Every Last Word

by Tamara Ireland Stone

Am I really such a great friend that they can’t stand to lose me? Or are they merely trying to save face? I’d like to think it’s the former—that I’ve been overreacting all these years and they really are true friends who love me for exactly who I am—but I’m not completely sure.

“But we’ve also changed a lot over the years. And I think that’s a good thing. I think we’re supposed to change, and when we do, that has to be okay. I’ve changed over the last few months, and I like the person I’m becoming.”

The truth is, I don’t really know who I am without you guys.

“She’s right,” Alexis says. “You’re our friend. We love you. You should do what makes you happy.”

Feeling all the pain of letting them go. And knowing I did the right thing.

As I was reading, I started to realize how much the number three has been impacting my thoughts and actions,

Finally, I tell her how my stomach falls every time I look at the other end of my locker bank and find it empty, and how I often sit in the first row of the theater during lunch, writing in the dark like the two of us used to do. I admit that last week, I started making a playlist of songs that were popular during Caroline’s high school years and titled it Right Beside You after the lyrics in a Snow Patrol song.

I AM SILENTLY CORRECTING YOUR GRAMMAR.

“Sue, this is awesome. It’s so…” I stop short of saying the first thing that pops into my head. Then I say it anyway. “Caroline.”

I reach out and press the elevator button. Once.

I find a mechanical pencil. I click it once, twice, three times. And then I hear Shrink-Sue’s voice in my head, telling me to click it again, so I give it a fourth click. I stop, resisting the urge to click it two more times.

I see a pair of boots, right next to my shoes. Then legs, crossed at the ankles, mirroring my posture exactly. My gaze travels up slowly, carefully, like I’m afraid any sudden movement will cause me to lose her. When I reach her face, I suck in a breath. Then I give her the biggest smile. “Hey. I’m glad you’re here,” I say, tapping the page with my pencil. “I could use your help with this.” Her head falls to the side and she smiles back at me. “Anytime,” she says as she reaches over and takes my hand in hers. I want to keep looking at her, but instead, I let my eyes fall shut. “Actually,” I whisper, “I think I’ve got this one.” When I open my eyes again, Caroline is gone. And I start filling the page with words.