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Some Kind of Miracle

Sam left in the shrinking days of August, escaping to college on the East Coast to pursue the culinary arts, a subject that nearly all of the kids in our petty high school mocked him for. A fair amount of people still make fun of him for chasing his dreams in the culinary world, even though he dropped out after only a semester. It was a disappointment to watch him quit and succumb to the drugs and alcohol, to the girls, and to the sadness, all of which I had so desperately tried to wash away throughout our relationship. It looked as though all of my efforts were in vain; the boy I believed in could not even believe in himself, and he simply gave up.

Once Sam left, I realized I had no friends. He had been my only companion since February when we met, and his demands had controlled my aching world until the day he soared away in August. Somehow, I didn’t realize the abandonment of my friends until I sat at home on cheerless evenings, wondering where I went wrong. I had loved with everything that I had inside of me, but here I was: sad, alone, and empty. Most of all though, I was friendless, and I had no clue how to gain them back.

I became even more withdrawn as my unorganized thoughts on why I was detached from friends swam around in my brain. I meditated on what people would think about me when they saw me walking down the hallways once school started back up in the fall, without a single friend. The kids had heard plenty about Sam's and my’s relationship, about how intense it was. Every single person in my ignorant high school appeared to know that the relationship had corrupted me in almost all cases, whether it be chastity, or sobriety, or my mindset. Nobody was there to be my friend to hear me out though; to listen to my story and to understand why I loved the boy who destroyed me and my reputation.

Until I met the three girls who brought me back to life, seemingly.

The girls were everything that I was not. They were beautiful, all with long brown hair that was almost always styled perfectly. Each one of them possessed morals that were stellar, and I envied their purity. How they became my greatest friends is beyond me in ways that I will never be able to spell out.

Aynie was always smiling even though she was despairing over the loss of a boy she loved so much to the point that she had to let him go. Her Filipino features were striking and almost every boy she came across seemingly fell in love with her. I longed to be like her: to have her qualities and confidence.

Although she had lost her very own love, she aided me in coping with the loss of Sam. She was unlike others in the way she judged Sam. She looked past his drug abuse and his meaningless love for me, only noting that I had loved him an immense amount.

“Feelings like that don’t just go away, right? Once you love someone, you always will. That’s what I think.” I remarked to her one night while we cried and ate Ben and Jerry’s ice cream out of the carton.

Aynie nodded. “Yes. You’re right.”

We shared a bond that was rare; it was a friendship where we knew exactly what the other was feeling. We wanted back what we had lost, but we both knew it would never return. All that we had for comfort was each other in those months of sorrow and loss, because absolutely no one else understood. No one else around me understood what it meant to lose someone that you had given your whole heart to, except for Aynie.

Both Winnie’s and Mich’s friendship came along with Aynie’s. From day one, Winnie’s arms seemed to be prepared to embrace me when the depression hit me hard. Her parents had divorced when she was 13 years old, and yet she fought every day to be wonderfully cheerful. Her humor was infinite, and she was able to make me laugh until my sides split. We would eat until we felt sick, and then we would laugh until we felt sicker. With Winnie in my life, things seemed a bit more radiant than they had before.

She would sometimes meet me for yoga, and we would stifle laughs as the instructor perfected a pose that was impossible for our figures to even attempt. Afterwards, we would grab a meal and talk about things that made us, simply put, happy. I would like to think I helped Winnie’s life be as cheerful as she made mine to be.

When she would see a mark on my wrist, which became less and less often, she would look me in the eyes and make it known to me that it hurt her as well as myself when I did things like that. On nights when my spirits would be low, I would look at the tool in my hands and watch it drop to the floor as I thought about how Winnie would react the next morning. Soon, the scars healed up and lost their purple coloration, and the tools left my room for good.

Then, there was Mich. Mich was the girl I had always watched from a distance, wondering how a person could be so perfect in every aspect. And suddenly, I was her friend. I was letting her color my hair after Friday night football games, and inspecting expensive dresses in mirrors of department stores with her, and watching reality TV shows with a bag of Oreo cookies at our fingertips. Mich was beautiful, and kind, and strong willed, and it took me aback.

All three of these girls dumbfounded me; their goodness was astonishing.

Mich drilled into my head that I was better than all those high schoolers out there drinking and doping up in order to have a good time. The girl had never had a drop of alcohol in her life, and she made me look at that aspect of life in a new way. She was popular and well thought of and guys wanted her everywhere she went, but she didn’t have to drink or do drugs to get to that point. She was, to me, absolutely perfect. She was who I fell back on when temptation fell my way.

“Come back to my house if there is drinking at that party. The girls and I will just be watching movies, and you can totally hang out with us.” She told me one night as I got ready to drive to someone’s house for a rave.

I honestly don’t think that she comprehended what those sort of comments meant to me; they were an assurance that I could always fall back on. I had a friend in Mich that was just as rare as the friends I found in Aynie and Winnie. Mich was proof that being a well-rounded high school student was attainable, and she even made it look enviable. My own morals labored to become, in the slightest way, like Mich’s.

I don’t think friendships like this just up and happen to girls like me; I think that it must have been some kind of miracle.

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This article has 3 comments. Post your own!

Nixster said...
Aug. 18, 2012 at 11:58 am:
I really liked your article, it has meaning. Keep up the good work!
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Allicat001 said...
Aug. 17, 2012 at 2:45 pm:
Some kind of miracle they are.  I'm so sorry that you had to go through such a hard fall, but am so thankful that you were strong enough to pick yourself back up again.  This piece was extremely moving and very well written.  You should be proud of everything from how well the story is written to how you recovered from such a heartbreak, along with your best friends, yourself.
AbigailElizabeth replied...
Aug. 19, 2012 at 9:46 pm :
Thank you so much. This is one of my favorite pieces because my three best friends make the story so amazing, yet also make my life so amazing. Thanks for reading, I appreciate it.
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