Lost Friendship

His blonde hair hung in soft ringlets that bounced on his shoulders when he walked. His ears were adorned with numerous silver rings, f=giving the impression of a sea farer. His jawline was strong, his cheekbones high, nose pronounced. His eyes were a dark shade of auburn chocolate pools that smiled with warmth.

He was a handsome man alright, and he knew it. So did most of the girls at school. He was the idol, the boy all the girls wanted. When I say boy, I mean man. He was a technician at school. Sure he wasn't the only one, but he was the only one who was pretty enough for as much attention.

That's why I fell out with my best friend, Anne-Marie. I said I liked him more, she said she did. It led to countless arguments.

Looking back now I can see how stupid the whole thing was. I mean, ait wasn't as if either of us could date him, we were both just turned sixteen. But back then it seemed like the world would end. So that's how we ended up not speaking, and how I lost my best friend.

I remember the exact day when the call came. It was the second of September, 1990. A dreary afternoon spent on my own with my newest book in my lap. I remember the overwhelming sense of boredom I felt that day. I was restless, couldn't decide on anything and even my book hadn't really kept my attention. I was sitting with my legs curled beneath me, my biggest, cosiest jumper adorning my petite frame as I stared out of the window at the rain drenched world, the black sky, the rivulets of water streaming down the panes of glass.

The phone rang rousing me from my stupour. It rang again and I forced myserlf from the spot, cascading to the floor. It shrilled a third time. I made it across the room and picked up the handset.

"Hello?"

I can hear how my voice sounded; quiet, bored. Part of me hoped it was Anne-Marie. I was so wrong.

"Jenny?" a muffled voice returned my greeting. Through the rough exterior I could tell that it was Janice, my best friend's mother.

"Are you okay? You sound awful."

"Not really," the woman broke down, the sounds of her heaving sobs echoing down the phone.

I felt awkward, unsure. I waited for her sobs to cease before speaking again.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"It's Anne-Marie...she...she's...gone." The sobs stared again.

I felt numb. I knew wxactly what she meant. My best friend was gone, passed over. The last thing I remember before passing out was the sound of the phone shattering against the table.

She was killed in a car crash. She'd been in the car with her dad when it spun out of control on the slick tarmac. She was killed instantly. Though it may sound morbid, I'm glad she died quickly, I hated thinking of her in pain.

To this day I vowed never to let an argument case a rift in any of my relationships, especially when it came to men. I will never forgive myself for the things I said to her.