Favorite Friend

Glory and Gore

tw: violence, blood

The days go by in a dreary blur. If someone were to ask what I spend them doing, I wouldn't be able to tell them; all I know is that I sleep a lot and don't eat enough and that I have the ceiling of my room memorized by now, know exactly what time it is just by the way the light hits it.

Suddenly, it's Wednesday again, which, in itself, wouldn't be a problem, but it's that Wednesday. Meet-Aaron-at-the-playground-and-pick-up-our-prescriptions-together-Wednesday.

I don't think I can do it. I know that it's just a quick Walmart run like any other, but just the thought of stepping through the automatic doors alone, through the chilly maze of aisles and to the very back, makes my skin feel like it's crawling with ants.

I also know that I can't not go though. There's only three more pills left at the very bottom of the container and Melissa always warns me not to abruptly stop taking them, says I'll feel sick if I do, and that thought scares me even more. And I can't ask my family to go with me either; Elena is working and mom and abuela will ask why I'm not going with Aaron.

I have no choice. The ants multiply while I put on clothes -they're the first ones I can find on the pile that my mom told me to put away and I don't know if they're clean or not, but I can't bring myself to care- and go downstairs.

My skin only stops crawling when I swing myself onto my bike and start driving. I try to quiet it, but I can't; my idiot heart picks up its pace the closer I get to the playground, a stupidly hopeful staccato that sings It's not totally impossible. We've been doing this for three years, since we were fifteen and our voices an octave higher. Aaron wouldn't forget about it. He always remembers.

And then I round the corner and the beat stutters.

He's not there. Of course he's not there. The playground is totally deserted, just a slide and a seesaw and the wooden house on stilts, faded from the Arizona sun, none of it looking magical now that it's day.

I want to get off my bike, climb back up the ladder and scratch out the initials we carved into the wood.

I want to lay down in it and wait for Aaron to come back and kiss me again and again and again.

I want to burn it all to the ground.

In the end, I don't do anything. I just drive by, like its sight doesn't make me sick to my stomach, forcing my legs to keep pedalling. Finally, Walmart comes into view. There's no other bike leaning against the wall, no one waiting for me there, no Three minutes and we're through. There's just a run-down storefront and an old couple glaring at me as I stand paralyzed in front of the entrance, trying to get my legs to move.

I don't know for how long I stay there, staring at the people rushing in and out the glass doors, my heart hammering and my palms sweaty as I practice what I'm going to say in my head. Hi Mrs. Mason. I'm here to pick up my prescription. Thank you. Have a good day.

A mom with a stroller stops next to me and lightly touches my shoulder. "Hey, you okay?"

I give a nod, digging my nails deeper into my palms.

"Are you waiting for someone?"

Hi Mrs. Mason. I'm here to pick up my prescription. Thank you. Have a good-

"No," I say and start walking. I move quickly, darting through the doors and the claustrophobic aisles, knowing that if I stop, I won't be able to go on, will turn around and bolt back the way I came.

I only come to a halt once I reach the pharmacy and spot the familiar blonde ponytail. "Hi Mrs. Mason," I say, almost stumbling over the words in my haste to get them out. "I'm here to pick up my prescription."