The week before I left my family, Iowa, and the rest of my youth to head off to college, my mom insisted I go on a quest for the meaning of life, a “great perhaps”. “You’re eighteen, Miles! Don’t you want to find a purpose?”, she would always say. Saying turned into acting when she packed my bags and asked me not to return until I found an answer. “It’s for your own good, I promise”, she answered as she closed the door behind me. So where did I go? Let it be known as an abandoned city where lost souls go. With a sense of loneliness so strong, the whispers of the wind seem to foreshadow it. Basically, the park. I sat on the bench farthest from the trash can, not that it made a difference the whole park smelled like a dump. I rested my duffle beside me and let out a frustrated sigh. I checked my watch to see how long I had been seeking the path out of the labyrinth of suffering. Five minutes. I rested my head on my hands with such determination, as if it would lead me to an answer. If by now you think the situation couldn’t get any worse than me being temporarily homeless, and sent to find the meaning of life, you were wrong. The rain had started to drench the only wearable clothes I had. D--- it! It’s like the universe had it out for me.

Clearly not being able to comprehend the highly unsatisfied expression on my face, a girl wearing faded sweats and a torn up hoodie decided to tell me her life story. In less than five minutes I learned that 1) her name is Alaska, 2) she hates caterpillars, 3) her mom had recently passed in an unfortunate incident, 4) it was somehow her fault, 5) there is no meaning of life, and if there is I honestly don’t care because 6) it’s too cold to function.

As she continued to ramble about god knows what, my mind continued to focus on how I was going to find shelter again. Then, at that very moment, I came face-to-face with Alaska’s infuriating habit of asking for a summary of what she just said. True, I don’t know the girl, but something inside of me didn’t want to come off as someone who didn’t care, although I honestly didn’t. It’s not my fault! The girl had been speaking non-stop for over fifteen minutes, and I only cared to listen to about 20% of it. Thankfully, her summary break lasted about seven seconds, after which she continued to ramble. It was like listening to a broken record.

After about 30 minutes of listening to her vexatious voice, in which I was so bored out of my mind, I started counting the water droplets on each blade of grass with intentions of finding the average number of droplets on each blade, I decided to walk away. I mean only a complete lunatic would burden an absolute stranger with their problems. But of course, just as I reached for my duffle bag, “Where are you going?!” The girl called after me.
“Out to get coffee, without you. All you have done for the past hour is talk to me non-stop about god knows what! News flash: I didn’t come here to socialize with you! I came because I’m temporarily homeless because my mom kicked me out to find the meaning of life!”

It was as if my words were completely irrelevant, as when I turned to walk away, she still followed me. In that half hour coffee break we became friends. Really good friends. We started to meet up every day for about six months. After which I never saw her again. I don’t know why. I called her, but she didn’t answer. With that our perplexing friendship termin