Fading Into Nonexistence

Reason of the Reminiscence

The aroma of the restaurant wafts into my nose as Trystyn opens the door for me.

"After you," he declares with a genuine smile.

"Thank you," I reply with a smile of my own. We make our way to the bar of the restaurant and sit atop the red stools. "So," I start us off with our monthly conversation. "How is New York?" I ask with curiosity in my voice. Trystyn moved to New York only two months ago, but I already feel like I'm letting him slip away.

"You know," he replies with a sigh. "New Yorky," he finishes with a small smile as he runs his hand through his blonde hair.

"Sounds intriguing," I respond realizing how much I missed him.

"Oh, it is. Wait until you finally come visit me there," he alleges with a raised eyebrow. "When will that be anyways? I need to show off my glorious apartment to you," Trystyn says sarcastically, emphasizing the word glorious.

"You know why I can't," I state matter of factly and spin a bit on my stool, avoiding eye contact.

"It will be fine for you to leave for a week or so," he claims and shots me the puppy eyes.

"Trystyn, I just met her and she's my mother. I can't just pack up and leave when we are just starting to get close," I tell in a form of a plead.

"You're not leaving, and she should be the one trying to get your acceptance. Plus, she likes me," he finishes with a convincing smile. I let out a sigh and look back up at Trystyn. "Please," he requests. His blue eyes plead along with his words and he folds his hands into each other to further the intensity of the beg. "Please," he continues in a childish voice.

"Fine," I assert, giving in. I really miss him.

"Yes!" Trystyn pumps his fist into the air like he used to do when we were younger and had beat me in an elementary soccer game. "I knew you'd come around," he claims.

"And how is that?" I question, spinning my stool to face him directly.

"How could you not?" he asks. "We've been friends since you were fostered across the street from me." Trystyn bites his lower lip in concentration. "How old were we?" he says, giving up on trying to figure it out for himself.

"Eleven," I answer his question and nod my head a bit. "You were one of my first friends," I explain while altering my mouth into a diagonal line.

"I know. It's because I'm so great," he opens his mouth to continue, but closes it suddenly. "I'll be right back," he states and quickly stands up.

"Okay," I draw out the word in confusion and watch him walk towards the back of the restaurant. When he is out of sight, I bring my view down to the bar table, allowing my straight, brown hair to fall into my eyes. I let my mind wander to when we were little and I first met Trystyn. It was my sixth foster house, and it was across the street from Trystyn's home. He walked me to the bus stop and I immediately made it my new goal to be his friend, and I did. We've been friends ever since, even when I changed foster homes. He always made an effort to see me.

"Hey," Trystyn's voice comes from above me and I bring my gaze back up to meet his. He smiles brightly with a bit of mischief in his face.

"What is it?" I inquire, and I can't help but smile along with him.

"You'll have to see for yourself," he says, maintaining a calm voice to not let the secret slip. I tilt my head slightly away from him to hide my giddy smile. It seems like a year since we've talked, not a month.

"Get down! Everybody get down!" A sudden, angry voice comes from near the door of the restaurant. At first, I am consumed with confusion and look quickly towards the sound, but then the gun in the man's hand shines and catches my eye. My body stiffens and my gaze can not be torn away from the gun.