WARNING, hollow words coming, “I’m sorry,” she says. I know she can feel the burn, the searing ray that is my upturned eyes. I know, as she does too, that those words, coming always before a pathetic and demeaning argument of base points, are as empty as the crater of sympathy I have. Words, I wonder, when did they became such a batch of cliché nonsense? When did sincerity become mixed with irresponsibility?
“Last time you made me a consistent third wheel to your boyfriends, now I’m not even considered. If you were sorry then I wouldn’t have to talk to you about this…again.” I see her mouth stop moving and those dark hazel eyes fall. There, there is the spark of genuine I, for the previous half an hour of debate, have so strenuously searched her face for. The ‘again’ hangs between us, it is as heavy as, perhaps more so than, the house and room we are situated in. I lean my elbow on the arm of the black swivel chair I have plopped myself disparagingly in and press my fingers against my cheek bone and jaw to prop my tired head. So many arguments, so many changes, it seems awkward to be in this room unchanged by our ‘growth’.
She, with tightly closed lips finds the bed, with worn but still relatively colorful covers and tousled sheets, and sits. The blankets shuffle and crinkle to the gravity of her action and she stairs at the blue swirls in the carpet, they had always reminded me of paused waves. Waves, like the torrent of memories and agonized thoughts that crash at the walls that is our inner skulls. “You don’t understand Melissa-” she tries to condemn me, my logic, my rightness.
“No I understand perfectly well. I understand that you don’t care about reality or anything but the wants that you have versus the efforts and cares of everyone else around you. Please don’t slight me so much as to say I don’t understand.” The words roll like a dangerous purr off my inflamed tongue. I’m sure she felt the javelin through her stomach; she looks a bit sick. She does not deserve these words. As I try to analyze her reaction through her multicolored glasses, through the thick tendrils of fallen dark chocolate hair in her face, I know this. It is always the extreme thought that creates a reaction strong enough to incite comprehension. I do not feel so strongly as I speak, I am theatrical, perhaps, no definitely, a little mean.
I sigh, she looks up, her cheeks have reddened, as I knew they would, and her eyes have taken on that extra glossy coat of unbridled tears. “I care…” she replies weakly but with all the strength in her small shoulders and with a resolute frown only she can muster so prettily. “I don’t mean to such a bad a friend-” she cuts herself off and wipes an escaped drop from her pink chin.
“You’re not a bad friend.” I state in the most calm, reassuring voice I can. She sniffles for a moment and then glances up at me, our eyes meet. Hers are imploring while mine are, I hope, open and welcoming. “If you were, I’m sure we wouldn’t be best friends for more than eleven years. You just need to learn to balance things, it’s hard sometimes.” From the moment our conversation began I knew I was going to forgive her, I’m sure she did too, at the very least subconsciously. I’m not the type to hold a grudge, or I don’t feel I am. She is more valuable to me than the bed she sits on, than the gold and silver jewelry that is only a few feet from her on my dark cherry wood dresser. Than all the clothes in my possession, than all the books that line my sagging selves, than all the information I have ever killed myself to figure out, she holds more value. She can lose sight of the people that care and only want her success, but she has the talent of, at least, listening when confronted, like now.
“I’m sorry.” She repeats, and although I want to laugh at those disgusting words, I smile and cross the distance to sit along side her, “I’ll do better, I promise.”
“That’s all I ask.” The red is leaving her fair skinned face and the jovial grin that defines her personality gradually returns. I know that in another few months I’ll have yet another discussion like this, I know that she’s not the only person here who has flaws that need some working out but as I have forgiven hers I hope she can forgive mine in the name of a friendship that is more weighty than nuances.
People change, although I didn’t believe it for some time; all it takes is looking back at oneself and being able to admit that different time and circumstance brings forth a different person. Who am I to damn the friend that is adapting to life as it comes, to be so heartless as to say ‘I don’t forgive you’. Everyone deserves their chance, whether it’s a second or a second thousand. There are of course times when the value of friendship isn’t enough to save another from my hell inspired verdict, but then again I’m sure I’m guilty too. It is only when I have been slapped to the point of recognition of a fallen angel, when the paths and lanes and bridges of life between another and myself have swerved too dramatically for me to be forth giving, that I whisper those hateful words “I’m sorry.”
You are a compelling story teller. And of course, I enjoy hearing about the drama, but, what did she do? Did I miss it? Keep up the writing, you have talent.
I wanted the drama to be vague in hopes that readers would insert some of themselves into the story so that it would be more flexible and relatable to people other than myself. I was hoping readers would in a way mold the idea itself into their own experiences, personally i like reading works where i can interpret the events in a hundred different ways, it makes for fun speculation. The thing she did in actuality, skipping the vagueness, was ignore her friends (me being one) for her romances and ‘fantasies’ of sorts.
Thank you very much for the comment by the way! :D I love hearing what other’s think, and the encouragement is GREATLY appreciated!
Hi Melissa. You have a really unique writing style. I enjoyed reading your post. Nice imagery
Great, vivid imagery! I think that people do deserve second chances and the opportunity to learn from their mistakes. It helps them and it can even help ourselves; being bitter all the time and punishing people excessively imparts the negative energy back on oneself.