|Snowstorms and Friendship
Author: laughter at the funeral PM
and all you have left me is this rusty old Polaroid camera...Rated: Fiction K - English - Words: 618 - Reviews: 1 - Favs: 1 - Published: 03-10-07 - id: 2331715
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Snowstorms and Friendship
The night is really cold. The rain and the chill are already making my senses numb. Before I left home, the T.V. news said that a snowstorm was coming but I don't know why I still had the guts to go to the park and sit at that bench that had served as a culturing dish for moss.
Fifteen years ago, this bench for two was not here. The entire park was just a field then. All the corns and poppies and the daisies and the tall grasses gathered around this single oak tree that is behind me. And fifteen years ago, we would directly go here after our last class in our senior year and we would tell each other gossips from class and let each other know how we so much hated trigonometry because we couldn't figure out how our other classmates easily got the x's and the y's. And then sometimes, you would bring your Polaroid camera and we would take photos of the field, of the skies, of the sun setting, of the oak tree and of our then, juvenile innocent faces.
I thought everything was just going to be fine until you left for New York that one snowy day to pursue modeling just four days after our graduation, leaving me nothing but your camera. You said you would meet me at the oak tree again after fifteen years when you had already fulfilled your destiny of becoming a supermodel. You also said you would write me as soon as you get there but all I got was one small note saying "I got here safe" and you never wrote again.
Years and years I waited for you until one day, I saw your face in the magazine. You looked all different to me with seemingly artificial features; pouted lips and reddish cheeks and your smoky eyes with a caption below your photo saying something like "glamour."
Now, after a couple of years since I last saw your face in that magazine, I am here again, at the base of the old oak tree where you promised to meet me again, hoping that you will be here to tell stories and take photos just like we used to do in our youth. But it's already six hours since my ass met the surface of this mossy bench and all I'm wishing right now is that you occupy the other half of this seat any minute. It all seems impossible at the moment though. You might have forgotten your promise. And you are probably busy strutting your stuff on a runway for some famous designer's winter collection. I, on the other hand, is just here, all wet and cold from the snow, with nothing but sepia-tinted memories, frozen tears, an old rusty Polaroid camera and questions why fate has deserted us.
And perhaps it was destiny that brought us close together back in high school. But, was it also destiny that tore us apart fifteen years back and is now blocking our path to reunion? I can never tell. All I know is that everyone, even me, has dreams and that some will forsake anything just to reach those dreams (just like you did). I cannot blame you though. It's your dream and it was all you ever hoped for ever since we were children running among the corns and the grasses and the flowers in the fields; oblivious of the future God has bestowed upon us. I'm just not sure if glamour is worth equating to the friendship we lost (if friendship is worth something to you, that is).