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June 5, 2009
It was finally the last period of the day…Our last day of middle school.
The whole day passed by so quickly.
I trudged to my final class, marinating into the idea that I was soon to leave this place…The school in which I entered into three years ago.
I found my friends, circling one another, giving their good bye embraces.
They saw me at once, and murmured their cry, they all rushed to encircle me, and we were packed so tight I couldn’t breathe.
I comforted them, and told them that we would see each other next year at high school.
They wiped away their ears and tried to take in my words.
I waved bye to them, and headed for my next class.
But it wasn’t too long till I found another crowd of friends that were affected by the gloomy atmosphere.
I tried to nudge my way out of the circle (I wasn’t the type of person who enjoyed attention), but was unsuccessfully pulled back into the audience.
When I was free, I pushed my feet to go faster to my next class-trying to avoid as much of friends).
But I had to stop shortly to get my friend, who was alone by herself-which was a sigh of relief for me-to sign my yearbook.
We had a small conversation while her pen skidded on the pages of my book.
Then she handed me back my yearbook.
As soon as I had it, I saw him at the end of hall making his way towards me.
I glanced away-acting as if I hadn’t seen him- and held the yearbook close to my chest, maybe trying to muffle the sound of my heart flutter. I walked away quickly, to my next class, still mad from our conversation-though it was hardly a conversation since he purposely passed me without saying a word.
Half way down my hall, I heard a distant, “Natasha!” And I turned around to the sound of his voice-almost in an automatic manner, I really wanted to ignore him, but it seemed that I couldn’t.
I put on a false smile as he approached me.
“Hey,” he smiled.
“I hate you so much right now. I am, like, so mad at you,” I chastised him teasingly as I gave him my yearbook-recalling what had happened earlier.
“Really,” he smirked as he signed the book- as if I could ever be mad at him.
“Yeah, I am,” I said, trying to look away-I didn’t want to look him in the eyes for I knew that the tears would start pouring out at the separation that awaited.
He continued to smile while he signed the book.
“You’re not going to Peterson High school, are you,” It was more of a statement since I already knew the answer.
“H*ll naw,” he whimpered in his sad, husky voice, and faced me to look into my eyes. Up-close, I suddenly noticed the obvious flaws of the boy I supposedly loved. I looked away from his burning eyes, choking back the tears.
“Here,” He handed me the book-which I held tight against my chest again.
I tried to avoid his eyes again, but this time I would act as if I was nervously glancing back to check the time-as if I cared whether or not I’d be late to class. The tears welled up in my eyes, and I successfully held them back enough for me to look at him while he spoke.
There was a short silence-as if we were trying to prolong the moment.
“Now give me a hug,” he instructed-it was as if he read my mind. I was too scared to ask him myself, and I didn’t know how to ask, so I was thankful when he ordered me to.
I embraced him with only one arm, as the other gripped the yearbook. Our hug only lasted about two seconds.
I gave him a small smile, signaling that this was how it was going to end.
I sniffed a few times and waved a small bye and rushed to my class, not checking his expression after I left.
I went inside and acted my sunny self, bragging slightly to my friend, Sandrika. She tried to unsuccessfully shake me off and cover her jealousy.
She went to converse with my other friend while I handed my yearbook to my teacher, and then came to stand by the wide window.
I watched him walk away, and in that instant the tears I fought to hold back came rushing out like a waterfall, and it continued to flow unendlessly.
Standing there, I noticed that it was truly the end.
That I would never see him again. Never see anyone from middle school again, but most importantly him.
The boy I couldn’t ever have.
Sandrika came to me and chatted happily, not noticing my tears until after I didn’t respond to her jokes. She asked me what was wrong and I gave her ‘part’ of the truth: that I would miss everyone.
But I knew better.
I knew why my heart ached at this very instant- I just couldn’t phantom ALL the feelings I felt for him.
For I knew I would never see his flawed smile, his innocent, soft blue eyes, and the cheerful aura he carried with him everywhere,
I knew him since the 6th grade, and yet I didn’t know I felt this strongly about him up until now.
Because I knew I loved him, my best friend, but he was with my other best friend, and I knew that he and I could never be ‘us’.
And with that, I continued to cry unendlessly, biting back at the heart-breaking, rib-cracking, stomach-lurching, lung-emptying, chest-heaving pain that was trapped deep inside, and it would take all of my strength to tame it.
I peeked at the words he wrote in my book:
Hey Natasha…Hope you have a great summer! Ima miss you.
I continued to reread his words, over and over again. Trying to read into why he had chosen that way of parting. In the end, I couldn’t find an answer, but every now and then I would examine it again-hoping that maybe the words would change into a simpler good-bye.
But I guess I was never satisfied with everything, and maybe that’s why I was rewriting this, my experience saying good –bye.
And with that being said, my story started a little something like this…