Best Friends Never Die

BEST FRIENDS NEVER DIE

         They say that true love never dies. I wonder if it’s the same for best friends.

         When I first met Julie, my family had just moved to Kansas. I didn’t want to move, especially to a place that had no ocean, and I didn’t want to leave my friends in Miami. My mother kept telling me, “Don’t worry. You’ll meet new friends.” But I just knew I wouldn’t. Our new house was at least a mile away from any other home, but I held out hope that my new school would give me an opportunity to meet someone.

         I was twelve, so my mom registered me in sixth grade at Wichita Middle School. The school looked fairly new, but only half the size of my school in Miami. A gray-haired lady in a flowered dress greeted us as we walked into the Registrar’s Office. My mother explained that we had just moved to Wichita from Miami and produced my school records and birth certificate.

         “Let’s see here. Cecelia Stratton. That’s a nice name. And you’re twelve years old?” the Registrar asked. “Yes ma’am,” I replied, which made my mother smile. The Registrar pulled out a few forms and said, “Why don’t you have a seat and I’ll finish this paperwork and then take you to your class.”

         As my mother sat down next to me, I rolled my eyes and said, “You don’t have to stay.” She patted my knee and smiled. “I just want to see who’s in your class and then I’ll go home.” No matter how much I protested, she wouldn’t leave. When the Registrar finished, my mother walked with me and the Registrar to my class. I was surprised to see that there were only ten students in the classroom, and there were actually a few empty desks.

         I waited for the teacher, Miss Wyatt, to direct me where to sit, but my mother had obviously decided which seat I should take. She pointed to a girl sitting alone and whispered in my ear, “She looks nice. She’s got brown hair and blue eyes, just like you.” Mom pointed to the desk next to the girl and asked the Registrar, “Do you mind if Cecelia sits next to that young girl?” I could feel my face getting warm and my palms were sweaty. Miss Wyatt smiled and said, “Cecelia, why don’t you sit at this desk next to Julie.”

         I could feel the flush in my face as I walked slowly up the aisle and slid into the empty desk. Julie leaned over and whispered, “You must be so embarrassed. Don’t worry. My mom did the same thing to me.” My eyes widened and I smiled. I turned and waved goodbye to my mom, who was smiling from ear to ear. “I’ll pick you up at 2:30 in front of the school,” she said as she left, and I heard giggles from some of the kids.

         When the bell rang, Julie walked with me to our next class. Luckily, we both had Mr. Skizzo for Math. She smiled and said, “So, Cecelia, where did you live before?”

         “Miami,” I said, “but call me Cece. Everyone calls me Cece, except my parents.”

         “Okay, Cece it is,” Julie said as she switched her books from one arm to the other, causing her long brown hair to fall over her face. With a flick of her hand, she whisked it back in place.  “Miami,” Julie repeated. “That’s near the beach, isn’t it? Did you live on the beach?”

         “No, but I lived near it. It only took us ten minutes to get there.”

         “I wish we had a beach here,” Julie said. “All we have are fields and fields of wheat. Everywhere you look its tan and flat, but I do love the wheat.” She paused a moment and then added, “And we have tornadoes,” just as we arrived at Math class. She smiled when she saw my mouth and eyes open wide, but before I could ask about them, the bell rang. We took our seats next to each other.

         “What’s your next class,” Julie whispered. Before I could answer, Mr. Skizzo looked over and raised his eyebrows. I straightened up and looked forward, but when he turned to write something on the blackboard, I wrote “English with Mrs. Winters,” in my notebook and showed it to her. Julie frowned and scribbled a reply on her notebook, “I have Science with Mr. Garson. I’ll meet you at the cafeteria for lunch.”

         The cafeteria was just like the cafeteria in my school in Miami, only smaller, but the food was better. Instead of pizza and fast food, this cafeteria had fresh vegetables, meat, and mashed potatoes, and their bread was so fresh. Most of the kids in Miami loved the pizza and French fries they served, but I always liked vegetables. Call me crazy, but I love vegetables, and mashed potatoes are my favorite.

         Julie couldn’t help but stare when I took two helpings. “Think you’ve got enough mashed potatoes there, Cece?”

         “I just love them,” I said as I gobbled down my double helping.

         We spent our lunch talking and Julie gave me the scoop on everyone. She told me who was going steady with who, who got caught smoking in the girl’s bathroom, which girls got their period, which teacher was the nicest and which one was the strictest. It seemed to me that she knew just about everyone in school.

         As we walked through the hall to our next class, Julie would tell anyone who greeted her, “This is my new friend, Cece. She’s from Miami.” From that first day of school, Julie and I became best friends. I’m not sure why. We were total opposites — she was chatty and outgoing and I was quiet and shy, but we just clicked.

         As it turned out, my home was about a mile from her parents’ farm so we would meet halfway. My dad thought it was silly that I would walk a half mile to meet her and then walk a half mile back to our house. Even after I explained, he still thought it was silly.

         “Why don’t you just walk all the way to her house one day and she can walk all the way to your house another day?” Actually, it did sound reasonable, but for some reason Julie never wanted to go to her house. When I asked her why one day, she just said, “I like your house. Everyone looks so happy all the time.” I thought it was a strange thing to say because I thought all families were happy like mine.

         As it neared Thanksgiving, the school was busily preparing for the Thanksgiving play. Mrs. Winters, my English teacher, wanted me to be one of the Pilgrims. “Your mother will have to make your costume. Do you think she’ll do it?” I nodded yes because I was sure she wouldn’t mind. 

         I wasn’t sure if they needed extra people, but I wanted Julie to be in the play, too. “Would it be okay if I asked Julie Hanes to be in the play, Mrs. Winters?” She smiled and said, “I think we can find a spot for her, but her mother will have to make her costume. Why don’t you check with Julie and let me know.”

         I was so excited, but when I told Julie, she was less than enthusiastic about it. “I don’t think I can,” she said.

         “Can you just ask your mom and let me know? I really want you to be in the play with me.” I couldn’t understand why Julie wouldn’t be excited. Maybe her mom didn’t know how to sew. If that was the case, then I would ask my mom to make it for her. I was sure she wouldn’t mind.

         “I’ll ask, but I know my parents will say no. I have to get to class. I’ll talk to you later.” She rushed off to her Science class and I didn’t see her for lunch in the cafeteria or in the halls for the rest of the day.

         When my mom picked me up from school, I asked if she would make the costume for me and she agreed. “I asked Julie to be in the play with me,” I said, “but when I told her that her mom had to make her costume, she said she didn’t think she could.” 

         “Well, maybe her mom doesn’t know how to sew,” mom replied.

         “If she doesn’t, do you think you could sew her costume for her?” I knew I was stretching my luck, but I hoped that mom would consent to do it. I knew she liked Julie and she doesn’t have to work, so maybe she would.

         “Let’s just wait and see what Julie’s mom says. Thanksgiving is only a week away. That’s not much time to make even one costume.” I didn’t push the matter because I knew my mom would do it if she had too. I thought about calling Julie when I got home to tell her there was a possibility that mom could make her costume, but I decided to wait. From Julie’s reaction, I wasn’t quite sure exactly what the problem was. Besides, we had all weekend to talk about it.

         On Saturday morning, Julie called and asked me to meet her halfway. She took me to her dad’s wheat field and told me all about how this year’s hard freeze and heavy rains had ruined most of the wheat crops in Wichita. Her eyes lowered as she touched the barren stems. “I love this field,” she said. “When the wheat gets high enough, I come out here to hide and read my books. But this year, it didn’t get high. My dad’s been pretty upset with our wheat harvest this year.”

         “Why?” I asked. I knew absolutely nothing about farming or wheat fields. Julie sat down on the damp ground and motioned for me to sit next to her. The ground felt wet and cold even though the wheat was brown and dry.

         “He says we didn’t make any money this year,” Julie said as she lowered her eyes.  “He says he doesn’t know how he’s going to pay the mortgage or buy Christmas presents.” Julie looked down so her hair would cover her face, but I had already noticed the tears glazing over her deep blue eyes, making them lighter and closer to the color of mine. I didn’t know what to say, but I guess when you’re best friends you just know when to talk and when not to.

         I knew then why Julie didn’t think she could be in the play. They didn’t have enough money to waste on a costume. I wasn’t so sure I even wanted to suggest that my mother would make it. She might think I was offering out of pity, and I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. All I knew was that I hurt because she hurt. We sat on the damp ground in silence, holding each other’s hands until it was time for me to go home. Julie walked me halfway to my house, but we didn’t speak until we reached the halfway point. “You’re my best friend, Cece,” she said and turned to go home.

         Later that evening, I asked my dad about the wheat crops and how the farmers were going to make it. He admitted that he didn’t know much about wheat farming, and even though he tried to make the problem seem less than it was, I was worried for Julie and her family. I felt guilty because I was thankful that my dad was an insurance agent and didn’t have to worry about losing his job. He was doing well enough that my mom didn’t have to work, but Julie’s mother did.

         Julie didn’t come to school at all the following week, and each time I called, her father would answer and abruptly say, “She’s sick,” and then hang up before I could say anything. My mom made my costume for the Thanksgiving play, but Julie never came and she never called. When she finally did come to school the week after Thanksgiving, her eyes were puffy, her dress was wrinkled, and it looked like she hadn’t brushed her hair.

         As I took my seat next to hers in Homeroom, I asked, “Are you okay?” Without looking at me, she said, “I’m fine,” and looked down at the book on her desk, avoiding me the entire hour. When class ended, she got up and left the room without a word. I walked fast to catch up and when I did, I saw tears in her eyes. “Julie, what’s wrong? I’m your best friend, you can tell me.”

         She rubbed the tears from her eyes and said, “I’ll tell you at lunch,” and then she turned and walked to Math class without me. I watched her all through Math class, but she wouldn’t look at me. I knew she was sad and I was hurting for her. I knew she would eventually tell me what was wrong, so I left her alone.

         When I got to the cafeteria, Julie was sitting by herself next to the window. She had no lunch and I knew it was probably because her parents didn’t have the money to give her, but I wondered why her mom hadn’t at least packed a lunch for her. I didn’t question it and just handed her half of my ham and cheese sandwich. “Thanks,” she said. “I didn’t eat dinner last night.”

         I’m sure she saw my eyes widen and heard me gasp, but she just started eating. We shared the juice box and cookies I had brought and when she finished, Julie took a deep breath, lowered her head and bit her lower lip. “I wasn’t really sick last week,” she said as though she were confessing to her priest. “My mom and dad had a really bad fight again because of the money thing. He’s been drinking a lot lately, and he just got mad and hit her.”

         I drew in a breath and hoped she didn’t hear. I wanted to ask if her father hit her too, but I didn’t. Mostly because I wouldn’t know what to say if she said he had, so I just asked, “Are you okay?” I guess I should have asked if her mother was okay because she quickly retorted, “My mom got hit, not me. Why wouldn’t I be okay?” Julie’s words were sharp, but I knew she wasn’t angry with me.

         I didn’t know what to say, so I placed my hand on hers and said nothing while I waited for her to continue. “I’m fine, but I don’t want to go home. I wish I could just go somewhere else and be by myself. I’m scared, Cece.” I couldn’t imagine how I would feel if my dad ever hit my mom.

         I could see her body quivering, like when you get a cold chill but you’re not really cold. It happened to me once when I got two Ds on my report card and my dad got upset and asked me to explain. I wasn’t cold, but I couldn’t stop shaking. It’s like your body knows something bad is going to happen before you do. Julie’s body was trying to tell her something too.

         The bell rang before I had a chance to speak, and I was glad. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Don’t call me,” Julie said and hurried away. I wished I had said something, anything, to make her feel better. I wanted to call to make sure she was okay, but she asked me not to call her, so I didn’t, but I should have.

         That night, I had a dream.

Julie and I were standing in a field of wheat. The wheat was healthy and gold and high enough so we could sit and read our books, just like Julie liked to do. It was cold outside, but we were wearing our summer clothes and I didn’t feel cold. Julie started to walk away and I wanted to follow her, but for some reason, my legs wouldn’t move. She stopped to stroke the wheat and I called to her to come back, but she just stood there stroking the wheat. I wanted to run after her, but my feet were stuck in the wet ground and I couldn’t pull them free. Julie walked further and further into the mist that hung over the fields until I could barely see her. She turned to me and I could see her mouth moving, but I couldn’t hear what she was saying. And then she was gone.

         I immediately opened my eyes and sat up in bed. I looked at the clock, it was just after midnight. I could feel my nightgown clinging to my body. I was sweating and my body was shaking, but I wasn’t cold. My body was trying to tell me something, but I was too tired to listen, and I fell back to sleep.

         When I arrived at Homeroom the next morning, Julie wasn’t there. I had a sick feeling in my stomach like I was nervous about something, but I didn’t know what. Moments later, we all heard a commotion outside, and when I looked out the window and saw a police car pull up in front of the school, I ran to the bathroom and threw up.

         When I returned to class, the students were whispering and looking at me. Miss Wyatt walked slowly to my desk and I could see tears forming in the corner of her eyes. “Cecelia, would you please come with me?” I knew I wasn’t in trouble; my first thought was that something was wrong with Julie.

         Miss Wyatt walked with me to the principal’s office, and when we entered, two policemen were talking with Mr. Stonewall in his office. Miss Wyatt said, “Please sit down, Cecelia. They’re waiting for your parents to arrive.” I sat there quietly, waiting. My heart was pounding and I wanted to throw up, but I couldn’t leave. Why were my parents coming?

         When Mom and Dad arrived, Mr. Stonewall brought us all into his office. “Cecelia, Miss Wyatt told me that you and Julie Hanes were…are very close friends.” I nodded yes and Mr. Stonewall continued. “I’m afraid I have some terrible news.” My Mom took my hand in hers and my Dad put his arm around my shoulder.

         Mr. Stonewall took a deep breath and said, “The police advised me that Julie was struck by a car last night, and they found a suitcase nearby with her name on the tag.” Mr. Stonewall kept rubbing his hands together and I could see beads of sweat forming on his forehead. I wondered if his body would start shaking too. “The police are wondering if you know why Julie may have wanted to run away from home.” I looked at Mom and Dad, but they couldn’t help me; they had no idea that Julie was unhappy. I had never told them anything because Julie didn’t want me to.

         “Julie told me her parents argued a lot and she wanted to be alone sometimes. Why are you asking me? Why don’t you ask Julie? Where is she? Is she okay?” My words were coming out so fast and I couldn’t understand why they were asking me these questions.

         Mr. Stonewall lowered his head for a moment and then raised it and said, “We can’t ask Julie. I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but Julie died last night.”

         My body began to shake as I heard the words and remembered my dream. I wanted to scream out, but all I could say was “What time did she die?” I’m sure everyone was surprised by my question, but I had to know.

         Mr. Stonewall looked at me curiously and said, “The police think she passed away about midnight. Why do you ask?”

         “No reason,” I said. I knew then that I should have said something to someone weeks ago because it would probably have saved her life. For Julie and her Mom, I decided to tell the police everything Julie told me.

         I don’t know why, but I wasn’t shaking anymore. I didn’t tell anyone that Julie came to me in my dream at the time she died or that she tried to speak to me but I couldn’t hear what she was saying. I know she was trying to tell me what happened, but I only told the police what Julie told me

         It didn’t matter now. They wouldn’t understand how close we were, how best friends can feel the pain and just know. I know something terrible happened to make her run away and I’m sure Julie will tell me, someday. After all, we’re best friends, and best friends never die.

Word count (incl. title): 3507