Love for the Idiots

It's fourth grade. I recognize the playground. 

I walk up to my best friend, a boy. It was different - at this age, everyone thought the opposite gender had cooties. My friend, Jackson, is going to move over the weekend; this was the last day I had with him. 

I hold out my hand, dropping a folded piece of paper in his hands. "Don't open it until you get in your new home. And don't forget," I say. My eyes searches his pleadingly, but I know I could trust him. Always have.

He nodds as my lip began to tremble. "I don't want you to go," I add. "Please." 

He wraps his arms around me and whispers. "I'll be back, you're my best friend. I can't just leave you, you know." 

I pull back and play with my hands. "Stay with me. Hide. Do something so you can be here." 

"You know I can't do that."

"Yes you can!" I want to scream. But I don't, even though the urge is still there. Instead, the tears came to my eyes and I turn on my heel. Ignoring Jackson's calls, I run inside the school from recess. I don't stop until I reach the corner of the girls' bathroom. And that's where I break down, tears cascading down my now-red cheeks.

With a gasp, I am yanked out of my dream. When I realize it isn't real, that Jackson is still gone, I sob. Again. Pathetic, I know. It was just a memory. 

He's been gone for seven years, and I am now a junior in high school. I guess it makes him one, too. Jackson promised to keep in touch, but I've never heard from him after the first month he was gone. It was so different, I had to brave school and the people there. 

It's betrayal. He promised to come back, visit, keep in touch. But he left me here with the people I can't stand. Everyday, the cheerleaders and gossips, my enemies since forever, torment me. And I have to do it alone. Jackson used to help me with them, but I don't get as much as a text from him. Letters, emails, calls, nothing.