The Summer of Our Friendship

Reads: 171  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 0

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
Here's a little piece I tossed together as a scolding to a former friend who broke our trust with ignorant actions and a thank you to the friends that helped me get through it all.

Submitted: May 28, 2016

A A A | A A A

Submitted: May 28, 2016

A A A

A A A


Our trust was nothing more than a summertime game. Me on one end, you on the other, a game of tug of war. Pushing coming to shoving, you never seemed to let me win. You never seemed to let me pull you in, but I only thought you were playing fair. The rope of our trust was hearty in strength, every twist of twine confounded our binding similarities and compromising differences. In the beginning of the summer of our friendship, the sun shined bright with the rays of purity and optimism. Every day was lemonade and daisies with you, I couldn’t wait to see what your love had in store. To and fro, we swayed to the vintage melodies of my record player, bringing a vibe of bygone teenage innocence lost overtime to the current decade. The toasty breeze of security brushed over our skin during those summer nights and we played games in the recreation of our emotions during the day. The favorite seeming to be that tug of war of trust. Our friendship was a splendid summer carnival alive with flashbulb fanfare that would hold elation in my memory for all of my days...until one day you decided to cheat at our game. You severed the rope with your scout knife of unintentional mistreatment, causing me to fall onto my back into the mud of perplexity. Like a canceled-order wedding cake, I sat there iced with the mud that stuck on with reclaimed intention. My soul and body caked with confusion, all trimmings and decorations of resolve melting away. I asked why you did it. You say you didn’t mean to extinguish the sun and summon thunder clouds to our lives, you always led me to believe that you “didn’t mean it”...and I was the fool who fell for your trickery every time.

Deserted, I felt, like a child whose snow cone melted in the summer heat with no more dimes left in his pocket. On the last day of our summer, a chill wafted through the atmosphere. I knew then the end was bound for our relationship, if it had not arrived already. Minutes later, an unforgiving blizzard of regret rolled in and our winter of separation had begun and the summer of our friendship had come to an end. It was a rough transition from darling hugs of sunshine to sinister nips of winter, but I made it through. I trudged through the weight of doubt and the burden of decisive sorrow. I did what I could to erase what has transpired but it is now immortalized in our history, it cannot be obliterated. After several of  your apologies and pleas for forgiveness, I take into account your desperation for the return of sunny days. However, the forecast of my morals is not calling for bright days ahead. You are going to need an umbrella and a warm jacket for the next several months, it’s going to be one rough winter. I do not know how you will survive. I served as your gateway to the gardens of popularity and as your place card at the tables of social hierarchy, allowing you to banquet on the fresh produce and grand dishes that kept your health in tact. Without the path to these feeding plethoras, you will become malnourished and your health will decline. Your actions of late, depict my prediction to be reality as you are displaying signs of hunger pains for acceptance. I also served as your light of inspiration and the ink in your pens. I aided you in writing your deliverance and gave you an insight to the utopia of writing, where the true authors claim residence. The reason your words proclaimed worth was due to my appraisal at my workshop of creative writing. As a seasoned scribe, I have acquired the skill of being able to appraise works. The works of my admirers that practically burst with aspiration and desire; the desire to be a fluent creator of jubilant masterpieces worthy of presentation and individuality. I can guide them them in mining these gems in their caves of words and help carve them into glorious jewelry worn proudly on their pages to depict uniqueness. However, your gems can only become costume jewelry rather than anything of value due to your arrogance towards mediocrity. How dare you call yourself a writer if you are satisfied with being average? You had your chance at my teachings but you rejected them when you cut that rope of trust last summer. Now, you will suffer as a fallen ruler of literary royalty, forgotten and defeated by hubris.

Storms of these missed opportunities are in the forecast for the rest of our time. The course of weather has been permanently misguided by your unwillingness to reason with the clouds. The rope is too hearty to be duct taped together with temporary settlement. The sun cannot shine as brightly over us like it used to and there will be no more summers in our friendship, only neutral springs, stoic autumns, and impaling winters. I hope you came prepared.

Our summers may be merely a memory now, stickered to the page of a scrapbook that is only opened when sorrowful reminiscing is called for in times of loneliness. But the weather has broken and a new summer has begun. Entities of my common interest have come into my life, one being a novelist who can dance in circles with a pen in his hand and produce precise writings that the mere word of skill cannot describe. He has brought in a breeze of intellectual reprieve to my life with a touch of tenderheart connection that has warmed the chilling air brought on by your polar qualities. The other, a theatrical sprite gleaming with talent and charismatic love who reflects pure kindness into my heart with his iridescent magic. He has summoned the sun out of hiding with his gentle harmony of innocence and caused the rain to cease. Together now, we rejoice in the colorful hues of the rainbow that his purity has prismed. There are plentiful variations of these entities present in my life now that you are gone however, these two specifics came to my rescue almost on command. They calmed the tumult and strife in the sea of my emotions, polished my perceptions on the truth of friendship which now shines like silver, and brought summer back into my forecast. Gladly, I would accept the opportunity to assemble a scripture and talk over a cup of coffee with the novelist or perform a musical spectacle with the sprite; everything we once enjoyed. Had you proposed these opportunities to me in the current time, I’d refuse despite my favor in these activities. Throughout all seasons of friendship, I’d spend with those people, yes, these entities are people, people with appreciation and emotion, somethings you seem to lack. Your tendency to be oblivious to your actions seems inhuman to me at times, rather unnerving as well.

With the sprite, our summers entail rolling every window down of my 1965 chevy at sunset, popping in a cassette tape from my selection of showtunes, and cruising down the streets of our small town, carefree and elated. We also enjoy scoping the Great White Way for a grand musical theatre production to obsess over for hours at a time, laughing and fawning like schoolchildren over the parade-like jubilance of the show. Summers with the novelist include intellectual sessions of discussion and gossip of our admirers. Both with interest in the literary arts, together we become artists with our pens being our brushes, every word representing a distinct paint color and every sentence, a stroke on the canvas. All while sipping on fine espresso drinks in the late hours of the humid nights. We’d also play the vintage melodies that we once swayed to together. He appreciates my record collection and encourages my individuality, unlike you, who tried to limit it.

With these two friends, none of our emotional connections are games. There is no tug of war of trust, only the sense of trust. We do not stand on opposite ends pulling at each others heartstrings and sense of security. The summertime treats we once enjoyed are now more plentiful and pleasing to me now that they are shared with the ones who actually show appreciation my company. Innocence is the juice of the lemons and kindness is the sugar in our lemonade and the daisies bloom with the purity of plain fun. The rope of trust ties it all together, like a ribbon around a gift, with nothing but rewarding intention. The gift being a sense of complete sanctuary and euphoria, something only experienced through the genuine generosity of your friends. Friends meaning the people you can find every element of positive good in. So to the novelist, the sprite, and all others who I’ve found this positive good in, have a great summer. To you, I only recommend wearing some sunblock, because the rays of my happiness may be too overwhelming for you to endure; the heat can only intensify from now on, not that it’s already imperishable. This may be trivial now but just keep in mind, that none of this would have happened if you had just lost the game.


© Copyright 2017 Gia Theo. All rights reserved.

Booksie 2017-2018 Short Story Contest

Booksie Popular Content

Other Content by Gia Theo

The Summer of Our Friendship

Short Story / Other

Popular Tags