Mirrors

Don't Let Me Go

~Dedicated to my childhood best friend (and still the one and only) Mary Grace~ *Sorry I couldn’t pick a more perfect name*

Chapter Seventeen:

Don’t Let Me Go

“Is the little kid there?” a bashful voice muttered through our yard’s fence, talking to my mom. It was a little girl—probably a kindergartener. She wore green basketball shorts and a white tank top. Her hair was held up into a ponytail. She stared at our house, looking for someone inside. That cute, shy smile; that twinkle in the eye; those shrugged shoulders; the cute little mole on the cheek—this was all too familiar. This was Mary Grace.

I stood there, shocked. How time passed by so fast. Mary Grace was tiny; I couldn’t believe that it was her. But it was her no matter what, prancing her way through the yard and to the door. She held both hands behind her back, following whatever her mother told her to do when she visits other people’s houses.

“Wait here for a second,” my mom smiled at Mary Grace. “I’ll get Irene for you.”

“All right,” Mary Grace responded with a smile back. My mom ran inside, looking for little Irene. Mary saw a white, plastic chair and sat on it. She patted a beat on the armrests, humming an improvised tune. She swayed her head from side-to-side, staring at the small bushes surrounding the drive way. A badminton net was set on the middle of the front yard, while badminton racquets and birdies scattered around. The garage was just a overhang of an open room without any doors. Nothing was left out on the driveway besides the locked car.

I walked toward the younger version of my best friend. This was the first time in a while that I acknowledged that I had a body; for a while I had been standing in the sidelines as the memories past through me without my interaction. I had finally realized that no matter how much screaming, protesting or laughing I would have done no one would be there to notice a single squeak. I finally realized that I no longer exist, that I couldn’t change the actions of the people—including myself—that stood before me. All I could do was watch. It was difficult, but I eventually accepted that.

Mary Grace hummed to herself. I kneeled in closer to her, listening to the tune. I quickly remembered her magnificent voice, even though I mostly recall the more grown up version. She and I sang on and on, but I sang more frequently. We didn’t always share the same music interest, but it was always fun to sing along to songs I didn’t fully know.

Without thinking, I stretched a hand to her head. She didn’t notice, but it felt nice to have some form of contact with her. I hadn’t had the chance to talk to her in a long time. A sudden realization struck me: I hadn’t said goodbye to her at all. There was no farewell. There was no hugs or kisses—not for many years. We hadn’t seen each other in years prior to my death. Regret filled my heart once again. I should have said something.

Little Irene came out of the house, walking slowly toward Mary Grace. I remember this day: the day Mary and I met for the first time. It was the day after Halloween, my first time going out trick or treating in a new neighborhood. My family and I had from the apartments after my mom gave birth to my little sister, Quinn. Our family was expanding and we needed more room. The night before, Mary Grace and a couple of the neighborhood kids went outside and saw me in full costume. They were settling up after an afternoon full of games. They hadn’t gotten into their costumes yet. I remember feeling as if a spotlight had pointed towards me, putting me on stage. Everyone was staring at me as I pass through them. My eyes lowered down; I prevented myself from looking at the people around me. I wore all black. The dress I wore reached all the way to my ankles. My pointed hat stood straight to the sky; I used it to cover my face. The black eyeshadow and lipstick were making my face itch; I tried my best to not smudge my makeup. The attention was excruciating.