7:06 a.m.

When I wake up, I’m immediately anxious. I haven’t seen her in a month and a half, and our reunion today has had my anxiety skyrocketing the past couple days. I get out of bed, and the sinking feeling in my chest causes me to swoon slightly. I shouldn’t dread seeing her today as much as I do. After all, I’m seeing my best friend for the first time in what feels like forever.

7:18 a.m.
I pick up the bracelet she gave me that’s been sitting on my dresser since I last saw her. It’s made up of crappy plastic red elephants strung on a cheap nylon string. It still remains one of the best gifts I’ve ever gotten.
It was the day before my band played our first gig at a small nearby theatre.
“Elephants are a symbol of good luck in a lot of cultures, and the color red symbolises good fortune in Chinese culture,” she’d explained. “I feel like you could use some good luck tonight. You know, ‘cause you guys suck.” We both laughed at the last part.
Our guitarist, Elliot, tripped over his amp that night, and our drummer broke both his sticks. It was by far our most fun show we’ve done, to this day.

7:34 a.m.
I go downstairs and put a kettle on the stove. My hand stops on the box of teabags, and I smile. She always made fun of me for drinking tea instead of coffee. “Tea is for crazy cat ladies, old people, and lousy Brits,” she’d said one time. To me, coffee sort of tasted like someone made a turtle pee in a cup, heated it up, and sold it, calling it “coffee”. Gross.

  8:01 a.m.
I try to lose myself in television for a half hour, but finally give up when every show reminds me of her, in turn reminding me of my reunion with her in two hours.
Neither music nor books can distract me from my own anxiety.

  8:16 a.m.
My mom is coming downstairs, and I contemplate running out the back door to avoid conversation. In the end, I decide to stay on the couch.
Mom gets to the family room in which I’m seated, and smiles at me. It’s a fake smile, but she’s just trying to help. She knows how nervous I am for today.
“How are you feeling?” She asks, sitting next to me.
I think for a moment. “Like a whale that doesn’t know how to swim.” Mom laughs lightly at my response. After a few minutes of silence I stand up.
“I’m gonna go for a walk, get my mind off things.” Mom nods, and I head to the front door.
Outside, the air feels nice, and I feel less restricted. She never liked spring, it was too muddy for her. She said it was almost like an indecisive season. Is it summer? Is it winter? It’s neither! It’s spring! I, on the other hand, liked spring. I liked the uncertainty it brought to the earth as it guided a smooth transition from one freezing season to an insanely hot one. She hated spring, and I love spring. Maybe that’s part of the reason we were friends. Opposites attract, I guess.

  8:47 a.m.
When I get back home, mom and dad are both awake. My brother’s still asleep. Dad greets me with a, “did you seriously just walk around our neighborhood in your pajamas?”

  9:00 a.m.
I brushed my hair but I haven’t gotten dressed yet. It still hasn’t fully sunk in that I’ll be seeing her again today.
  9:16 a.m.
Forty minutes.
I’m wearing a black dress, and my hair is down.
I’m gonna see her again.
 
9:34 a.m.
Twenty six minutes.
Mom is calling me to see if I’m ready to leave soon.
 
9:48 a.m.
I step out of the car, not quite ready to see her.
 
9:49 a.m.
I walk ahead of my parents, up the front steps, and in the doorway. She’s just across the room.
My best friend.
 
9:51 a.m.
She’s in front of me now.
But it’s a shame she’s in a casket.