Discovery | Previous Challenge Entry

how it works

TITLE: Discovery | Previous Challenge Entry
By Kay Lane
02/09/06
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I had done it again. I had made a terrible mistake.

I sat there in front of my computer, hands trembling, the tears streaming down my face, as I read the latest message.

"You're selfish," it read. "You never think of anyone but yourself. I don't care about your excuses. That's it. I can't deal with you anymore."

"I'm sorry," I had told her. "My sister came for a visit and I hadn't seen her in weeks, so I couldn't get back to you when I said I would. You know that you're important to me. I just haven't seen her in so long."

She'd threatened to walk away from me before, but somehow I knew it was different this time. The hurt wasn't as great. I'm not sure if I'd lost my compassion, or something else was guiding me. But it was just different somehow.

She was my best friend. My closest friend. She was the one that I was supposed to share my deepest secrets with – the childhood friend that every young schoolgirl dreams about. We laughed and we cried. We were each other's support. It was a friendship everlasting. It was the kind of connection that gives you a warm, wholesome feeling of security and love deep down inside.

Then why did it hurt so much? Why did it break me?

"You're an idiot," she had said. "How can you claim to be an intelligent person and vote for him?"

"My decisions are my decisions," I had said. "Can't we just agree to disagree?"

"Well, you're wrong. You're stupid and wrong."

But she was my best friend. She didn't mean it. Maybe she was having a rough day. She always came to me with her problems. I was always there for her.

I often would cut classes to be there for her. Later, as I got older, I would worry about her during my work hours, wondering why we had fought again, wondering what I did wrong this time. I would email her. Give in to her demands to make her feel better. Soothe her with words of diplomacy. Agree with her. I would stay up late at night, on the phone, allowing her to tell me how her friends, her roommates, and her family had wronged her.

She loved me for it. She knew I would always be there.

"I need some space," she had said. "You’re suffocating me."

"You promised that we could sit around and chat. I haven't see you in so long," I had said.

"Well, I have more important things to do. If you weren't so moody and so bossy, then I would spend time with you."

She was right. It was my fault. It was always my fault.

But today, it was no longer my fault. I couldn't carry that burden any longer.

"I didn't want it to end like this. I wish we could have worked it out. I wish you the best," had been my last words.

"I hope you fail in everything you do. I hope you go nowhere in your life and rot in hell. I don't need people like you. I don't need to hear your self-righteous moaning. I don't know why I put up with you for so long. You are unreliable. You aren't trustworthy. Go to hell."

That was it. I sat there in front of my computer, hands trembling, the tears streaming down my face, as I read the latest message. The last one.

It was over. But had it really broken me?

I shut down my computer, feeling more alive than I had in a long time. I felt free.

Maybe I'd been searching for that wholesome and loving friendship in all the wrong places, looking in all the wrong people.

I smiled, sitting back in my chair as I heard the sound of ringing bells fill the Sunday morning air.

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