![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
LJ Idol Week 2: That One Friend
Dec. 4th, 2016 10:41 pm(A plane heading from Southport to Isla Valderrama. The places in this story have all been created out of pure imagination.)
I had been away for five years, but it felt like I had never been gone. Finally I had decided to see about Mira, to come and look for her and find out what had happened. Very well aware that many people thought I should have gone earlier, but I was just not ready. From the outside, it looked like we were all a group of friends like a set of coffee supplies; each piece having a function and a purpose in the group and forming a perfect match.
Reality was not like a set of coffee cups and a sugar bowl.
It should have been just a holiday, a holiday we could barely pay for, except for Mira, whose parents were the head of a company selling medications and farming supplies. She would certainly take over the business one day, like she took over the leadership of our group (the teapot was the hugest in the set, but didn’t it just bend down and pour the liquid?)
I remember when she held hands with Brian next to the tree where we met in the 15 minute break just after I had confessed I liked him. I held her head when she had had too many Long Island Ice Teas and helped her get home, having her stumble next to me and yell how much she loved us girls for being her friends.
(The plane is approaching the island. I look at the last drip of tomato juice, then squish the cup before stuffing it in the front bag.)
There was this letter from her, the day before we were supposed to fly home again. Our sun-filled minds did not really want to grasp the sense hidden in the piece of paper our tanned hands had just grabbed from the dining table. She was gone, she would not come back. She told us not to ask or look for her, but this was so unlike her, too. She had been rambling about the colleges she would be going to all summer and no way she was going to miss any chance to defend her pole position.
Diana was certain she would show up at the Check In to laugh at our scared faces. “Did you really believe that? Oh, you are tooo cute!!!” That was something Diana believed she would say.
But Check In came and went and the plane took off. I could not have afforded to miss my flight. The little devil on my shoulder even noticed how much more relaxed the other girls were without Mira around. The angel on the other shoulder shrugged it off.
(The plane finally touches ground. I breathe. Deeply. If she still exists, I am going to find her.)
The air is hot, as hot as the day we left five years ago. Will I be able to recognize her? What will her parents say if I come back without her? They paid for the flight in hope that I might be the one to get through to her. What if I just disappoint everyone and Mira is already somewhere else?
Deep breath as I grab the wheels of the rental car, Mira’s old bag and a picture of her on the seat next to me. If she was a friend or not. I might find out when I find. Her.
I had been away for five years, but it felt like I had never been gone. Finally I had decided to see about Mira, to come and look for her and find out what had happened. Very well aware that many people thought I should have gone earlier, but I was just not ready. From the outside, it looked like we were all a group of friends like a set of coffee supplies; each piece having a function and a purpose in the group and forming a perfect match.
Reality was not like a set of coffee cups and a sugar bowl.
It should have been just a holiday, a holiday we could barely pay for, except for Mira, whose parents were the head of a company selling medications and farming supplies. She would certainly take over the business one day, like she took over the leadership of our group (the teapot was the hugest in the set, but didn’t it just bend down and pour the liquid?)
I remember when she held hands with Brian next to the tree where we met in the 15 minute break just after I had confessed I liked him. I held her head when she had had too many Long Island Ice Teas and helped her get home, having her stumble next to me and yell how much she loved us girls for being her friends.
(The plane is approaching the island. I look at the last drip of tomato juice, then squish the cup before stuffing it in the front bag.)
There was this letter from her, the day before we were supposed to fly home again. Our sun-filled minds did not really want to grasp the sense hidden in the piece of paper our tanned hands had just grabbed from the dining table. She was gone, she would not come back. She told us not to ask or look for her, but this was so unlike her, too. She had been rambling about the colleges she would be going to all summer and no way she was going to miss any chance to defend her pole position.
Diana was certain she would show up at the Check In to laugh at our scared faces. “Did you really believe that? Oh, you are tooo cute!!!” That was something Diana believed she would say.
But Check In came and went and the plane took off. I could not have afforded to miss my flight. The little devil on my shoulder even noticed how much more relaxed the other girls were without Mira around. The angel on the other shoulder shrugged it off.
(The plane finally touches ground. I breathe. Deeply. If she still exists, I am going to find her.)
The air is hot, as hot as the day we left five years ago. Will I be able to recognize her? What will her parents say if I come back without her? They paid for the flight in hope that I might be the one to get through to her. What if I just disappoint everyone and Mira is already somewhere else?
Deep breath as I grab the wheels of the rental car, Mira’s old bag and a picture of her on the seat next to me. If she was a friend or not. I might find out when I find. Her.
