My stomach was in knots; I was full of anticipation of anger, bitterness, frustration, and certain discomfort. My best friend of six years was coming over. Expectations were high, and our most recent episode of immaturity was still fresh in my heart. I sat on the front porch, listening to my c.d. player and disconnecting myself from my anxiety by studying the twilight sky and letting the breeze calm my nerves. Every red car that drove by caught the sides of my eyes, and a mixture of relief and disappointment washed over me.

He drove up, and I nonchalantly continued studying the sky. He took his sweet time, and I pretended I didn’t notice. Nervousness finally overcame me as I giggled and asked, “Where do you want to go?”

We determined Barnes & Nobles’ bookstore as a good place to rehash our disappointment in each other and our friendship. I wondered offhandedly to myself if I chose a bookstore because of its comfort and familiarity to me. Silence filled the car and the music was turned up. The five minute drive was all too long and all to fast at the same time. The parking lot too empty, and the store too loud.

I curled up in a hard wooden chair next to the window overlooking the busy interstate. I jealously studied the birds flying away as my friend’s body slumped down onto a stool near my chair. We regarded each other warily, the six years of friendship meaning nothing to our torn down trust.

I purposed not to being the conversation, mainly out of stubbornness. He finally began with hesitating words and stumbling accusations. We discussed and disagreed, traversing down the road of adversity. I tried to make him see my point of view and yearned for him to regard things through my perspective. I observed his phrases and his body language and sadly realized how separate our lives were becoming. He mad me see through his eyes how I had drifted away from him, our childhood, and our memories. I reminded him of our impending adulthood, and of our new priorities and responsibilities.

A few people orbited us, perusing the art books to my right and the writing books to my left. I disconnected myself from the reason why I was there several times and allowed curiosity to rule my mind while my eyes scanned the titles. There were a variety of books, obviously. Even one called “Writing for Idiots.” I wondered if I needed one called “Friendship for Idiots.” This drew me back to the dark eyes opposing me, and the silence again seemed painful.

Some twangy country music blared into my reverie, and I suggested we walk around outside, maybe go see my new place of employment. We decided to be friends again, as if it was a supermarket choice between brands of soup. I wearily reminded him that it was going to have to be something of perseverance and patience. His silence reminded me that he was not the only impatient one.

We strolled back out into the empty parking lot. I studied the sky again. The clouds had rolled in and some droplets of rain sprinkled my face in assurance that my feelings of separation were justified. Squinting, my face paralleled the gray clouds and I knew that the shadow of trust lost and friendship shakily regained was covering my face.