Painful Confusion

My eyelids felt like they were 400 pounds. They were close to shutting when my phone on the bedside table began to vibrate and startled my eyelids open. With a groan, I reached over and answered it.

"Hullo?" I mumbled sleepily.

"Lori..." a voice sobbed. "My parents...they really are getting a divorce. I'm moving..."

The sound of my best friend crying jolted me awake.

"Jessica...oh, Jessica. Talk to me, honey."

She began to talk while I got out of bed and rummaged through my drawers. I paid close attention, not saying a word except for the occasional "uh-huh" or "right." After pulling on my Mississippi State t-shirt and a pair of gray yoga pants, I slipped on some house shoes and quietly made the half-mile trek to Jessica's house.

"Are you here yet?" she asked.

"I'm at the end of your driveway."

When either of us went into crisis mode, the other always, by tradition, went to care for the friend, no matter what time it was. In this case, it was 12:41 AM.

I saw Jessica peer through her bedroom window, and the phone clicked. Not five seconds later, her head popped outside of the front door and she held it open for me.

"Hey," she whispered.

"Hey," I echoed.

Before I said anything else, I enveloped her in a hug, and she cried against my collarbone. I stroked her hair and buried my face in the blonde hair I had envied.

She finally looked up, sniffled, and wiped her cheeks.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

I nodded, and after a few seconds of silence, I heard a painful, familiar sound. Jessica's mother was crying, and then her father locked himself in the guest room to keep everyone else out.

"Can I stay at your house?" she asked timidly.

"It's summer, for Pete's sake! Of course you can stay over!"

We tiptoed into her house, and she packed an overnight bag while I forged a note in Jessica's handwriting to her mother. Five minutes later, we were walking back to my house. No one said a word. We were too busy denying the fact that we knew the end was coming.