Caroline
"Good afternoon. Um, thank you for coming. I met Angeles when we both were in the third grade. I had a cold and I kept coughing and couldn't stop -this was probably the third day of school. And so, I couldn't stop coughing and Angeles was sitting across from me and we were doing some independent work and I was irritating her. So she snapped at me and said, 'Can you stop?'. I kind of froze and adjusted myself awkwardly and apologized, but I thought she would be one of those annoying, rude third graders that steal your stickers and pull your hair. But believe it or not, we became the best of friends.
"We, um, we lost touch at the end of third grade until the seventh grade -she ended up being in the same P.E class as I was. And, you know, we saw each other at the beach more than once during the summer and we always said we would exchange phone numbers, but that never happened. Anyways, in seventh grade, we had every class together except second and seventh -those were switched. But we became closer than ever that year. And every year after. She was innocent and loyal and trusting and trustworthy. She has the exterior of a bulldog, but the interior of a fluffy panda bear. She never failed to make me laugh. This might be a TMI moment, but a few years ago, she made me laugh so hard I literally peed myself. Yeah. Ha, anyways, she never failed to make me smile. Whenever I was mad or sad or even happy, she would make me smile.
"Angeles was a great soul. Great. She was shy but confident and quiet but loud in so many possible ways. She, uh, um, she told me that when she dies, to not write a book full of facts and reasons and memories. And she told me not to write sappy goodbyes to her and she told me…wow, I'me sorry, this is...wow, okay, um...she told me to remember her for who she was. She told me to move on and find another best friend. She told me so many things while on her deathbed, and I vowed that I would oblige to everything she wants me to do. And, wow this is the hardest thing I'd ever have to do. So, this is my goodbye to you: Angeles, as much as you want me to move on, I don't think I ever will. No, I won't be able to. You are the best friend I've ever had and I am going to miss you like crazy. Um, I didn't know how to end this, so I'me going to leave it at that. Thank you."
"So, how you holding up?" I don't turn my head, but I can tell who it is by the voice. I stay quiet. Sam climbs out the window and sits next to me on the roof. "We would come out here and talk for hours. Even when we were kids and my mom would yell at us for sitting on the roof, we'd still do it," I tell him. "You know, the doctors said that they couldn't do anything else -that the cancer had spread too much too fast. But I knew they were lying. They just wanted to stop the pain." Sam didn't speak. He only moves closer and wraps his arm around me. I lean into him and close my eyes for a moment. "There wasn't anything you could do, anyway. All we could do was hope...and pray." I scoff. "Pray to who? Santa Claus?" "You don't believe in God?" "I don't know anymore. I-If there was a God, He would've saved Ang." Sam sighs. "Look at it this way, C. When Ang died, she went to Heaven. Now, choose the brightest star." I look up but everything is blurry. I point to a star above the trees. "Okay. That star right there is Angeles. She's an angel to watch over you now. So she looks down to you during the day from that star and at night, when you go to sleep, she comes down from Heaven and watches over you as you sleep." A few tears have fallen from my eyes at this point.
"Does she watch over you, too?" I look up Sam. He smiles. "If you want her to." I nod and tuck my head under his chin and watch Barney and James and the Decorative Crew and Construction crew work to set up for the Winter Bonfire. It usually lasts a whole week. The schools let out and everyone eats junk food and sings holiday songs and watches movies all day. It's my favorite time of year. "You should be down there. To help." Sam chuckles and I feel his chest rumble underneath me. "Why?" "Because everyone is so short and they need a tall person." Sam just keeps chuckling until it turns into a laugh. "How tall are you?" I ask, forgetting since he told me. It's been a while, though. He's grown since then. "6'2," He answers. I groan. "You have, like, eight feet on me." Sam laughs again and moves closer to me, the warmth radiating from his body making me smile in contentment. "You can't be that short." "I'me 5'1." Sam smirks. "You're tiny." "Yes, and I'm not afraid to slap you." Sam grins.
"Pass the rolls, please." My father passes me the small basket and I grab a small one, my already small appetite fading. "I spoke to Missy this morning," my mother speaks. I stop chewing and look at her. "She invited us to dinner on Friday. Christopher Jones is seeing her and Michael then to speak about Angeles' will-" "A will? What is she ninety?" My mom sighs, dropping her fork. "Angeles has some things that she would like for you to have." I scoff. "Caroline, I know you're hurting. Hell, all of Bridgewater knows you're hurting. But you have let go-" "She died a week ago, mom. A week ago! When grandpa died it took you months to let him go-" "Because he was all I had!" I roll my eyes. "You expect me to get over my best friend's death in a week! You're insane." "Missy invited us to dinner. We're going." I push my plate away and turn to my father who sits in awe. "Goodnight, dad." I walk away to my room and then stop. "Mary, you have to give her time." "I just don't want her to end up like me," my mom cries. Tears brim at my eyes. "She won't. She isn't alone." My mom chokes out a sob and rubs her eyes. I blink away the tears and shut the door to my bedroom.
"You've hardly touched your mashed potatoes. C, you love mash-pots," Sam says. I drop my fork and rub at my eyes. I don't even chuckle at the stupid nickname I used to call mashed potatoes when I was three. I met Sam when we were nine and when he came to my house for dinner one night, my mother served mashed potatoes. Then the story of how I could never pronounce the name and always stopped at mash-pots. That was a very embarrassing time of my life. "Not hungry." "Can you just-" "Stop. Just stop." I feel the tears in the back of my eyes and my nose feels tingly. Sam doesn't say anything, but he doesn't stop looking at me. I feel tiny under his stare. "My mom said that I can have a few friends over on Friday. Would you-" "No." Jane stops talking and looks at me. I look up at her and her face soften once she notices the tear streaks. "Alright. It's okay. It's fine. Not the right time. It's fine." Jane reaches over and stroked my sweater clad arm a few times then smiles, smally, at me. I nod and sniffle.
The rest of the day was unproductive. Mr. Bell gave out Algebra homework and Ms. Urbank gave out an English assignment; a five page essay on the our dream profession, what the profession is and/or does and why; due on December 22nd. I drop my stuff on my bed and open the window, the harsh wind blowing into the room, blowing my notebook open. I wrap myself in my button up sweater and move some things out of the way of the window. I sit on the bed and stare out the window and the house next ours; Scott's house. His bedroom is right across from mine. I stare at his Pink Floyd poster and suddenly feel relaxed. Like their is no Algebra, no assignment, no love, no nothing. Like I don't have to breath. I get up and press the button on my iPod, Panic! at the Disco playing something upbeat. I change it quickly to my Softies playlist and Moddi decides to play. I close my eyes and feel the beat, moving my hands as if I am conducting an orchestra, something I picked up from my cousin when I was younger. The music plays and I am calm. For the first time in two months, I am calm. And all because of a house by the sea.