Once: A Collection

What We Were

We were friends once. 

Her name was Lauren. 

We met in the summer between 5th and 6th grade at summer camp. She had short blonde hair, even then. She used to keep a little red bow in her hair. I remember she was really funny, like somehow she could use humor to cover up the fact that her parents were getting a divorce. Her whole world was crashing down, but she never let anyone know.

She moved to my school in 9th grade and we immediately became best friends. We liked the same music, the same shows, the same movies the same everything. At one point, I even thought she was faking some of her interests so that I’d stay her friend. I was wrong though.

Every word Lauren said, she meant it. 

Her father died around March.

She slept at my house every night for 3 weeks straight. One night at around 3am she sat at the end of my bed and just, started crying. It felt like she was sitting there for hours.

 Eventually I sat up next to her, I hugged her. She kept crying, shaking violently in my arms. I just held her. And for the first time, I saw the strongest person I’d ever seen break apart.  I’d never been as lonely as when she left my house.

In 10th grade I came out as transgender. She accepted me. I mean, I knew she would, but when no one else would accept me, she did. And she stood behind me every step of the way. When my parents told me I needed to leave, Lauren and her mom took me in. I stayed there for 3 months. 

It was the best 3 months of my life. I woke up every day in a room filled with love and support. The unconditional love of my best friend filled my heart. But I realized the minute I left her house that what I felt for her was more than just friendship.

When I went home I found myself only wearing the clothes I wore around her, doing anything I could to remind myself of how it felt being with her, staying with her. I wanted nothing more than to just be with her. At some 3am’s I would sit up at night, on the corner of my bed where she spent time crying, and I’d take myself back to that place where I was holding her trying the best that I could to make her feel as good as she always made me feel.

The summer between 10th and 11th grade, I saw Lauren become something I had never seen before. We had battled depression together, but once my dysphoria became nothing but a whisper, the reality of Lauren’s problems surfaced.

I had noticed for a long time her eating habits. She skipped meals often, and when she did eat, it was always honeydew and saltines. The people at school even nicknamed her honeydew. She was paper thin, and in July, on my birthday, she was sent to the hospital. 

She went in weighing 95 lbs. She had been skinny the entire time I knew her. I just thought it was normal. I was sad but at the same time, I was pissed. I was so angry at myself, that I could ever possibly let her do this to herself. That I could be so blind that I didn’t even recognize my best friends worst vices.

I loved her, I loved her so much, and there was nothing I could even do to help her.

She came out of the hospital healthy. 110 lbs, strong, by far the best I had ever seen her. For a while I even thought she was happy. We would go out all the time, to go to museums or movies or to the park. We laughed, and I saw her smile, really smile, for the first time ever. 

I spent New Years at her house. We curled up on the couch, waiting for the ball to drop, waiting to start over. 

We were new people that day. Two people who could only look forward, only look up. We were happy, we were filled with hope.

The ball dropped, I took her hands into mine and I stared into her eyes. I closed my eyes and I said, “Lauren, I love you, you are the best thing that has ever happened to me, and I love you.”

I kissed her right there. I kissed her, I felt the life drain from me and pour into her. I felt fireworks, I felt sunshine, rain, everything. It was the best I had ever felt.

But she pulled away a second later.

“Get out.” Her voice was low.

“Get out!” She screamed, tears filled her eyes.

I was confused, so I grabbed my bag and I left.

I lay awake all that night, just wondering, why? What did I do? Sure, a part of me always thought that she didn’t feel the same way as I. But an even bigger part of me had hoped, for so long that she did feel the same way.

She didn’t talk to me at school the day back.

She didn’t talk to me at school the first week back.

The first month, nothing but silence.

She broke my heart. And I never really understood why.

The next week I got a call from Lauren’s mother. Lauren died. Overdose I guess. I didn’t really pay attention to anything about it. I didn’t go to the funeral, or the wake, or school even. I couldn’t. I couldn’t do anything without remembering her. Her smile, her hair. The way how no matter how dark the world around her seemed, she could bring light into it.

We were friends once.

But we were so much more than that. We were best friends, we were siblings, we were confiders, we were each others lives for 6 years. My whole life for 6 years I knew nothing but how she made me feel.

Nothing but her blonde hair, and kind green eyes. Nothing but her loving embrace. 

All I wanted was for her to love me back, was for her to kiss me.

But then again, for all I know, maybe she did love me. Maybe all she wanted, was to wake up every morning with me next to her, to have and to hold forever and always.

I’ll never really know.