Comma of a friendship
Jessica Moskowitz‘ 18
Mia had been the type of friend I would confuse as my sister. Our friendship extended past the reach of my memory, past potty training, the alphabet and my first cat. Mia was the age of my actual sister, and both of us loved her as we loved each other.
My sister and I followed a simple routine every Friday, catching the bus at the corner of 35th Ave and NE 94th Street we would watch the window for the coffee shop marking the corner of Mia’ s street, My sister held tight to my hand until we stood safely in the driveway of our destination. Letting ourselves in the back door, we’ d great Mia’ s moms and scamper up the stairs to convince our friend it was time to go exploring.
We’ d go on walks with our set of broken walkie-talkies and keep watching for each other while we stole plums from the neighbor’ s trees. Usually, when our legs were tired from walking and our stomachs full of plums we’ d crawl under the back porch to lay in the dirt and talk, the cold of the hard ground seeping into our backs, the underside of the porch was the edge of our world. At night we would pile onto the scratchy futon in the basement burrow ourselves in a cocoon of blankets and watch America’ s Next Top Model until we fell asleep. Pure is the word I’ d use to define our friendship with Mia. Then we moved.
Our parents had found jobs in Boston their carers tore us away from our home and spat us out in a New- England suburb. We learned a new Friday tradition of skyping and holding our cats up in front of the camera for her to see. And she visited every summer for weeks at a time, until those weeks dwindled to a few days and until those few days became one day. And then it was two summers ago, and she was in Boston for just one day on her way back from her grandparents’ house. And we didn’ t sleep because we had too much to talk about, we spent every second of that day and night together and then we were driving to the airport and hugging in a parking lot and talking about everything we would do next time and then she was gone. And with her went the strongest bond I have ever had to person, a water thick enough to be mistaken as blood. I think about the last time I saw her; the air had been humid and heavy as if holding back tears, I didn’ t know that morning came with the punctuation of friendship.
Mia taught me how to trust, how to love others more than myself and how to be loyal. In the time since Mia, I’ ve grown up a lot, friendships have grown up with me, and I’ ve found myself time and time again chewing, swallowing and re-digesting what that word means.