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  • Being back at my parents house is like going back in time. The house is the same, the neighborhood looks the same too. At least the streets we used to play in. Every time I go by her parents house- I think of her. A new family lives there now. It's old memories I'm reliving.

    Down the street and around the corner. I spent so many moments running to see her. She always seemed to know things and made me feel accepted. I was a shy kid when I met her, she wasn't. But she took me by the hand and became my friend, calling me little spanish girl. I think she liked me tagging along. People used to think we were sisters. I looked up to her and was secretly so proud.

    I remember so many summers; helping her straighten her hair, hours spent tapping our favorite songs on the radio, suntanning in the grass and wasting time wishing we were older. I found a box of notes the other day that we used to write to each other in elementary school. Silly things about nothing other than the moment. What were we going to do that weekend? Take the bus downtown, see a movie. Wondering why my parents were so mean that I had to be home before dark. Didn't matter, she would sit with me in the car, in the driveway and we would pretend we could go somewhere. Then we got to high school and it becomes memories of boys that used to love her and girls that were jealous of her. Sneaking out in the middle of the night and getting grounded for what always seemed like 2 weeks. Yes, we got into trouble together. We got drunk at bush bashes (parties in the woods), ran home together, smoked cigarettes and dropped acid. Even when we had different friends, something kept us connected. We called each other to share stories. I was the maid of honor at her wedding (she got married young), before she got divorced.

    We grew older, moved to different cities and I went with her to look at apartments. One of them turned out to be in an old age home and I remember her being so impressed that they had a salon in the building before she knew. Hilarious. I made fun of her for so long. So different than me, we made fun of each other with lots of love. She used to make me pretend I was handicapped so we could park in the disabled spots when she needed to run in somewhere.

    Like most friendships, when you move on in life, it drifts. There's less time to catchup and miles in between. We hadn't talked much that year when I heard about her death. I still remember the call. No one could get a hold of me so it ended up being a friend of a friend who said I'm sorry to hear about Lorraine. She was shot and killed. I couldn't believe it and rushed home for her funeral. I felt so guilty for not being around. How had I missed out on such a big difficult event in her life. If I was around more, could I have helped her? I know deep down she didn't blame me. That was 7 years ago. I miss her still. I wish she was here. I want a hug and to talk to her. Maybe she knows.
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