Removed

01

       

Have you ever felt lonely? Or, have you felt the aching burning in your chest, longing for someone that is long gone? Well, I have. Ever since two years ago, that is. I've been abandoned in a perfectionist society full of people that, for some reason, don't think I've met some kind of fantasied standards.

    I sit in the corner, alone and isolated. The air buzzes with chatter as pieces of hair flutter to the checkered floor. My parents stand behind a man and woman respectably, an elderly couple that has been coming here for years. Here, as in my parent's salon, where they devote most of their time, effort, and dedication.

    My Aunt Becca also works here along side them. Sometimes, just looking at her face and into her eyes reminds me of her. I had a cousin. No, she wasn't even a cousin, she was a sister and a best friend. Then, all of a sudden, I was alone. I mean, there's my friend Kaylee, but we've drifted so far apart it sometimes feels like we never even knew each other.

    My watch beeps, indicating it's time for me to be physically active. I've never been sure why we need to be fit, or to be slim, or to be healthy. I guess I've just gone with the flow my whole life, and now, I guess it hasn't left me in the brightest of places. Well, it's my only option, now isn't it? There's no Plan B, no escape from the harshness that is my pitiful reality.

    I wave goodbye to everyone in the salon, and some customers even wave back. I've come to know quite a few people from visiting my parent's work, but never people my age that want to stay.

    As soon as the fresh air slaps me in the face, I jog out into the open, into the outdoors. The faux trees wave me a greeting, as does the artificial grass. My dad and I always fantasize about what real nature is like, but I guess we'll never know. All of the natural plant life has long been destroyed by warming climates and pollution, which has thankfully been taken care of, for the most part.

    Sometime through my running, which leaves me panting due to my asthma, I wind up at the cemetery. By now, the sun has long dipped below the horizon. Actually, it was never up when I set foot from the salon. I know I should probably turn back in case the clock strikes twelve before I get out. After all, being out after curfew is punishable by law if one of the many night guards catches you.

    I bring my smart watch up to eye level. 11:30. I have thirty minutes. I should be fine. So, I enter through the parted metal gates, my heart rate speeding up.

    At first, it was a necessity. It was an emotional outlet, the only connection to her I had left. Every single day I would sit down next to her. Rain or shine. Then, I started visiting less and less, not seeing the point in talking to dirt and fake grass.

    I still like to think that I still have a tiny connection to my best friend, my cousin. Maybe that's why, even though I know my visits are becoming pointless, I refuse to stop coming. It's become a weekly ritual to just talk to her, to just vent about my problems and finally let my tears spill over.

    It's difficult to comprehend that once I despised her, but it's true. Everyone adored the girl. My parents loved it when she helped at the salon, even more than they enjoyed my walk. Only when I was ten and in a hard place did I finally let her comfort me. She was the only person around and my defenses were down. I was too sad to be angry. I sobbed into her hair and explain that Kaylee had started hanging with the popular crowd, how everyone seemed to hate me. Maybe that's where everything went downhill with me and everyone else. Well, everyone excluding her.

    The next three years, we became the best of friends. When I was down, she would insist that her two year lead of age made her superior to anyone in my class and that since she thought I was cool, I had to be. She once paraded me all around town shouting "This is my cousin and I'm proud!" That was probably the best and most embarrassing day of my life. If only things were still the same.                                            'Ashley Morales' the tombstone reads. She allowed me to call her Ash. The adults refused to call her anything but her proper name, which was fine with me. This made the nickname even more special. She called me Hurricane because I loved storms. We were Hurricane and Ash, cousins by chance, friends by choice. It was bliss.                    I sniff, my hair clinging to the tears I just realized are running down my face. Maybe I'm crying because it's officially been two years since I've lost her. Or, maybe I'm just an emotional mess. My whole body shakes as I grip my knees tightly. I have to calm down. I don't have much time left. It's getting late.