Best Friends

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We were always together. Laughed together, cried together, and grew up together. We were friends. Best friends. He was always energetic and fun loving. He brightened up my day like the sun. He always protected me from anything that scared me. He was my best friend. Nineteen and we’re still friends… Only we’ve added a bit of millage. Through elementary, middle school, and high school we made it; not many people can say that. He was the one that comforted me through my parent’s divorce in elementary, my dad’s death in middle school, and any other misfortune that seemed to attack me. Maybe that’s why my name is Tavora. My parents had no idea what my name meant when they named me. “It sounded pretty” My mom would say when I would cry in her arms about my horrible name. “How bad could it be?” you ask? Tavora means misfortune and broken. In Hebrew culture your name is very important. It defines you; who you are and what circumstance you were born into. My parents were clueless. Greyson was always there when my parents weren’t. They were to busy being the ditsy but oddly loveable parents. Every time I would cry Greyson would look at me and say “Hey now. Crying won’t do any good will it?” smile like usual and rock me back and forth until I at least smiled.

Being in high school together was fun but we were so different. He was the cool and popular guy that hung out with me. I was fairly attractive but I was no where near popular. Still he insisted that we hang out around school so that everyone could see that he was “graced” with my presence. He wasn’t always the perfect guy though. A lot of the times he could be the insensitive jerk that dated lots of girls. That always bothered me; when he dated lots of girls. I never understood why though. I never had feelings for him. Not even once. We were always friends. Just friends. Besides he would never think of me in such a way. Sure he’s good looking and sweet. And sure there really is no reason not to like him. But we’re just friends…Right?

I’ll never forget the night my parents had a huge fight. Greyson was over to my horrified embarrassment. My parents were screaming at the top of their lungs and things slammed and crashed as my parents stormed opposite ways of each other through the house. I was in my room my hands cupped my ears and my body trembled uncontrollably. I was ten years old. My parents fought every night like this. Sometimes it was even worse when Greyson wasn’t around; he still came back though. Every time Greyson would come over to hang out he would put his arm around me and he’d rock me back and forth. Always so kind and so warm, sometimes I would fall asleep in his arms and later wake up with a note attached to my forehead that usually said “Had to go home… Go to bed… Feel better, k?”





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