RENA'S DIARY/[Entry #1]

Did you know that when a friend... is... gone, it really hurts. It hurts so much… Ugh, I sound so lame. It's like the word 'hurt' doesn't cut it. It's an empty word. Saying it and feeling it are just so different that saying "it hurts" is like an insult.

I didn't know that it would feel this way, but I never thought it would... be like this. I mean, when someone in my family... left, I knew that it would be hard. Of course, right?

Family is someone you've known your whole life. They're people that you're connected with by blood. Nothing can come close to separating a blood tie.

'Friends are different,' I thought. 'You can't pick your family. God picks them. But friends? They drift in and out of life. They're a choice. You don't even have to have friends if you don't want to.' It's not the same. They're completely different. It shouldn't be this hard to breath when a friend is gone. It shouldn't be this hard to move when a friend is gone. Things can always go back to the way they were before you were friends.

Wrong. I was stupid.

So, so stupid.

It won't be the same and I can never go back to the way life was before he broke it.

Wait - that sounds so bad. That's really, really insensitive, oh my god. I swear I didn't mean it like that either. Well – I mean, I, uh, I mean I did, b-but I didn't. I wasn't supposed to sound as bad as it came out! I'm sorry, do you get what I'm saying?

...even though you're a piece of paper and you can't talk back.

This is literally getting worse by the second - why did I write this in pen. Maybe I can cross that out and try again! Umm.

Aggh! Who says 'Um' in their diary?! Son of – aggghh. I should stop before I write something else I'll regret. I can't do this. I can't write. Math I can do. Math is one subject that is absolute. Consistent. There's a single correct answer. Always a single correct answer. And a path to find that answer. Math is constant. It doesn't expect me to change. It tells me what to do.

Not writing. I have to make decisions. I have to make the rules. Téa suggested I should write a diary to mull everything over. I hate dairies. I'd hate to rain on the parade of whoever came up with the idea of a 'Diary,' but it seems like a conventional hazard. What a Diary is and what it should be aren't the same things: it should be a way to express, vent, and document both important and menial details in life. Instead it's a time bomb covered in fake leather.

Maybe the Diary was invented for that very reason. She must have wanted to know someone's deepest, darkest secrets. I know the inventor is a 'she' because men can function without knowing secrets, but women can't. 'Women don't need journals to steal secrets' I can hear you thinking. Well, I assure you, not all women can talk their way into someone's head. Some can't talk their way out of their own. So a Diary must have been one's sneaky way of doing it.

But I had this notebook that I got from him, and Téa said...she said I should do it. That it would help. When she told me, she had such a sincere look in her eyes... and her hand squeezed my shoulders and she pulled me into a hug... it felt so warm... all of a sudden I thought, maybe dairies aren't a bad thing. Maybe I can put this notebook to good use.

I remember the day I got it from him. I don't think I'll ever forget. It was a cold, snowy, December evening. Cold enough that you could feel your lips crack and your glasses fog when you stepped inside a building. I remember because that was the day his mom insisted she make us her famous caramel iced swirl hot chocolate, better than the best donut shop. I hated hot drinks. I didn't know how to look her in the eyes. She talked so fast there was nowhere, no how, to intervene with this information, so I just had to smile and gratefully nod while feeling the hot cup burn at my hands.

We were laying his den watching a DVD. Yu-Gi-Oh!, he called it. There was always a sparkle in his eyes when he talked about anime. I never really understood why someone would love TV so much, but he was bound and determined to show me. So we had spent the day laying on our stomachs, sharing a blanket.

He paused the DVD player as Pegasus summoned a dark cloud from the Shadow Realm to surround himself and Yugi Muto. This was out of character for my friend and caught me by surprise. We never interrupted an anime binge. "It ruins the immersion" is what he'd always say.

But this time, with me buried head under a quilt trying to dance my fingers around the hot glass and him with his empty cup, he paused the DVD. We switched cups so no one would know the wiser.

Then it happened. He rolled up from his stomach and reached over the couch. I remember the sheer awkward confusion between us, seeing as I couldn't do anything but watch the spectacle. I could see the flash of concentration that came with fumbling around not finding what he was looking for. Then emerged a notebook. It was plain and brown, with little dots decorated into the leather that together formed a flower. On the side was a red strap to hold a pen or pencil, and inside a red ribbon to mark it. I remember the way he nervously shifted his jaw and tightened his lips, nervous and unsure.

"Merry Christmas, Rena."

Merry Christmas, Simon.

Rena, that's right. That's me. I'm Rena Costa. My great grandparents brought my family over from Italy. Not that I ever learned enough to really understand where they came from or why they came, and now it's too late. That's all irrelevant now. I'm not home anymore. I can't click the leaf or send in DNA samples to find out who my ancestors were or how they got where they ended up. My family always said heritage was important, but in the grand scheme of things, what does it matter? So now I'm not Rena Costa. I'm just Rena. Family outings and Italian dinners are so far away from me. Impossible miles away, and I'm not losing sleep over a single inch?

Where am I? I'm in the show, Yu-Gi-Oh!

Let me tell you how it happened.