The thuds of heavy raindrops and crackling thunder shook me awake at the early hours of a Saturday morning. I shuddered out of my twin bed and my tiny feet hit the colder than usual hardwood floors with a short thump. I began to prepare for the day ahead of me; the day that has been haunting me for as long as I could remember.

Throughout my years spent in lower elementary, I had two friends that I spent most, if not all, of my free time with--Mallory and Bailey. They were my first real friends that I’ve ever had; they were always there for me if I needed someone to play Barbies with, a face to practice my makeup skills on, or to perform my elaborate karaoke numbers for--the things that were most important in my life at the time. So, when I found out that those occasions would soon be nothing more than a memory, my heart grew too heavy to bear.

I solemnly dawdled three houses down to our now old hangout spot, holding an umbrella high above me; steering away from the puddles forming in the concrete, the puddles we would normally skip through together on a day like today. Most days, Mallory, Bailey, and I would spend hours together out in open, riding our bikes along the sidewalks intertwined throughout the suburbs or running through refreshing lawn sprinklers in our sparkly Justice swimsuits. On those days, it always seemed like we would be of single digit age forever; it seemed that happiness stemmed from being able to play outside for ten more minutes and the only melancholy in our lives was when we would fall and scrape our knees. From that day forward, it would be only Mallory and I creating murals on driveways with sidewalk chalk and playing hopscotch until dinner time.

I reached the tilted “For Sale by Owner” white picket sign ahead of two Uhaul trucks. I peer into the garage, where the hoola hoops and Razor motor scooters have been replaced by a sea of cardboard boxes. I navigated my way through the cardboard forest to find Bailey, and to be with her in her final hours of living within walking distance of my house.

My second home welcomed me with an unfamiliar empty eerie that hovered around me as I made my way into Bailey’s room. I walk in to see her and Mallory on the floor of her bare room, with only a small collection of Barbie dolls in front of them. We didn’t have much time, but we all spent our final moments in a fashion that we knew best: the three of us together, playing with Barbie dolls. Except this time, we had an elephant in the room; we knew that that was the last time. This playdate was a little more waterlogged than usual. The tears that fell onto our cheeks matched the beat to the raindrops striking the windows, and the three of us came to terms that the next time we would all be together in person was indefinite. In the blink of an eye, it was time.

We gave each other a final, lasting, unconditional hug before Bailey and her mom quickly head to their black Ford Explorer, attempting to dodge sad rain drizzles--something you can't avoid on a day like today. Her dad and older brother take a wheel of each Uhaul, the revving of the engine matching the tune of the cracking thunder. Following slow movements, Mallory and I watched the final waves from each of the Polemann family members through the clouds’ tears; and then Bailey’s face passes, and water started plummet a little harder.

That day I felt lost, but didn’t want to ask for directions. I felt confused, but didn’t want to ask any questions. And, I felt alone, but didn’t want to talk to anybody. One of the strongest relationships that I’ve ever known, ever grown to love, was crumbling out of my control. I truly didn’t think Mallory and I could salvage our friendship after this devastating loss; but luckily, I was wrong.

Bailey, Mallory and I all had our fun over Skype, but I also expanded and met new friends. Friends who would introduce me to new games, ideas, and memories. While I didn’t realize it at the ripe age of eight, Bailey moving out of state would allow all three of us to grow into the next chapter of our lives. Our friendship didn’t die, it retired. Instead of spending all of our time together, we spent some time together; and gave ourselves the opportunity to bud as individuals, and to give us more stories to tell our grandchildren when they are eight years old.  It took me some time, but by fourth grade; I learned the value of change.

Two years later, my family´s very own Uhaul truck pulled into our driveway one day. The air was refreshingly warm, and a gentle baby blue hue coated the sky. The sorrow in my heart that typically came about on days where friendships “end” was replaced with hope and positivity. I knew the friendships that I had in Rochester weren’t ending, but rather being put on the back burner; not the first priority, but never forgotten. Mallory was in attendance at my house, per usual, along with other old new friends. But, we all never said ¨Goodbye¨; we said ¨See you later¨. And I said hello to new friends, new opportunities, and a new city that would grow to become one of the better halves of my life.