And She's Gone

I had a friend once. She was my best friend. The problem was our lives were so different, we hardly saw each other.

Arabelle was kind, smart, funny. All the things I could ask for. But me, plain, simple Ashley, was nothing spectacular. Boring, busted, broken. Like a bottle on the street. Nothing.

Arabelle was busy. Tennis, soccer, jazz, ballet, piano, violin. She did it all. It was amazing to me, as I barely had time for art, the one thing we had in common.

I met her in elementary. It was art time,and little me was excited. I was always pretty good at art, so clearly it was my favorite class. That class was different though.

That class I met Arabelle.

She was sitting off to the side, glaring at her paper. I decided to see if I could help. She was fraustrated that she couldn't draw a horse exactly how she wanted. Perking up with the chance to help someone, I asked her if I could give her some tips. She did, and we became best friends.

But that was the past. Now, she had to blow me off over and over again, as something new pops up, such as a recital, a art show, a game. When she's not busy, her older siblings are. All her free time is spent going to their games, their recitals.

I'm alone now, with no one to comfort me. I'm okay, but I miss my best friend.

Then one day, I got the call. The call that destroyed me.

The call of Arabelle's death.

No one mourned like I did. No one even pretended too. Her "friends" at school were sad for a few hours at most, then forgot her.

I didn't tell them why I mourned. That I mourned all of the times we lost, the times we had, the times that we tried and failed to see each other.

She never lost hope in me, in our friendship. I didn't deserve to know her, much less be her friend.

I hope that one day I'll reunite with my dear friend in Heaven, the place where angels go.