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Archiver > BLACK > 1998-12 > 0914348386


From: Peggy Nichoson< >
Subject: Re: [BLACK-L] The Rift
Date: Tue, 22 Dec 1998 17:39:46 +0000


Thanks for sharing Lori.
Peggy

Lori A. Quest wrote:

> Merry Christmas everyone!!! In this story, the person reached out on a
> friend's birthday... Christmas is the best "birthday" to reach out to
> someone you might have lost touch with. I know how hard it gets as
> time passes and we are caught up in our "busy" lives...Often we are so
> busy looking at the "past" that we neglect our "present"..... the more
> time that passes, the guiltier we feel for not calling or writing or
> visiting or sending an e-mail.... and so we let more time pass until we
> don't call at all. Please take some time during this season to get
> back in touch...
> I'm going to try and take my own advice!!! I wish you all Peace &
> Joy this Christmas season and all year long. Lori
>
> The Rift
>
> I sit perched on the edge of my bed, faint smiles drifting across
> my face, as I sift through all my
> old photographs. My sleeves pushed up over my elbows, I dig down
> into all the old memories. I
> hold each memory briefly in my hands before dropping it onto the
> pile in my lap and searching for
> the next happy moment to remember. Each picture evokes feelings
> long gone, but deep within
> me. I'm not exactly sure what has prompted this sudden trip to my
> past, but I feel like I need to
> stop, and look back.
>
> As I continue to relive the memories, I can't help but notice one
> photo in particular buried deep in
> the box. I pluck it from the sea of snapshots and hold it in my
> hands. The picture at first glance is
> lovely. The sun was shining with not a cloud to be seen in the
> bright blue canopy that hung high
> over my head. I was sitting with my arm around a happy looking
> girl, her arm rested casually on
> my shoulders. As I focus in on the person's face, the warm smile
> that covers my face is replaced
> by an agitated frown. It is Amy Soule, my now ex-best friend. A
> terrible pang of regret flashes
> through me, and I feel the familiar constriction in my throat.
>
> I'm not sure exactly how, or when our decline as friends started,
> but it started small. A simple
> crack that flourished in our awkward adolescence and shameful
> neglect. It began with simple
> differences in interest. She wanted to go to the mall and scout for
> guys, while I wanted to spend
> the evening watching old movies and talking about nonsense gossip.
> Suddenly after school
> activities took up our usual time together and weekends were spent
> doing other things. Soon the
> only time I saw her was when we exchanged a hurried hello in the
> busy school halls between
> classes. A far cry from the whispered conversations behind my half
> open locker at every spare
> moment. No more notes were passed behind the teacher's back, and my
> parent's phone bill
> became considerably cheaper. She found a new group of friends, and
> so did I. Before I had a
> chance to patch the crack between us, she moved away from me,
> causing the crack to become
> an uncrossable rift.
>
> I tried to make excuses for not keeping in touch. I couldn't visit,
> it was too far and I couldn't ask
> Mom to drive me all that way. I even tried to convince my nagging
> conscience with the notion that
> people change, I matured, and that is why. I knew that was not the
> answer, but I was too nervous
> to pick up the phone and call. The rift grew too large to bridge,
> Amy had left, and with her she
> had taken a huge chunk of heart with her.
>
> I stand up and stretch my cramping limbs. Pulling myself back into
> the now, I let the picture fall
> from my hand onto my cluttered desk. I glance up at my calendar and
> remember that Amy's
> birthday is around the corner. In fact, we were born in the same
> room, two days apart. It had
> always been a good-natured joke between us that she was two days
> older than I. We started so
> close, and ended up so far. This bitter sweet memory causes me to
> smile despite my feelings of
> regret. I suddenly have an idea. I hastily drop to my knees and
> begin to rummage through my
> desk drawers. At last I lay my hands on an old picture frame I have
> been kicking around forever.
> I pick up the fallen photo of Amy and I snap it into the frame. I
> quickly pen a note, and for lack of
> anything better to say, I simply write, "Happy Birthday Amy, Erica"
>
> I stick the piece of white paper under the edge of the frame and
> search for Amy's address. I hold
> the frame tightly in my arms. I am not going to let this golden
> chance slip through my fingers. It's
> not much, but it is a beginning and the space between us has
> already gotten smaller. Maybe this
> time I will be strong enough to build a bridge.
>
> from A Second Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul

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