We shared a peanut butter sandwich at lunch everyday. She shared my seat on the bus ride home. We hugged when we got off at the corner of Stuart and Riders. I went left, and she turned right. Bang bang. She wasn’t waiting for me at the corner the next morning. The newspaper article still lies in a box under my bed. Ten years later, and I can’t stand the smell of peanut butter.

Everyday we played the same game of make believe. And everyday the big kids would cross the boundary and yell. It was our game, they had no right. They stole our costumes and ruined our fort. I made the mistake of yelling back. Inches taller, and thousands of pounds heavier, he held it to my temple. Click. My seven years of living flashed before me. Nine years later, and I close my eyes during shooting scenes.

They lived across the street, three of them. I beat them in video games and killed them in street hockey. We were watched by the sixteen year old boy, their cousin and sitter. He tackled me one time; I didn’t fight hard enough back. Shh. At eight, I believed anything. I kept his secret for the longest time. Eight years later, and I don’t trust anybody that easily anymore.

He was my best friend. He tackled the boy out of nowhere. Two kicks, three punches, and he collapsed to the ground. I stood in fear as he clasped his hands around the poor boy’s neck. I leapt onto him, wrestling him to the ground. Knelt on his stomach, I stared him dead in the eyes. Crack. Blood spilling from his nose and a shattered cheekbone, he never talked to me again. Five years later, I now fight with my words.

California, the last place I ever imagined living; new house, new school, and new people. I was completely against going. Nervous and scared, she showed me around and let me sit next to her. She invited me to a sleepover; hours of talking and so much in common. They brought me home the next morning and she took me to my door. Slam. She was my new best friend, for awhile. Four years later, and I’ve learned to accept change.

I was home alone. Ring. They always mistake my voice for hers. Before I could say she was at work, they told me the news. I sat curled up by the front door. She cried, I cried, everyone in the family cried. One panic attack and three surgeries later, she was back to normal. Three years later, and I never go anywhere without sunblock.

A senior in high school, he should have been having the time of his life. Two months in bed and a million missed events. The stress of school was piled on, and the number of absences, inexcusable. He slowly slipped away from us, but always kept on smiling. Sitting at the foot of his bed, I made him laugh. Cough. It went on for a while, and then silence. I ran away like it was my fault. Three cars, three sirens, and three hours later, he was laughing again. One year later, my brother is still my best friend.

Time matters. It is both our friend and our enemy. It works both with us and against us. Every moment that occurs during the time we are on earth helps make us into the person we are meant to be. Leave time alone, it will figure itself out. Tick tick.