Magic in Costa Rica

To Kill A Jellyfish

Carla and I saw each other every day at school after that. We talked about anything and everything: movies, music, books, other students, teachers, our habits, hobbies, and routines. I hadn't spoken so candidly with anyone in such a long time that now whenever I sat down to write, I found I had said everything I usually wanted to write about to her. So instead of writing about that stuff, I wrote about her. I wrote a story in which her fish escaped from their tank and she and I ventured into the sea to find them. When we reached the depths of the ocean and finally discovered where her fish had been hiding, we found that they were being mind controlled by an evil jellyfish overlord who ordered them to drown me, but Carla saved me at the last minute and destroyed the jellyfish overlord with an underwater grenade. It was a ridiculous story, and we both laughed about it when I showed it to her, but there was some truth to it, too. Sometimes I felt like I was drowning before I met Carla, and she saved me by being my friend.

She never asked about my family, but I could tell she was curious about what really happened to my mom. She didn't for one second believe my story about the two urns. That's mostly what I liked about Carla: even though she was sunny and cheerful on the outside, she didn't take anyone's bullshit, and to top it off had a wicked sense of humor. But our friendship wasn't totally perfect. I felt like was hiding a part of myself from her because I didn't think she would understand it. How could she? It seemed like she had the perfect life. She was beautiful and happy, and had a wonderful family. How could she understand all the bad that I had gone through, and how could she accept the pain that would always be a part of me when I could hardly accept it myself? I was cautious about answering truthfully when she asked me how I was doing, scared that she wouldn't get it if some days I just said empty. Even though she was intelligent and hardworking for her age, I couldn't help but feel like she was immature, maybe even a little naive. That all changed one night when she invited me to her house for dinner.

I reluctantly agreed, figuring that I would have to meet her family at some point if I really wanted to be friends. I met her at her bus after school and we rode it to her house.

* * *

"Are you nervous?" Carla asked, breaking the silence.

"A little, I guess. It's just been a while since I've been over to a friend's house. I just hope your family likes me."

"Jeez, you would think we were dating and I'm taking you home to meet the parents!" Carla laughed, "They'll love you. And if they don't, they can eat it," she grinned. I looked at her, confused.

"Eat what? Dinner?" I asked. Carla rolled her eyes.

"No, Eat it! Like, suck it? Like, go suck an egg!" The bus driver looked back at us in the mirror and we burst into a fit of giggles. I guess maybe she said that a little too loud.

* * *

When we got off at her stop, I picked her house out from a block away. It was a townhouse, just like mine, but it was wooden and painted light purple. It was also larger than mine, which made sense since there were three more people plus a dog and two fish living there. As soon as we opened the door, a giant, yellow lab ran straight at me and knocked me down onto the carpet. I tried to sit up, but he attacked me with a slobbery tongue to my face.

"Cooper!" Carla shouted, "Get off of Alma! Sit! No, Sit!" She pointed at him and he obeyed, whining softly. "Are you okay?" she asked as she helped me to my feet. I grinned and scratched Cooper behind his ears.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I love dogs." Just then, a woman I could only assume was Carla's mom came bursting into the living room, wearing an apron covered in flour.