It's always been this way with us. Longtime friends with too much history to make any changes. I guess it was all for the best; our friendship relied on forgotten truths and thinly-veiled excuses. Anything else could ruin us.
Sitting across from me, Kel closed her book with a snap.
Well? She asked, her dark eyes narrowed, accusing.
Well, I said. Not an answer, at least not quite; it was
the only thing left to say.
She sighed and pushed herself out of the ratty armchair,
sliding the book back into its spot. She always remembered where they went,
even when the books squeezed together to hide the gap.
That's it, then. Her voice was flat, any trace of emotion
carefully concealed. I couldn't guess what she meant. Just more words in a long
line of meaningless quarrels. The words meant nothing; we only spoke to fight.
When she turned to face me, she was crying. She held a
photograph in her hand- the photograph, the only one that mattered. Slipped
between the pages of a book to be forgotten.
Remember, she said, pleading. Tell me you remember.
I remember, Kel.
Let's not fight.
Ok.
Jenna -
I know.
Turning, she put the photograph back.
We never talked about it. Even after it happened, when
the pain was still raw. It opened holes in our hearts that we filled with
meaningless words then smothered with silence.
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