An entry for Flash! Friday–Vol 2 – 17.
We’ve known each other all lives. Not just neighbors, more than friends, closer than cousins: the two of us were sisters at our souls.
She gave me chicken pox when I was five. Out of kindergarten for a week, I burned with fever, slathered calamine, and scratched miserably. We played and laughed all afternoon.
At sixteen, she was burning rubber when that state trooper pulled her. I paid her fine so she could pay for prom; we’d been chasing a hottie in a convertible, anyway.
Stories such as these were the crucible that forged our lasting friendship. For her, I would walk through fire.
Freshman year, she called me. She had met The One. She was drawn to him like a moth to flame. He was exotic. He was amazing. He was passionate. He was a fire that burned inside her and threatened to consume her very being.
He was my boyfriend.
We are no longer friends.