SHALLOW

By Rowan Avery

I ran into a girl who had been my best friend for fifteen years. We laughed, talked about kids, grandkids, how much had changed, and how some things stay exactly the same. It was like we never parted ways. We exchanged numbers and promised to get together soon. Just like old times.

Walking slowly down the busy city sidewalk, the question begins to echo: what went wrong? Did we just get too busy with everyday life? She was my best friend. More like a sister. She held my hand the day my son was born. My mind screams: what went wrong?

Thoughts race; my pace quickens. The rain starts softly. Raindrops turn to memories, sliding down my hair and over my face.A memory opens like a jewelry box. A look crosses your face that I still can't explain. I bought you a silver chain with a hand-painted four-leaf clover. You were always the lucky one, or that was how I saw it. You just said, "I only wear gold," and put it away, embarrassed for anyone to see you with it.

The rain gets harder. It’s hard to see. It is so hard to see.I lost my way. I became addicted to pain pills. Crying on your shoulder, I believed it would get better because you were in my corner. The very next day, one of your friends saw me at your house. To save face, you blasted me on Facebook. You painted me as a homeless addict you pitied, making it clear to your friend that I wasn't welcome back.

The rain slows as I reach the crosswalk. I look down, certain it's too late—sure my shoes will fill with rainwater mixed with street sludge.Just as I look up to curse the cloudy sky, the clouds part to reveal the bluest horizon I've ever seen. The sun dries the raindrops from my hair and face.

I look down.I look down because I never felt the water fill my shoes. The puddle wasn't as deep as I imagined. From the surface, it looked like an ocean. It was only shallow.

And then, I remembered what went wrong.