A Good Friend Like Bob

"Yeah. Shit yeah."

I glance at my best friend, Amelia, as she swings back and forth on one of the swings of the elementary school. Being in highschool, Amelia and I had decided to just hang out on the kid swings for shits.

"That's what I tell everyone, but they don't care."

I toe the ground, wondering what conversation Amelia is having with her mind today. She is schizophrenic. Her closest friend — closer than me, even — is a person named "Bob" — or, in other words, her conscience. The little voice in her head.

"No," Amelia frowns, wrinkling her nose, "I don't think they would."

A pause.

"You... think so?"

Another pause. I exhale, getting bored with listening to my best friend talk to herself while she ignores me.

"M-maybe. Will you be there with me?"

I frown while she nods, a slow smile creeping onto her lips. She slips off the swing and focuses on me as if seeing me there for the first time.