"I, too, remember the feeling. You are caught between all that was and all that must be."

~Haruki Murakami, Hard-boiled Wonderland and the End of the World

The French have a phrase, 'l'appel du vide', which literally means 'the call of the void.' It's used to describe the instinctive urge to jump down from high places. Amy read about this psychological phenomenon, how perfectly sane people with no desire to die, walk to the edge of the cliff and suddenly experience a strong desire to leap forward into the unknown.

Now, standing in the midst of leftover confetti, a while after the last high school student left the homecoming pep rally, Amy can feel herself inching closer to the precipice. She's trying to understand how she got here, to the point where she feels the metaphorical wind sting her face as she places her toes on the edge, stretching her arms wide, letting the depth overwhelm her.

Amy doesn't really remember how she got home that day.

She remembers making a non-committal sound when Karma said she was going home. Normally they would've hung out at one of their houses after school, but Karma's mom wanted to teach Karma the proper way to do Vinyasa yoga, a skill she believed was a requirement for good parenting apparently.

After Karma left the gymnasium, Amy lingered, outlasting all the students as they petered out, leaving to do whatever it is high school students did after school. Amy was jolted out of her thoughts by the squeak of the slightly rusty hinge in the janitor's push broom. She remembered walking towards the exit and then everything is kind of hazy. Like when you drive home the same way every day and then after months of the same routine, you find yourself forgetting the journey home in the first place. Trusting that it must have happened though, since you're home and thankfully not harmed by your inattention.

Except nothing about today was routine for Amy. She can still feel the remnants of Karma's kiss on her lips. She kissed Karma. She kissed Karma. Even repeating that to herself sounds crazy.

Walking into her room and setting her bag down, Amy looked around desperately trying to find something to distract her from the thoughts that kept cycling through her mind. Thoughts like, 'I kissed Karma and I liked it. I liked kissing my best friend.' This is insane.

Maybe she'd watch 'Made in Bangladesh,' that documentary on child slavery she'd been meaning to watch. And since Karma seemed to have no interest in it, she may as well watch it by herself. She preferred Canadian documentaries to popular American documentaries, mostly because American filmmakers had the tendency to sensationalize the mundane negative aspects of American modern life, like obesity and political dishonesty, while overlooking serious problems, like garment factories exploding in countries that work children to the bone so Americans can buy a shirt for 15 dollars at American Apparel.

See, maybe this is working. If she hangs out on her soapbox for a little longer she won't have to figure out if enjoying kissing Karma makes her gay.

…

'Does it make her gay?'

Okay well maybe this isn't working so well. Shit.

Amy flopped down on the bed with a sigh, throwing her arms over her head. When did life get so complicated? Two days ago Karma and her were gorging on junk food watching a marathon of Dance Moms on TLC, laughing at the ridiculousness and vowing never to be that kind of mom when they had kids. It was simple then. Just Karma and Amy against the world, both with weird families, never quite fitting into a crowd at school. But it didn't matter. At least it didn't to Amy because she was perfectly content sitting next to her best friend, leaning against the headboard angled in just enough so she could smell Karma's unique scent of Dove soap and lavender perfume.

Usually Karma would drift off at some point with her head lobbing to the side. Karma was never able to stay awake for extended periods of TV watching, a trait that Amy found to be incredibly endearing. Amy always made sure to scoot in a little closer so Karma could rest her head on her shoulder. Amy didn't want her best friend to have a pain in her neck when she woke up. Because after all, all Amy wanted was for Karma to be happy. Sometimes Karma's happiness meant even more to Amy than her own happiness.

Two days ago, valuing her best friends happiness above her own just felt normal, like that's what all best friends felt, right? But now, she knows the feel of Karma's lips leisurely sliding against her own. She knows the breathless feeling she got when Karma pulled away slightly, when the only word running through Amy's mind was 'Wow.' But most of all she remembers the tightness in her chest when Karma winked at her and said, "Way to sell it," reminding Amy that this whole charade was never about her. It was always and forever going to be about Karma's popularity and Karma's potential new boyfriend and all Amy would be left with would be a lump in her throat and the brief memory of what it felt like to forget reality and believe she was Karma's first choice.

Amy knows there's no going back to the simplicity of before because she kissed Karma and all there will be from now on is after. She can already feel her Converse loosing footing on the cliff rocks below her.

She may as well jump.