Weathered Love

DIARY I

I became reminiscent of past Thanksgivings that night, even though it was Christmas Eve. I had waited until midnight to post the Christmas video, sighed, then decided I'd do something I'd neglected for so long: I wrote in my diary.

Dear Diary,

It's funny where my brain goes sometimes. I was just posting a video and I was missing Ivan - which has become a constant feeling I've learned to deal with - when I started to think about all our past Thanksgivings. One stands out in my mind though.

We were 11. It was the first time my family was staying home for Thanksgiving instead of traveling upstate to visit our relatives, since my dad had to work the day after and it didn't make sense to make the trip just for dinner.

I was really upset over not being able to see my cousins, and it was evident in school that day. Ivan asked me at lunch what was bothering me, and of course, being besties, I told him right away. He simply nodded, agreeing that it wasn't fair that I couldn't see my family that year. We quickly switched topics, although I can't remember what we talked about afterwards. I just remember that being the end of that conversation. After school, Ivan came over since he would otherwise be home alone, made his customary call to his parents to let them know he was safe at our place, and then we just hung out. I think we played some basketball in the cold that afternoon.

He went home after we had dinner together, and even later that night, my mother came to my room while I was trying to finish some homework. She had the most touched smile on her face. I'll never forget how happy she looked. She announced we'd be having Thanksgiving with the Hansens that year. They had invited us over. I knew Ivan had asked his parents after I had told him about my misery over not being able to go upstate.

I immediately called Ivan, elated, but for some weird reason, I felt the need to berate him. I think I said something along the lines of, "What makes you think I want to spend Thanksgiving with you?" He took it in good humor, laughed, said he knew he was the best thing I had in my life, and said he was happy to finally have someone his age at dinner. He definitely was the best thing I had in my life.

I remember just being so excited. I would get to spend Thanksgiving with my best friend. And while I'd definitely miss my family, I remember thinking that this was definitely going to be so much fun. I remember daydreaming of all the possible things we'd do, all the games we'd play, the possibility of finally getting to play some touch football - like they did in the movies - while we waited for dinner to be ready.

That wonderful day came. My mother tried to convince me not to wear my sweatpants, embarrassed that her daughter would dare wear such a dressed down outfit to a nice dinner with friends. I remember arguing that, since we lived just down the street, I could always change before dinner, but she would hate it if I got a nice dress all ripped up or a nice blouse covered in grass stains from playing rough sports all day. I won that argument, which is one of the few times I out-logic'd my mother.

We went to the Hansens, and I remember trying not to burst out in laughter at Ivan's bowtie. He quickly changed into his own sweatpants, and he, Ella, Nick, our dads, and I ended up playing some touch football. It was the Hansens vs. the Fultons. We held our own, but considering Nick was 21 and therefore an adult, it was hard for us to beat the team with 2 full-sized adults and one pre-teen that was basically the size of a full adult. Meanwhile, we had teeny Ella and, well, I was pretty tall and stocky so I almost matched up to Ivan.

But Ivan didn't mind playing dirty and tickling me to make me drop the ball so he could pick it up. He accidentally figured out my weakness during that game when he made a grab for the ball, I turned my body just in time for him to grab my side, and I immediately laughed out loud and dropped the ball. It was game over for me from that moment on.

We lost by a single point. I remember being very upset about that, but trying to be a good sport about it because I didn't want to lose my only friend. That's right, at the time, Ivan was the only one I could call a friend. The other kids at school fit into one of three categories: classmate, acquaintance, or bully.

I remember running home to quickly change into something semi-presentable and just gathering my hair into a messy ponytail since I didn't really have time to run a comb through it. My mother spent the next fifteen minutes, in the Hansens' bathroom, trying to fix the nest atop my head and instead settled for putting it into a tight bun that gave me a headache for the rest of the night.

Ivan's appetite definitely shone that night. I remember quietly teasing him and him returning the favor after I had some sauce that had stayed on my face for the entire night. He decided not to tell me until we were done eating.

At the time, it was by far the best Thanksgiving I'd had in my eleven years of life. They only got better after that, culminating in the last one we had, just last year.

I'm starting to realize now why I remembered our first Thanksgiving. It was the first of a wonderful tradition that brought our families closer. It was the event that pushed our friendship to a level it had never been to before. It was the event that forever solidified what it meant for us to be best friends.

I miss Ivan so much. No matter how hard I try to move on, no matter what I do or say to try to make myself feel better, at the end of the day, I miss him. At the end of the day, he's still gone. At the end of the day, I know life will never be the same. It'll always be an alternate path I never planned for. It'll always be a bit emptier.

I try to find comfort in having Andrew. And I just know he's in my life some way, somehow, because of Ivan, and I'm truly happy with him. I just wish I could share that joy with Ivan. That's all.

Anyway Diary, I just wanted to share that special memory. In case, God forbid, I end up going too. I want someone to know this story. I want someone to remember this story. Because it's worth being shared. It's worth being remembered. It's worth all the emotion on this page.

I looked at the tear stains. Most of them, happy tears at the memory of that beautiful day. I clicked my pen closed, closed my diary, took in a deep breath, and laid the diary on my table. The release was slow, steady, and relaxing.