So, this weekend I decide to surprise my family by coming into town for Memorial Day. My mother was VERY surprised, and as it ended up I went to Bloomington yesterday anyways to go shopping.
So today, I called an old childhood friend, whom I knew who was going to be in town this weekend as well for her sisters’ high school graduation. I go over to my friends’ house, the one named Allison who moved to Minnesota about 7 months ago.
I don’t realize how much I miss her until we get to talking.
We make small talk at first, not really knowing what to say. I tell her about my new internship at Discover; how exciting it is to be up there and in Chicago. She talks about her waitress and group home jobs up in Minnesota.
I ask her if she’s happy. She scuffs her feet along the carpet and doesn’t answer. Suddenly, we’re both 9 again, and I’m over at her house. Her mother always told us to tell her if we were going anywhere.
“Let’s go ride bikes,” I say to Allison on one bright, summer day. She nods.
“We don’t have to tell your mom this time” I add, grabbing my bike off of her parents’ front lawn. We lived so close together at that time I frequently just walked or biked over to her house. “We are just going to be in your neighborhood anyways.”
She’s standing on the stoop and doesn’t answer. Instead, she scuffs her feet along the pavement, the same unsure expression on her face that she is wearing now. Old habits die hard.
Instead of answering my question, Allison introduces me to her boyfriend, Max. He’s a very nice guy. We decide to drive by Allison’s old house.
It’s not the house from my childhood.
I see the spot I used to constantly toss my bike; looked up into the tree that Allison and I used to climb, the trampoline they sold with the house still in the backyard - we used to play on it for so long Allison’s mother used to call us inside way after darkness. The house is different now - painted a different color, and the basketball hoop in the driveway is instead replaced by a bunch of children’s toys and a small bicycle.
We go back to Allison’s new house her mother moved into after her parent’s got divorced a few years ago.
“I guess this is - good bye,” I say. Allison takes me into a rib-crunching hug.
We break apart and I’m looking at a grinning, toothy 9-year-old Allison, holding her ragged unicorn that I constantly teased her about sleeping with all the time.
“Let’s go ride bikes,” Is what I would always say. She smiles and waves at me with her tiny hand - her bushy, 9-year-old hair flying about in the wind.
I get in my car and watch as the my childhood friend melts away, and in her place stands a different, adult Allison. She puts her arm around her boyfriend and waves at me as I drive away.
I hope she’s happy.
