green bowl from the top shelf of the dishwasher anyway.

Mom and I finish up the dishwasher. "Honey," her ocean blue eyes mirror mine, "I think we need to have a little talk." She pulls a cushioned chair from the living room and into the kitchen. I find this action quite peculiar; we could have just sat in the living room.

Disobeying Mom's rule #23, I hop on the counter-top and have a seat. All I get is a glare; she 's told me so many times not to sit on the counter-top. I think she has just given up by now. I give her a nod to let her know I'm ready to listen.

"Honey," she hesitates. I know this is bad news coming my way just by her tone, "the 'no talking' thing, it has to stop."

A pulse of anger shoots up my spine.

"Your friend has been gone for nearly five years, now. It's time to get over it and move on."

I don't reply. I can't. A pit forms in my throat. All I can do is bolt, off the counter, out the door and down the front steps of my big brick house. And she doesn't even follow. My mom has tried to get me to speak so many times, all she wants is to hear my voice. All she wants is that connection back. But not this time. My mother and I, we lost that mother/daughter relationship a long time ago.

Aliyah died five years ago, and I guess when she left, she took my voice with her.