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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Teens
- Theme: Family & Friends
- Subject: Friends / Friendship
- Published: 04/03/2012
According to the Oxford dictionary, a friend is a person you know well and like, and who is not usually a member of your family. The Roman philosopher Cicero believed that in order to have a true friendship with someone, one must have complete honesty, truth, and trust. When I was sixteen, being a friend was just me spending my time gossiping, hanging out at the mall, using fake I.D’s to sneak into nightclubs with the others. Now, according to my heart, friends are people who are willing to do things for each other without any sliver of expectation of repayment. If I were about to do something wrong, he or she would force me to restrain myself from doing so and help me understand which is right and which is wrong. That’s exactly what being a friend means to me.
“Annabelle Wong!” Mrs Sandra’s voice pierced through the deafening silence.
I jolted out of my reverie and cringed when the history teacher fixed me with her infamous laser stare. The whole class tensed. The sea of faces around me were lighted up with anticipation and you can actually see a speech bubble popping out of their heads that bellows “Finally!”.
Taking a deep breath, and choking on her overwhelming scent of Eau de Toilette, I composed a contrite face and muttered an apology.
Mrs Sandra’s face softened. For a second there I thought that she’ll let the grudge go. The thin ledge of hope crumbled as she opened her mouth.
“Oh child, I forgive you for not paying attention. To err is human, to forgive divine. I’m sure that you’re still going through a hard time in your life right now, seeing your dad and your friend...” Her voice trailed off before continuing, “Don’t worry, dear.” She gave me a saccharine smile and switched back to her old self, droning on about Ancient Egypt.
I froze. I can’t believe she just said that. My fingernails pierced my flesh as I clenched my fist. “It’s nothing, it’s nothing, it’s nothing.” I chanted under my breath to calm myself down. It didn’t work. I grabbed my pen and started scribbling furiously across a fresh page of my notebook, keeping my eyes glued to the paper. Whispers erupted all around me. Tears blurred my eyesight as the painful memory flashed through my head again.
My family was literally drowning in cash. I had always prided myself to have a father with King Midas’s gold touch. All around me were teenagers with the same family background. My so-called BFF’s, namely Jean-Marie, Clara, Daphne, and I were inseparable. We tried out new outfits, checked out the hottest guys in our school, had several sleepovers and hung out at the coolest night clubs( we used fake I.Ds).
Then it all happened. My King Midas lost his precious gold touch. The gold mine in Nubia that he invested went bust. Our family main source of income was gone. Devastation overwhelmed him and his heart just stopped the instant his brain registered the news. My mother went into a catatonic shock when we found him lying motionlessly on the floor. Me? The only thing I thought of was-“Oh, crap. How am I supposed to buy the Donna Karan dress now?”
Horrible, weren’t I? The grief didn’t hit me until I bonded with Stry again.
The bell shrilled. Students rushed out of the class even before I stuffed all my books into my backpack. A hand landed on my left shoulder and I jumped about one foot in the air before realising it didn’t belong to Mrs. Sandra.
I plastered on a fake smile and chirped, “Hel-lo, Eli!”
“You okay?” Eli’s concerned expression almost made my tear reservoir leak again. But I’m stronger now, not very strong, just less fragile than before. All credits to Stry. Stry...
Nine months ago, that was, when my father trooped up the stairs to Heaven, I called Jean-Marie around five so that I could borrow her spaghetti strap for my date with Kyle that very night. Instead of lending me the gorgeous dress, she laughed and slammed down the phone. Puzzled, I rang up Clara, then Daphne. They both hung up on me. I was so desperate that I even contacted Stry. The phone rang thrice before I remembered her taste in clothes. I dropped it before she could pick up. After contemplating for five minutes, I cancelled my date with Kyle because I couldn’t bear to go out wearing clothes I’ve worn before. They just feel so wrong, so weird, so... boring.
Anyway, I shrugged off condolences and sympathetic glances by my schoolmates and made a beeline to my “BFF’s” as soon as I reached school the next day. When I confronted them, they flipped their hair over their shoulders and continued strutting as if I didn’t exist. Totally flummoxed, I trailed after them, firing questions after questions at their backs. They acted as if I wasn’t behind them, tripping over my loosened shoelaces while trying to keep up with their pace. I managed to overtake them at the lockers and demanded their attention. Nonchalantly, Clara examined her French manicure before she flung back the eight words that I used to say to everyone I looked down-“ You don’t fit in our crowd. Get lost.” With that, they cackled and flounced into the homeroom class.
My life hadn’t been right since that day. Everyone in the school shunned me like I have a contagious disease. Some of them even laughed at me right in my face. I was downright mortified. Lucky for me, there were still several students that felt sorry for me, including Stry. She was my childhood friend, whom I dumped soon after I became chummy with them.
Stry stuck to me all the time. In class, in the canteen, in the gymnasium, in the hall, everywhere! In the beginning, I was disgusted by her very own existence. She had no fashion sense at all and gobbled down every fattening food I swore I would never touch. The thought of globules of fat dribbling down my throat made me retch. I broke my promise the day I stepped in Stry’s house again after say, ten years. Mrs. Lim had whisked in Stry’s room with a platter of chocolate fudge and tall glasses of strawberry frappe. I used to avoid them but hell, Mrs. Lim’s cooking and baking are scrumptious beyond words. One nibble of the fudge and I swooned. Gradually, I skipped, well, walk jauntily to Stry’s house nearly every day to complete my homework and to be Mrs. Lim’s food critic. Stry and I shopped for clothes together, check out the latest novels from Cecelia Ahern, Jodi Picoult, Nicholas Sparks and has had sleepovers for several times. My grades improved dramatically and my teachers were amazed. They all forgave me for my past behaviour, well, except for Mrs. Sandra. I guess she would never forget what I did to her car last year. (I sprayed it with graffiti the very morning the school superintendent were supposed to visit).
The day when she broke the news to me is still fresh inside my mind, as if it had just happened yesterday.
“Belle?”
“Hmm?” I mumbled, my eyeballs are stuck on Nicholas Sparks’ The Guardian’s page
“Can I talk to you about something important?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“It’s really, really important.”
I nodded without looking at her. The book’s gripping plot had me mesmerized.
I didn’t even hear Stry when she said, “I have Non-Hodgkin Lymphoma.”
“Oh my God!” I leaped from the sofa and shoved the novel towards Stry. “Julie’s gonna die!”
“Belle!” Stry pried my fingers of the book. “I’m dying.”
“Aw, come on, I said Julie! Not you! Hel-lo, are you even listening to me?” I threw up my hands and crossed my arms at her.
“Belle,” Stry’s voice tinged with a hint of quiet desperation, “will you please shut up and listen to me?”
I stopped bouncing on the balls of my feet and stared at her. She never said “shut up” to me. Then I really look at her. Her face crumpled in pain, even her long lashes can’t hide the despair that lurked behind her soft brown eyes.
***
“Hey, Bell. Are you okay?.” Daphne commented as we applied a new coat of lipstick in the washroom.
I capped my lip balm carefully before I look back up into the mirror. Jean-Marie, Clara, Daphne were looking at me with knowing eyes.
“Come on, give us the juicy details!” Jean-Marie elbowed my ribs.
“Well...”
“Well what?” Clara interjected. “Did he or did he not?”
I pursed my lips, pretending to contemplate her question. “Well,” I twirled a strand of my locks around my forefinger to build the anticipation. I waited for the right moment patiently. I love to watch their expressions, eyes wide with anticipation and lips slightly parted while they waited for me to spill the beans. I usually wait until the pink tinge on Jean-Marie’s face to be visible under the faint blusher before I blurt the news but today, I myself is impatient, the satisfaction that bubbled up since yesterday threatened to flow out if I keep this up any longer. “Well, he kis—”
Bam! The door to the washroom flung open and rebounded on the wall.
I pivoted on my heels, ready to yell at the evil person who interrupted my smug recollection of Devon’s emotional confession yesterday but Clara was faster.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Stry the stray. Nowhere to go during lunch break? FYI, this washroom is for us only. And if I remember, ‘us’ doesn’t include you.”
Jean-Marie and Daphne smirked behind Clara’s back. Clara shot me an expectant glance.
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Yeah, get lost, Stry, we don’t name you Stry the stray for nothing, you know.”
My sarcasm was lost within Stry. She waved her arms in front of her face, reminding me of Luna Lovegood who was looking for Nargles in the Hogwarts Express.
“Whew! Have you been smoking in here? It’s against the school rules, you know.” She imitated my stance and gravely told us that she’ll report to the headmistress unless we promise to stop smoking.
“We’re sixteen. We can do whatever we want.”
“You’re still underage. So you’re not legal to buy the cigars. Who bought ‘em for you?” Stry demanded.
“It’s none of your business, so get the hell out of here.” I snarled at her, pissed off by her nosiness.
“I ain’t moving.” Stry braced her legs apart, blocking the entrance of the washroom with a look of determination on her flushed face.
“You’re not. Fine, then we’ll move. I can’t stand the sight of you here.” Clara narrowed her eyes at Stry before she linked her right arm with my left. Daphne and Jean-Marie did the same. Jean-Marie shoved Stry out of the washroom and Stry stumbled, her hands windmilled, trying to catch her balance before landing unceremoniously on her backside.
The four of us tittered scornfully before sashaying to the hallway, leaving Stry to gather her pride that shattered around her feet.
The scene changed. I was nine again. My breath came out in little puffs of steam. I am doubled over, hands hanging limply at my side. “That was fun.” I tried to convince myself. But I wasn’t. it’s not that I can’t skate. It’s the fact that I’m skating alone. I’m lonely. It’s the fifth time we moved. The first time was when I was two. I was a toddler then, so I didn’t mind much. I was barely four when we moved from Canada to Perth. The six candles on my birthday cake flickered out when father declared that we’re moving soon. We moved twice that year. Finally father decided to settle here in Leeds. Yet we had to move from house to house until he found the ideal home. Every time I finally worked up my courage to befriend someone, father announces that we’re moving to another new place with a broad grin on his face. I don’t have the heart to tell him that I dreaded the ‘new place’. I’ll be alone again. No one to talk to, no one to play with. Father is always in the reading room or traveling. Mother only speaks to me when she has to. I have no idea why she does that. Mama Ryn, our only maid that stayed with us each time we moved, is the only person I can talk to, but she will never reply me. Not because she refuse to do so, it’s just that she can’t speak at all. She uses gestures or writes on a piece of paper to ‘talk’ to me. It was a real comfort having her around. Try as I might, I don’t recall doing anything wrong when I was a toddler that infuriated mother so. But then again, no one remembers what they did when they’re young, do they? I sighed silently as I bent down to untie my skaters.
“Whoa there!” Someone called out behind me.
I only managed to twist my body away when a purple streak raced past where I stood the moment before. Unfortunately, I nearly twisted my left ankle which is still enclosed in my skaters. Wincing in pain, I took off the other skater gingerly to ease the throbbing pain around my ankle.
“I’m so, so sorry. Are you alright?”
I looked up from my sitting position on the frozen pond. A halo of dark, curly hair blocked the sun behind it. I squinted to see better and find myself staring into a pair of melt-me-down brown eyes. Her nose was straight, a dimple winked from each rosy cheek, her upper lip bit down to her lower lip while she waited for my assurance that I’m fine.
I blushed when I realized I was open staring at her and struggled to stand up. She hooked her arms under my armpits and helped me to my feet.
“I’m really sorry. I thought you were moving so I didn’t stop skating towards you. I saw you standing here, you see, all alone. You’re new in this town, aren’t you?” She tucked her hair behind her ear and continued, “Um, am I talking too fast?”
My mouth was agape with her talking speed. I guess that gave me away so I nodded.
“Did you turn your ankle?”
“Twist.”
“Hmm?”
“The word should be twist, not turn.”
My face was scarlet, no doubt of it. That was one of the reasons why people avoided me. My tendency to correct others. I was home schooled even before I entered pre-school so my vocabulary, grammar and other subjects are distinctly better than anyone else when I started pre-school. As a result, I was transferred to Grade Three without going through pre-school when I was six. I was dubbed ‘The Freak’ by older students because I know almost as much as they do. They thought that I was showing off. I wasn’t. I was just imitating Mr. Kyle who corrected me every time I say something wrongly. Hurt by their rejection, I closed myself down slowly, and tried to make myself invisible. Every time we moved, I experience relief and worry. Relieved because I no longer have to bear the loneliness. Worried because I may be shunned by the students at the new place as well.
“Um, hello? Can you see me?” The girl flapped her hands in front of my face.
I gave myself a mental shake to clear the memory.
“Yeah, I’m fine. No worries.”
“Are you sure?” She said dubiously. “For a second there you look sort of unfocused, Annabelle.”
I started. “How did you know my name?”
She quirked up an eyebrow at my wrist. I followed her glance and mentally face-palmed myself.
“Well, unless that wristband isn’t yours or you hit your head on the ice when you fell just now.” The worried look was back on her face again.
“No, no, I just...i forgot I was wearing it, you see.”
“Ah.”
“I, uh, erm......” I groped my mind for something to say, anything to stop my face from flaming with embarrassment. My eyes flicked around me, looking for a bolt of inspiration to make this conversation flow smoothly.
“Oh, that was rude of me. I’m Stry. As in S-T-R-Y. My parents thought I was a baby boy, you see, and they’ve decided to name me Stroy, I’ve no idea why, because if you put de- in front of that name you get the word destroy. That’s not really nice, isn’t it?” she paused to inhale a lungful of crisp morning air and plowed right on, “Anyway, when they discovered that I am a baby girl, they changed it to Stry as they can’t think of other names. So, is there a story behind your name?”
I was still reeling from her long speech when I realized she was looking at me expectantly.
“No.” That came out a little too forceful, but Stry doesn’t seem to mind.
“Oh, okay then. Wanna skate? Oh, wait,” She whacked herself on the forehead, none-too-gently, I noticed, “Your ankle! Would you like to sit down at the bank?” She offered me her arm.
“It’s fine. I mean, it doesn’t really hurt much. We can skate if you want to.” I could hardly believe that she was talking to me. Most people just wandered away or find some lame excuse to get away from me.
She eyed me skeptically, before shrugging her shoulders as in to say, “Suits me.” and started to skate away.
Panic and disappointment coursed through my veins. She’s leaving. I should’ve known better than keeping my hopes high like this.
“Hey, what’cha waiting for?”
My head snapped up. Stry’s standing five feet away, her hands on her hip as she balanced herself on the slippery ice.
A grin nearly split my face in two. I laced up my shoelaces as fast as my clumsy fingers can do. Ignoring the mild pain on my ankle, I slid to Stry’s side and we skated, skated until we were both exhausted.
“I’m so thirsty.” Stry gasped.
I nodded, still trying to catch my breath. I look up just in time to see her tilting her head up, catching snowflakes in her mouth.
She looked so happy. Her face was flushed with joy and excitement. I had a feeling that I was the same as her. Smiling to myself, I imitated her and waited for a snowflake to enter my wide opened mouth. The first snowflake landed on the tip of my nose. Stry laughed at my sight. Her laughter proved to be contagious. Soon we were rolling on the snowbank, clutching at our stomachs as we giggled and laughed. It took a while before we stopped cackling like a bunch of lunatics.
“I better get going now, Belle.” Stry panted.
I chewed my lower lip. Unable to contain myself, I blurted out my question, “Will I see you again?”
Stry looked at me, surprised. “Of course! Why?”
“Nothing, absolutely nothing at all.” I replied as I suppressed the urge to jump up and click my heels together like Goofy does.
‘I have a friend.’ That was all I could think as I waved at Stry when she entered her house, as I smiled cheerily at Mama Ryn when she opened the front door. It was the last thought as I drifted to sleep. I have a friend.
***
Snow flakes were falling from the sky, beautiful pieces of them. Stry and I were standing at the open window. She was sitting on a wheelchair, staring out of the window, enjoying the wonders of winter. She has been very tired lately, her eyes sunken yet she managed to joke with me each day. I knew we were both thinking about the same thing, because we both stuck our tongues out to taste the snowflakes at the same time. The crisp December air blew into the room, rustling my hair with it’s gentle breeze. We looked at each other and smiled knowingly. We giggled like we did when we were nine. We recollected our childhood together with laughter and tears. We didn’t stop, even though the nurse came in to switch off the lights. No, we continued our tale in hushed voices, sometimes letting out an undignified snort of laughter or a stifled sob. On and on we talk, until we both surrendered to sleep.
“Belle.” Stry’s voice sounded far away.
“Belle?” Stry gently shook my shoulders.
“I think it’s time.” Stry grinned weakly from her bed. Her deathbed.
My heart stopped beating for a second. A hollow rushing sound reverberated in my head. I closed my eyes to stop the tears from falling. Stry stroked my face with her finger, I could feel her warmth that flowed within her paper thin skin. I’ve prepared myself for this moment, dreading it yet anticipating it. Stry’s finally free from the pain. She’s free.
“Be strong.” She mouthed.
“I will.” I whispered.
I held her hand, letting her palm cup my cheek as we smiled at each other. I didn’t let go when she closed her eyes. I held on to her, trying to remember everything about her, every tiny detail, filing them to the one corner of my mind for memories sake.
***
“Annabelle?” Eli patted me on the head. “Are you thinking about Stry again?”
I wiped my tears with my sleeve and glanced at Eli. “Yeah, I’m okay though.”
“There’s always a smile behind a tear. Where’s yours?”
I put on a brave smile. I had to stay strong; it is what Stry asked me to do, the last thing she wanted me to do for her. I agreed. She gave up her struggle with cancer. I haven’t got the chance to tell her that knowing her is the best thing to occur in my life.
I tilted my head. Clouds scud across the sky. Stry’s face formed one of them. I smiled as I recalled what she said when we’re ten-“When I die, I want to be a cloud, then everyone can see me and I can see everyone. I’ll watch over you. When I’m gone, make sure you remember everything I told you about being a friend, okay?” We hooked our chubby pinkies over that promise.
Stry, You taught me about living each day with unbridled exuberance and joy, about seizing the moment and following my heart.
You taught me to appreciate the simple things in my life.
You taught me about optimism in the face of adversity.
Mostly, you taught me about friendship and selflessness and above all else, unwavering loyalty.
From now onwards, I’m going to be a friend to others just the way you treated me.
Stry, the best friend a girl could have,
Thank you.
Thank you(Chloe)
According to the Oxford dictionary, a friend is a person you know well and like, and who is not usually a member of your family. The Roman philosopher Cicero believed that in order to have a true friendship with someone, one must have complete honesty, truth, and trust. When I was sixteen, being a friend was just me spending my time gossiping, hanging out at the mall, using fake I.D’s to sneak into nightclubs with the others. Now, according to my heart, friends are people who are willing to do things for each other without any sliver of expectation of repayment. If I were about to do something wrong, he or she would force me to restrain myself from doing so and help me understand which is right and which is wrong. That’s exactly what being a friend means to me.
“Annabelle Wong!” Mrs Sandra’s voice pierced through the deafening silence.
I jolted out of my reverie and cringed when the history teacher fixed me with her infamous laser stare. The whole class tensed. The sea of faces around me were lighted up with anticipation and you can actually see a speech bubble popping out of their heads that bellows “Finally!”.
Taking a deep breath, and choking on her overwhelming scent of Eau de Toilette, I composed a contrite face and muttered an apology.
Mrs Sandra’s face softened. For a second there I thought that she’ll let the grudge go. The thin ledge of hope crumbled as she opened her mouth.
“Oh child, I forgive you for not paying attention. To err is human, to forgive divine. I’m sure that you’re still going through a hard time in your life right now, seeing your dad and your friend...” Her voice trailed off before continuing, “Don’t worry, dear.” She gave me a saccharine smile and switched back to her old self, droning on about Ancient Egypt.
I froze. I can’t believe she just said that. My fingernails pierced my flesh as I clenched my fist. “It’s nothing, it’s nothing, it’s nothing.” I chanted under my breath to calm myself down. It didn’t work. I grabbed my pen and started scribbling furiously across a fresh page of my notebook, keeping my eyes glued to the paper. Whispers erupted all around me. Tears blurred my eyesight as the painful memory flashed through my head again.
My family was literally drowning in cash. I had always prided myself to have a father with King Midas’s gold touch. All around me were teenagers with the same family background. My so-called BFF’s, namely Jean-Marie, Clara, Daphne, and I were inseparable. We tried out new outfits, checked out the hottest guys in our school, had several sleepovers and hung out at the coolest night clubs( we used fake I.Ds).
Then it all happened. My King Midas lost his precious gold touch. The gold mine in Nubia that he invested went bust. Our family main source of income was gone. Devastation overwhelmed him and his heart just stopped the instant his brain registered the news. My mother went into a catatonic shock when we found him lying motionlessly on the floor. Me? The only thing I thought of was-“Oh, crap. How am I supposed to buy the Donna Karan dress now?”
Horrible, weren’t I? The grief didn’t hit me until I bonded with Stry again.
The bell shrilled. Students rushed out of the class even before I stuffed all my books into my backpack. A hand landed on my left shoulder and I jumped about one foot in the air before realising it didn’t belong to Mrs. Sandra.
I plastered on a fake smile and chirped, “Hel-lo, Eli!”
“You okay?” Eli’s concerned expression almost made my tear reservoir leak again. But I’m stronger now, not very strong, just less fragile than before. All credits to Stry. Stry...
Nine months ago, that was, when my father trooped up the stairs to Heaven, I called Jean-Marie around five so that I could borrow her spaghetti strap for my date with Kyle that very night. Instead of lending me the gorgeous dress, she laughed and slammed down the phone. Puzzled, I rang up Clara, then Daphne. They both hung up on me. I was so desperate that I even contacted Stry. The phone rang thrice before I remembered her taste in clothes. I dropped it before she could pick up. After contemplating for five minutes, I cancelled my date with Kyle because I couldn’t bear to go out wearing clothes I’ve worn before. They just feel so wrong, so weird, so... boring.
Anyway, I shrugged off condolences and sympathetic glances by my schoolmates and made a beeline to my “BFF’s” as soon as I reached school the next day. When I confronted them, they flipped their hair over their shoulders and continued strutting as if I didn’t exist. Totally flummoxed, I trailed after them, firing questions after questions at their backs. They acted as if I wasn’t behind them, tripping over my loosened shoelaces while trying to keep up with their pace. I managed to overtake them at the lockers and demanded their attention. Nonchalantly, Clara examined her French manicure before she flung back the eight words that I used to say to everyone I looked down-“ You don’t fit in our crowd. Get lost.” With that, they cackled and flounced into the homeroom class.
My life hadn’t been right since that day. Everyone in the school shunned me like I have a contagious disease. Some of them even laughed at me right in my face. I was downright mortified. Lucky for me, there were still several students that felt sorry for me, including Stry. She was my childhood friend, whom I dumped soon after I became chummy with them.
Stry stuck to me all the time. In class, in the canteen, in the gymnasium, in the hall, everywhere! In the beginning, I was disgusted by her very own existence. She had no fashion sense at all and gobbled down every fattening food I swore I would never touch. The thought of globules of fat dribbling down my throat made me retch. I broke my promise the day I stepped in Stry’s house again after say, ten years. Mrs. Lim had whisked in Stry’s room with a platter of chocolate fudge and tall glasses of strawberry frappe. I used to avoid them but hell, Mrs. Lim’s cooking and baking are scrumptious beyond words. One nibble of the fudge and I swooned. Gradually, I skipped, well, walk jauntily to Stry’s house nearly every day to complete my homework and to be Mrs. Lim’s food critic. Stry and I shopped for clothes together, check out the latest novels from Cecelia Ahern, Jodi Picoult, Nicholas Sparks and has had sleepovers for several times. My grades improved dramatically and my teachers were amazed. They all forgave me for my past behaviour, well, except for Mrs. Sandra. I guess she would never forget what I did to her car last year. (I sprayed it with graffiti the very morning the school superintendent were supposed to visit).
The day when she broke the news to me is still fresh inside my mind, as if it had just happened yesterday.
“Belle?”
“Hmm?” I mumbled, my eyeballs are stuck on Nicholas Sparks’ The Guardian’s page
“Can I talk to you about something important?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“It’s really, really important.”
I nodded without looking at her. The book’s gripping plot had me mesmerized.
I didn’t even hear Stry when she said, “I have Non-Hodgkin Lymphoma.”
“Oh my God!” I leaped from the sofa and shoved the novel towards Stry. “Julie’s gonna die!”
“Belle!” Stry pried my fingers of the book. “I’m dying.”
“Aw, come on, I said Julie! Not you! Hel-lo, are you even listening to me?” I threw up my hands and crossed my arms at her.
“Belle,” Stry’s voice tinged with a hint of quiet desperation, “will you please shut up and listen to me?”
I stopped bouncing on the balls of my feet and stared at her. She never said “shut up” to me. Then I really look at her. Her face crumpled in pain, even her long lashes can’t hide the despair that lurked behind her soft brown eyes.
***
“Hey, Bell. Are you okay?.” Daphne commented as we applied a new coat of lipstick in the washroom.
I capped my lip balm carefully before I look back up into the mirror. Jean-Marie, Clara, Daphne were looking at me with knowing eyes.
“Come on, give us the juicy details!” Jean-Marie elbowed my ribs.
“Well...”
“Well what?” Clara interjected. “Did he or did he not?”
I pursed my lips, pretending to contemplate her question. “Well,” I twirled a strand of my locks around my forefinger to build the anticipation. I waited for the right moment patiently. I love to watch their expressions, eyes wide with anticipation and lips slightly parted while they waited for me to spill the beans. I usually wait until the pink tinge on Jean-Marie’s face to be visible under the faint blusher before I blurt the news but today, I myself is impatient, the satisfaction that bubbled up since yesterday threatened to flow out if I keep this up any longer. “Well, he kis—”
Bam! The door to the washroom flung open and rebounded on the wall.
I pivoted on my heels, ready to yell at the evil person who interrupted my smug recollection of Devon’s emotional confession yesterday but Clara was faster.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Stry the stray. Nowhere to go during lunch break? FYI, this washroom is for us only. And if I remember, ‘us’ doesn’t include you.”
Jean-Marie and Daphne smirked behind Clara’s back. Clara shot me an expectant glance.
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Yeah, get lost, Stry, we don’t name you Stry the stray for nothing, you know.”
My sarcasm was lost within Stry. She waved her arms in front of her face, reminding me of Luna Lovegood who was looking for Nargles in the Hogwarts Express.
“Whew! Have you been smoking in here? It’s against the school rules, you know.” She imitated my stance and gravely told us that she’ll report to the headmistress unless we promise to stop smoking.
“We’re sixteen. We can do whatever we want.”
“You’re still underage. So you’re not legal to buy the cigars. Who bought ‘em for you?” Stry demanded.
“It’s none of your business, so get the hell out of here.” I snarled at her, pissed off by her nosiness.
“I ain’t moving.” Stry braced her legs apart, blocking the entrance of the washroom with a look of determination on her flushed face.
“You’re not. Fine, then we’ll move. I can’t stand the sight of you here.” Clara narrowed her eyes at Stry before she linked her right arm with my left. Daphne and Jean-Marie did the same. Jean-Marie shoved Stry out of the washroom and Stry stumbled, her hands windmilled, trying to catch her balance before landing unceremoniously on her backside.
The four of us tittered scornfully before sashaying to the hallway, leaving Stry to gather her pride that shattered around her feet.
The scene changed. I was nine again. My breath came out in little puffs of steam. I am doubled over, hands hanging limply at my side. “That was fun.” I tried to convince myself. But I wasn’t. it’s not that I can’t skate. It’s the fact that I’m skating alone. I’m lonely. It’s the fifth time we moved. The first time was when I was two. I was a toddler then, so I didn’t mind much. I was barely four when we moved from Canada to Perth. The six candles on my birthday cake flickered out when father declared that we’re moving soon. We moved twice that year. Finally father decided to settle here in Leeds. Yet we had to move from house to house until he found the ideal home. Every time I finally worked up my courage to befriend someone, father announces that we’re moving to another new place with a broad grin on his face. I don’t have the heart to tell him that I dreaded the ‘new place’. I’ll be alone again. No one to talk to, no one to play with. Father is always in the reading room or traveling. Mother only speaks to me when she has to. I have no idea why she does that. Mama Ryn, our only maid that stayed with us each time we moved, is the only person I can talk to, but she will never reply me. Not because she refuse to do so, it’s just that she can’t speak at all. She uses gestures or writes on a piece of paper to ‘talk’ to me. It was a real comfort having her around. Try as I might, I don’t recall doing anything wrong when I was a toddler that infuriated mother so. But then again, no one remembers what they did when they’re young, do they? I sighed silently as I bent down to untie my skaters.
“Whoa there!” Someone called out behind me.
I only managed to twist my body away when a purple streak raced past where I stood the moment before. Unfortunately, I nearly twisted my left ankle which is still enclosed in my skaters. Wincing in pain, I took off the other skater gingerly to ease the throbbing pain around my ankle.
“I’m so, so sorry. Are you alright?”
I looked up from my sitting position on the frozen pond. A halo of dark, curly hair blocked the sun behind it. I squinted to see better and find myself staring into a pair of melt-me-down brown eyes. Her nose was straight, a dimple winked from each rosy cheek, her upper lip bit down to her lower lip while she waited for my assurance that I’m fine.
I blushed when I realized I was open staring at her and struggled to stand up. She hooked her arms under my armpits and helped me to my feet.
“I’m really sorry. I thought you were moving so I didn’t stop skating towards you. I saw you standing here, you see, all alone. You’re new in this town, aren’t you?” She tucked her hair behind her ear and continued, “Um, am I talking too fast?”
My mouth was agape with her talking speed. I guess that gave me away so I nodded.
“Did you turn your ankle?”
“Twist.”
“Hmm?”
“The word should be twist, not turn.”
My face was scarlet, no doubt of it. That was one of the reasons why people avoided me. My tendency to correct others. I was home schooled even before I entered pre-school so my vocabulary, grammar and other subjects are distinctly better than anyone else when I started pre-school. As a result, I was transferred to Grade Three without going through pre-school when I was six. I was dubbed ‘The Freak’ by older students because I know almost as much as they do. They thought that I was showing off. I wasn’t. I was just imitating Mr. Kyle who corrected me every time I say something wrongly. Hurt by their rejection, I closed myself down slowly, and tried to make myself invisible. Every time we moved, I experience relief and worry. Relieved because I no longer have to bear the loneliness. Worried because I may be shunned by the students at the new place as well.
“Um, hello? Can you see me?” The girl flapped her hands in front of my face.
I gave myself a mental shake to clear the memory.
“Yeah, I’m fine. No worries.”
“Are you sure?” She said dubiously. “For a second there you look sort of unfocused, Annabelle.”
I started. “How did you know my name?”
She quirked up an eyebrow at my wrist. I followed her glance and mentally face-palmed myself.
“Well, unless that wristband isn’t yours or you hit your head on the ice when you fell just now.” The worried look was back on her face again.
“No, no, I just...i forgot I was wearing it, you see.”
“Ah.”
“I, uh, erm......” I groped my mind for something to say, anything to stop my face from flaming with embarrassment. My eyes flicked around me, looking for a bolt of inspiration to make this conversation flow smoothly.
“Oh, that was rude of me. I’m Stry. As in S-T-R-Y. My parents thought I was a baby boy, you see, and they’ve decided to name me Stroy, I’ve no idea why, because if you put de- in front of that name you get the word destroy. That’s not really nice, isn’t it?” she paused to inhale a lungful of crisp morning air and plowed right on, “Anyway, when they discovered that I am a baby girl, they changed it to Stry as they can’t think of other names. So, is there a story behind your name?”
I was still reeling from her long speech when I realized she was looking at me expectantly.
“No.” That came out a little too forceful, but Stry doesn’t seem to mind.
“Oh, okay then. Wanna skate? Oh, wait,” She whacked herself on the forehead, none-too-gently, I noticed, “Your ankle! Would you like to sit down at the bank?” She offered me her arm.
“It’s fine. I mean, it doesn’t really hurt much. We can skate if you want to.” I could hardly believe that she was talking to me. Most people just wandered away or find some lame excuse to get away from me.
She eyed me skeptically, before shrugging her shoulders as in to say, “Suits me.” and started to skate away.
Panic and disappointment coursed through my veins. She’s leaving. I should’ve known better than keeping my hopes high like this.
“Hey, what’cha waiting for?”
My head snapped up. Stry’s standing five feet away, her hands on her hip as she balanced herself on the slippery ice.
A grin nearly split my face in two. I laced up my shoelaces as fast as my clumsy fingers can do. Ignoring the mild pain on my ankle, I slid to Stry’s side and we skated, skated until we were both exhausted.
“I’m so thirsty.” Stry gasped.
I nodded, still trying to catch my breath. I look up just in time to see her tilting her head up, catching snowflakes in her mouth.
She looked so happy. Her face was flushed with joy and excitement. I had a feeling that I was the same as her. Smiling to myself, I imitated her and waited for a snowflake to enter my wide opened mouth. The first snowflake landed on the tip of my nose. Stry laughed at my sight. Her laughter proved to be contagious. Soon we were rolling on the snowbank, clutching at our stomachs as we giggled and laughed. It took a while before we stopped cackling like a bunch of lunatics.
“I better get going now, Belle.” Stry panted.
I chewed my lower lip. Unable to contain myself, I blurted out my question, “Will I see you again?”
Stry looked at me, surprised. “Of course! Why?”
“Nothing, absolutely nothing at all.” I replied as I suppressed the urge to jump up and click my heels together like Goofy does.
‘I have a friend.’ That was all I could think as I waved at Stry when she entered her house, as I smiled cheerily at Mama Ryn when she opened the front door. It was the last thought as I drifted to sleep. I have a friend.
***
Snow flakes were falling from the sky, beautiful pieces of them. Stry and I were standing at the open window. She was sitting on a wheelchair, staring out of the window, enjoying the wonders of winter. She has been very tired lately, her eyes sunken yet she managed to joke with me each day. I knew we were both thinking about the same thing, because we both stuck our tongues out to taste the snowflakes at the same time. The crisp December air blew into the room, rustling my hair with it’s gentle breeze. We looked at each other and smiled knowingly. We giggled like we did when we were nine. We recollected our childhood together with laughter and tears. We didn’t stop, even though the nurse came in to switch off the lights. No, we continued our tale in hushed voices, sometimes letting out an undignified snort of laughter or a stifled sob. On and on we talk, until we both surrendered to sleep.
“Belle.” Stry’s voice sounded far away.
“Belle?” Stry gently shook my shoulders.
“I think it’s time.” Stry grinned weakly from her bed. Her deathbed.
My heart stopped beating for a second. A hollow rushing sound reverberated in my head. I closed my eyes to stop the tears from falling. Stry stroked my face with her finger, I could feel her warmth that flowed within her paper thin skin. I’ve prepared myself for this moment, dreading it yet anticipating it. Stry’s finally free from the pain. She’s free.
“Be strong.” She mouthed.
“I will.” I whispered.
I held her hand, letting her palm cup my cheek as we smiled at each other. I didn’t let go when she closed her eyes. I held on to her, trying to remember everything about her, every tiny detail, filing them to the one corner of my mind for memories sake.
***
“Annabelle?” Eli patted me on the head. “Are you thinking about Stry again?”
I wiped my tears with my sleeve and glanced at Eli. “Yeah, I’m okay though.”
“There’s always a smile behind a tear. Where’s yours?”
I put on a brave smile. I had to stay strong; it is what Stry asked me to do, the last thing she wanted me to do for her. I agreed. She gave up her struggle with cancer. I haven’t got the chance to tell her that knowing her is the best thing to occur in my life.
I tilted my head. Clouds scud across the sky. Stry’s face formed one of them. I smiled as I recalled what she said when we’re ten-“When I die, I want to be a cloud, then everyone can see me and I can see everyone. I’ll watch over you. When I’m gone, make sure you remember everything I told you about being a friend, okay?” We hooked our chubby pinkies over that promise.
Stry, You taught me about living each day with unbridled exuberance and joy, about seizing the moment and following my heart.
You taught me to appreciate the simple things in my life.
You taught me about optimism in the face of adversity.
Mostly, you taught me about friendship and selflessness and above all else, unwavering loyalty.
From now onwards, I’m going to be a friend to others just the way you treated me.
Stry, the best friend a girl could have,
Thank you.
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