"We're like inseparable." Inseparable, the only word that could describe our friendship. We were like every other foolish 6th grade girl, who were best friends and swore they were going to be like the girls in the movies, who grew up together and had their weddings on the same day, in the same place, and with the same wedding dress. Because after all, we were inseparable and of course nothing could've changed that.




It was fate that we met on the first day of middle school, considering we were the first two students in the building which forced us to talk to each other. But that only lasted until first period, because we eventually drifted into different crowds. However, one year later in the seventh grade, we were sitting next to each other as we were on our way home on a train at six o'clock in the evening. The sky looked so dark that it was as if we were stuck in a deep hole. It was unusual for me to be out so late without a parent, but I was with "Isabel," who I reunited with a few weeks before at an after school program. In the span of those few weeks, we grew closer than ever. The train slowly moved to a stop as the doors slid open and released yet another rush of snow that smacked me in the face.


"Yeah, we are inseparable. We have to pick the same high schools in the same order so we can have a good chance of being together," Isabel said as she took another bite of her french fries.


I grinned and nodded my head as my attention kept wandering off to two women who sat on the seat across from us. They were in their late 20s, yet they acted as if they were teenagers, whispering to each other and laughing. That's going to be us, I told myself. "Definitely, the same schools," I replied.







I thought I knew "Isabel," but as time passed, I began to realize that she was a stranger. I realized that I could never really understand a person until I walk their road. She was a bad influence, and I was too oblivious. She was apathetic toward her education, and blamed our teachers for her low grades. She was tougher than me and she'd constantly make rude comments toward me such as "You're so stupid. No, I'm joking," or "You're so ugly. No, I'm joking." We both knew that she wasn't joking, but I didn't care because I still had a friend to lean on. We promised to always be there for each other, and I strived to do so because I wanted to understand her. I finally began to while we were leaving the after school program one day. As we were heading out, a boy in our grade accidentally touched her leg, but she went ballistic. "It was an accident. Calm down," I told her. But she was crying so hard that she could barely breathe. She was a shy person and she always managed to hide her emotions. I began to realize that she saw me as a real friend because she trusted me to see her cry. I'd never understood why she was so upset, but I was there for her to lean on.


I thought our friendship had grown stronger, but I was wrong. She came back harder than before and I let her do it. Her vicious comments about my appearance grew worse and she became more aggressive as I became her punching bag. As we walked to the train station, she'd "jokingly" push me into things such as garbage cans and puddles, and laugh about it. Her actions rubbed off on me as I caught myself doing the same to others. As months passed, I soon had no tolerance for her actions. I told her that we couldn't be friends anymore, over text message because I feared what she would say or do. I looked at the sentence that I texted. The words were waiting for me to press send, but my finger felt numb as if they were telling me that I was doing something wrong. But then I looked back into the past and remembered each moment when she made me feel worthless. I pressed send. Her reply was: "Monica, you're over-exaggerating." My guts told me that I wasn't over-exaggerating. I never met someone who made me feel so much hatred for them, and for myself.



Each day we'd walk through the congested school hallways and stare at each other awkwardly. Then, we'd turn our heads and pretend that we weren't aware of this awkward situation. I felt myself grow more hatred for her each time I saw her, heard her voice, or just by being in the same room as her. I wanted her out of my life and wished I'd never met her. She became loud and acted overly confident, as if she wanted me to notice that she was better off without me. On the other hand, I looked vulnerable, confused, and lonely. Months passed and soon it became almost a year since we'd talked to each other.


It began with small hints. She started liking my pictures on social websites, sending me friend requests, and commenting nice things on my posts. As we passed each other in the school hallways, we began to exchange faint smiles. A wave of regret shivered my spine. I needed to collect the broken pieces of our friendship, just like I once promised her. But I couldn't stop thinking, What if I'm making a terrible mistake? I missed taking the train home with her, listening to her silly childhood stories, and her making random animal noises just to be spontaneous. There was a part of her that was enigmatic, corrupt, and cold, but I failed to notice the other part of her that was affable and genuine. She laughed at my jokes and told me her secrets. I was ready to bring back our friendship, but each day I came to school, her seat was empty during class. Weeks passed and she still didn't return to school. I was shocked and confused when her empty seat was replaced by another person.

I was at home and watching one of my favorite television shows. Then, my mom received a phone call while she was cooking dinner.

"'Isabel' moved away," she said with an apologetic grin.

The additional words stung my chest and left me feeling broken. It was one of those dreadful moments where I could feel the world stop in front of my eyes and darkness fill the room. The only thing you could hear is your heartbeat because that's the only soothing sound that blocks you from the rest of the world. I learned that she moved away because she had tried to kill herself. "Isabel" was still a stranger, but somehow she was the only person who understood me. If I could, I would go back and help her. I saw what everyone else saw in her, instead of what a friend should see. I would tell her how sorry I am for ignoring her and how I wish I could've helped her fix her mistakes, instead of running away from them. Looking back, I realize that I was lucky to meet someone who made me have so much hatred for them, yet love them so much.