Halloween is right around the corner. It’s two years later and my friends are exactly how I left them. Little kids in graduation gowns and prestigious high schools. 4th graders with jobs and girlfriends. Toddlers drunk out of their minds.
Florina is a year 12 now. I don’t know where she’ll go to uni, what degree she’ll get or which Westerners will tell her to go back where she came from. I don’t know if she’s still alive, but I remember when she didn’t want to be. Flori with that long hair she used to hate. Flori who once chased me down our street with a brick. Flori who scared me half to death every night when we’d hang out until 11PM thinking we were going to die. Maybe she’ll have a nice car in the driveway after getting her license, and maybe her kid will also hate her. Maybe she’ll be as rich and insufferable as her parents. Maybe she’ll be as lonely as them, and I won’t ever have to know.
It’s cold in the capital, and all my memories are miles away. I won’t take the train tonight, I haven’t in years–– it’s always late and I’m tired and the station in our town is sketchy, hidden like some secret portal to civilization.
I’d wait, but you know I won’t. The city’s bigger. I’ll lose everyone that matters and become one with discolored asphalt. Our home is in a different town: a small, green place where people think they know us. But Flori is gone and I’m alone in a beautiful green clean town swallowing me whole. I won’t take the train tonight. I haven’t in years.
They refurbished the park near our school. I shouldn’t have gone back. Where is everyone?I haven’t seen them in ages. Tell me they’re exactly the same. Tell me they’re still a group of mean and spiteful kids bullying each other on the playground, playfighting until someone bleeds. Tell me they’re still those asshole kids I used to love. Please lie to me.
I’m dreaming and I’ve been dreaming for months, but you’re right in front of me now and everything is so clear. How can I bear to wake up? I’ll punch away the memories into a training bag and stuff my ears full of cotton to stop hearing the train tracks rattling and your laughter. I’ll forget it soon. I’ll forget all of you if I’m lucky. But for now, my hands are sore, my throat is dry and my friends are four districts away.