Really, sometimes I wonder who they think I am… Superwoman? It’s not like it’s my responsibility to carry the weight of the world on my shoulder, well is it? I already take care of myself, like a dog. Who came up with that cliché anyway? Working themselves like a dog. Dogs don’t do any work at all; eat, get taken out for walks – and only for their sake, and we pick up after their mess. Honestly, what more can you expect of me? I don’t want to pick up after your mess, and not a dog’s either. Well, that’s too bad they say when they think I can’t hear them, this really is too bad I could hear them say now; my friends commenting over the most recent news, and that being the death of my childhood best friend. Yes, it really is too bad, but what are you doing about it? Besides repeating it over and over again like a machine with different voices. It really is too bad, that’s Michelle, this really is too bad, and that’s my neighbor since high school. It really is too bad, the nosey work friends, the milk man, even the cop in the traffic jam, all of them. I’ve had enough of it, but this really is too bad. That one’s me.

Wendy Tran: an aspiring arts and literature teacher receive a letter of a dead friend and what does she do? Complain about what some women have to go through. Oh I know its bad, its not like it’s the end of the world; for my peace of mind, allow me some selfishness. But on the other hand, if this is what I’m feeling now, how much of a friend have I been? How much of a friend am I now? Why am I asking? I know how good of a friend I’ve been; I can remember the three of us, Michelle, Julia and me, being together since elementary school, I just can’t remember the fridge list I wrote up last night. My memory is failing me; I’m growing old. This is called senile dementia you know… I’m only 23, too old, too young to be this old.

I cried later that day, once I was alone and afraid. The news doesn’t affect me much, and I’m rarely that emotional. I’ve never even cried before,, not seriously, not even at my mother’s funeral – which was only the most recent, not that I remember the dates, just rough estimates for relevance sake. Anyway, I was crying now. What had really hurt me were the memories that would stay with me forever - or until I’ve died - I’ll never have another chance to add onto them now; it’s the end of the story, a closed book… No wait, I hate that analogy; I love finishing books. A closed chapter then; something I can never return to until I finish the book, and start all over again… Michelle was coming over for dinner I thought, daring a glance at the wall clock, might as well get something ready.

“What’s that” I asked, spying something what Michelle pulled out from the envelope. Her fingers had found something I had not. Mine had been to busy wiping tears with a napkin, in between scrubbing the dishes before I put them in the washer.

“It’s an invitation to the funeral actually… from Matthew.”

“Matthew? Oh right, her brother.”

Michelle nodded, “I’ll book your flight and everything, okay honey? You seem really out of it.”

How would you feel if your best friend died I wanted to say, but then I stopped myself; her best friend did die…. Our best friend died… and here we are, not a step further from the starting line - maybe ten behind - and still bickering about it. Okay, I felt like bickering about it, I wanted to bicker about it. Throwing words out of my mouth seemed less painful than choking on them anyway.

Michelle grew silent and started fidgeting gently with her necklace. I had often wondered at how a woman could carry a necklace so big, and not expect to get mugged while out in the city nowadays, but she loved that dear necklace as it was her father’s memento to her mother, and in turn, her mother’s to her – so she wore it everywhere. Somehow, since an early age, Michelle had managed most things by herself, and often I’d be the one who needed advice or some favor or another from time to time. I stopped thinking about her and tried to focus on Julia, it was a more than difficult as it had always been the three of us before she moved away… And she moved away because of Matthew. I never knew the reason, but I remember the cause was Matthew… I almost felt like blaming him, in fact, I did. It wouldn’t have been so if she hadn’t moved away; if you hadn’t moved, Matthew... She wanted to be with you so much she left us. But Matthew had been the one to take care of her, I reasoned. Ever since they had lived with their grandparents, it was Matthew who looked after and raised his sister. It was because their parents had both died in some accident while they were both young, well, that was the story that I heard anyway.

As the kitchen started to settle down, I found my thoughts slowly wandering to that memory of when I had last seen him. To that day, more than 6 years ago, when I last saw that polite and cheerful blonde-haired youth, standing next to an equally bright girl dressed in her graduation gown. In the pictures he always smiled, and every time I had seen him, he was always smiling. I realized suddenly that I really didn’t know Matthew, not past the polite remarks and the maturity at least, not past the top marks and the rarity. He had never came up in a discussion, and he had always let us have his sister alone back then; his protective beaming- absent only for the time when we were together.

“I wonder what he’s like now.”

“Who?” was the dull reply. Michelle’s head poked out from behind the cupboards where she was slowly putting away the dishes. “You mean Matthew? Why on earth are you fussing about that? Nonetheless, I’m surprised he even remembered us.”

“Hmm…” I was thinking the same thing. I got up from the table and opened my fridge. The stock was running low. A couple of eggs and half a packet of milk seemed all there was to waste. She didn’t want to buy more, and since tomorrow’s breakfast had been assured – eggs with a mug and coffee – she lost the mood for shopping. “Michelle,” I finally called out, “Let’s leave tomorrow.”