We met in grade 2.
We both adored Figure Skating and swimming and Dodge Ball in gym class. She had two much older brothers; I had two close sisters. She was a girly girl; I was a tomboy. My pale skin always looked startlingly white against her dark complexion and she towered over my tiny frame, but we loved each other as only best childhood friends can.
Her imagination and mine were in perfect compliment; we could make a fantasy world out of a tiny, thumb-high satin bear and a patch of grass at recess. Though we were barely beyond the age ourselves, we both adored babies. Playtime would often find us exploring the world of mommy-hood and walking our life-sized baby dolls in their umbrella strollers. One day, we walked those strollers up to the local SAAN store in our town, pink wallets stuffed with change we'd collected, on our way to buy bikinis for our babies. Mine wore a green patterned bonnet, one that had adorned my own head 
not long before, and she proudly displayed the blue ruffled dress on her baby. We used a change room. The ladies in the store were charmed.
We were Best Friends Forever.
The details of that day are cloudy in my mind; I remember that she was at my house and we were playing in the basement. I'd been a holy terror for a good week before then, crying when I wasn't screaming and storming. I try to remember what happened in the room that day, I try to recall what was said and done. But all I can see is myself, at the top of the basement stairs, hand on the doorknob, yelling at her to get out of my house.
And she did. After a quick phone call from my mom, my best friend's mother came to my house and carried her daughter out of my life, forever. I didn't care.
Her name was Rhonda.
And then my life changed, was explained, and when I came home from the hospital I headed to the phone, unashamed, to call her and tell her how sorry I was. To tell her why I had acted like such a brat and to ask for her forgiveness and for the return of our friendship. I begged her, as only a child can, to please accept my apology and be my best friend again.
She didn't care.
And I can still, to this day, remember how I felt when she said NO and hung up on me. How my life had changed and, because of it, how I'd lost my very best friend in the whole wide world.
Rhonda's mom moved her to a new school, and I found a new group of friends and went on to rule the school with the popular crowd. We never spoke to each other again, though I've caught glimpses of her shadow in stores and crowds and walked past her without acknowledgement over the years.
Because, though the adult in me understands and agrees with her leaving that day, the child in me will never be able to forgive her for not coming back.
We met in grade 2.
We both adored Figure Skating and swimming and Dodge Ball in gym class. She had two much older brothers; I had two close sisters. She was a girly girl; I was a tomboy. My pale skin always looked startlingly white against her dark complexion and she towered over my tiny frame, but we loved each other as only best childhood friends can.
Her imagination and mine were in perfect compliment; we could make a fantasy world out of a tiny, thumb-high satin bear and a patch of grass at recess. Though we were barely beyond the age ourselves, we both adored babies. Playtime would often find us exploring the world of mommy-hood and walking our life-sized baby dolls in their umbrella strollers. One day, we walked those strollers up to the local SAAN store in our town, pink wallets stuffed with change we'd collected, on our way to buy bikinis for our babies. Mine wore a green patterned bonnet, one that had adorned my own head
not long before, and she proudly displayed the blue ruffled dress on her baby. We used a change room. The ladies in the store were charmed.
We were Best Friends Forever.
The details of that day are cloudy in my mind; I remember that she was at my house and we were playing in the basement. I'd been a holy terror for a good week before then, crying when I wasn't screaming and storming. I try to remember what happened in the room that day, I try to recall what was said and done. But all I can see is myself, at the top of the basement stairs, hand on the doorknob, yelling at her to get out of my house.
And she did. After a quick phone call from my mom, my best friend's mother came to my house and carried her daughter out of my life, forever. I didn't care.
Her name was Rhonda.
And then my life changed, was explained, and when I came home from the hospital I headed to the phone, unashamed, to call her and tell her how sorry I was. To tell her why I had acted like such a brat and to ask for her forgiveness and for the return of our friendship. I begged her, as only a child can, to please accept my apology and be my best friend again.
She didn't care.
And I can still, to this day, remember how I felt when she said NO and hung up on me. How my life had changed and, because of it, how I'd lost my very best friend in the whole wide world.
Rhonda's mom moved her to a new school, and I found a new group of friends and went on to rule the school with the popular crowd. We never spoke to each other again, though I've caught glimpses of her shadow in stores and crowds and walked past her without acknowledgement over the years.
Because, though the adult in me understands and agrees with her leaving that day, the child in me will never be able to forgive her for not coming back.