Remember My Name

The first time we met wasn't anything special: I was new, and searching, you were old and already had your friends, but we just gravitated towards each other. Two fourth graders not knowing what was in store for their future. We were not for the worst, but not for the best either. I never thought that we would end up like this: always fighting - always hurting each other.



We could say that it was always my fault that we fought, because it actually kind of was. It was always the same thing that came over me. Something I couldn't fight, like it was an old friend coming to stay awhile. The jealousy didn't over-power us until the end of fifth grade. I couldn't help the dark feeling that was crawling out of hiding, and threatening my heart.



By the end of fifth grade, I thought we were the best of friends. I had stayed the night at your house countless times in just a year, and we had so many inside jokes that it was never any use explaining them to outsiders. Then came the end of fifth grade. We were moving up into a whole new unfamiliar environment, and you suddenly became so worried about not being popular.

"I want more friends," you had told me once.

"You don't need more friends. Everyone likes you already..." I remember picking at my nails as I said this, I knew where this was going, it had happened to me many times. I can't remember you saying anything after that. We just continued to walk in the field of green until the whistle blew and we raced to get back inside.

We were only at the beginning of our journey. Neither of us could've predicted what would take years for us to fall apart.