friends with cannons
Had this friend. We knew each other when I was fifteen and she was a seriously good friend then. I had to show in court when I was fifteen. Mainly because I was the person who pulled an injured friend out of a smashed car and took her to an emergency room. Apparently saving your friend gets you in a lot of trouble when you are fifteen. Jeez. But we were friends then and she went to court with me.
My friend was older. Adult. In her twenties. That is actually a big age span when you are fifteen. But, we were friends. A long time ago.
And then time passed.
And then we weren’t.
I am not sure exactly when we weren’t. It may have been when she mocked my name. It may have been when she mocked my age. It may have been when she dismissed my first book. It may have been when she dismissed my second. It may have been when I met a man and she mocked that. Or it may have been —
When she dismissed Jones.
Jones was my cat. And he died. I got a letter from her. It was in a nice card that said something nice about cats dying. But then there was the letter. It talked and talked and you know I was just okay with that, nice card that acknowledged Jones, and then normal talk in the letter. Except, at the bottom of page two, the letter said, “Oh wait what am I forgetting? Oh yeah. Jones died.”
That was the end.