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Friendship is the Night
We became friends after kindergarten, when she stole my favorite ring and lied about being able to draw Cinderella.
I can still taste the donut glaze on my tongue, hot, chocolatey steam swirling from the cup in my hands, the numbness in my face from the freezing wind, the trees on either side of the street we were walking audaciously in the middle of stretching, scratching each others backs and moaning with satisfaction.
For a moment I tasted the bitter-cold wind, the hum of chocolate rang in my ears and I was suddenly glad to not be alone when the blackness of the night squeezed around us.
Asia and I walking back from 7 Eleven for the thousandth time.
We never really became friends after the ring incident, in fact, I practically hated her for years, but something in the air shifted when she moved onto my block.
Another pseudo friend was in our path; her house was our destination.
Trying to avoid her young bull brother and his nut best friend failed miserably;
attempting to say hello caused an onslaught of threats and B.B. guns being pointed to our heads.
because apparently, he was going to bust a cap in my head. Empty threats.
and empty smiles as we pushed past and walked solemnly up to his sister’s haven.
The bright pink walls of momentary insanity beat on my eyes and it took several minutes for my vision to return to the two people in front of me.
We were as close as enemies but something kept us coming back together, to the small schizophrenic hovel of just bed, television, and myspace.
Staying up so late we were drifting in and out of the clouds, dipping fingers into the Milky Way,
Za-ki never felt so light, but heavy, recognizing the mystery behind two childhood companions.
Behind false smiles, it would be too late to realize the consequence of friends of questionable natures, their mysteries were too deep to be penetrated, the option of close bonds dissolved with the freedom of deceit. Friends are there to watch as you fall.
Amicitiae nostrae memoriam spero sempiternam fore. Outside the familiar tension of unsaid truths I watched the wind tear at the aching and writhing trees and felt it tear at me too.