Clouded

 Avery

  When I first embarked on the arduous journey known as middle school, I entered with mere acquaintances as opposed to friends and a desire to find my “bff.” Placed at the same table in Mrs. Meyer’s (the same teacher mentioned previously) class, the shy smile of a girl named Rayna instantly caught my attention. Drawn together by a mutual interest in art, we formed an inseparable bond quicker than Vincent Van Gogh could say “Starry Night.” Together, we learned how to play the flute, took a trip to Venice beach, and made an unhealthy amount of inside jokes during sleepovers. 

However, in a few months’ time, our social circle expanded, making room for Nicole, Robin, and Dana; we called ourselves the “fab five.” Just as Rayna and I had bonded with one another in such a short duration of time, so did the fab five (a name I now find too cringey to say without grinning). For the remainder of sixth grade, I had a clan, a coterie, a clique. Having a group to turn to was all I needed during my first year of middle school — I was content. 

But the dynamics shifted in upon our entry into seventh grade. 

     Clouded by visions of adolescent popularity, four of us started to wean away from the fab five, leaving Rayna in the dust. Because all of us shared classes, we continued regular conversation and everyday interactions, many of which consisted of laughs and smiles, but we spent our time outside of school with new girls, without an invitation for Rayna to join us. Internally, I knew that my actions hurt Rayna deeply. Still, as the year proceeded, we drifted further apart, like clouds on a windy day. Only in this case, the wind was propelled by my own fault and naive standards on what types of friendships were most important. 

  When the time eventually rolled around, I immediately told my friends, Rayna included, about my dad’s new promotion that would cause my family and I to move 370 miles southward. Nicole organized a secret going away party at my favorite park with a guest list, scavenger hunt, water balloon fight, and time for proper farewells. The element of surprise was omitted as soon as I stumbled across my mom’s text with Nicole, who was asking about which flavor of Caprisun would best suit the party. Aware of my knowledge on the party, my mom felt no guilt in giving me frequent updates about who could and could not attend. 

I was surprised, though truly happy, when I saw “Rayna” confirmed on the list. Ok, I told myself, maybe this is your chance to apologize, to say goodbye without any awkwardness or enmity. My thoughts were shattered when, the following morning, Rayna’s mom texted mine, saying that Rayna was not feeling well and could no longer attend. Not feeling well – the words that embody the universal excuse for absence. Of course, she could really have been “not feeling well,” but I feel that it was likely not the case. 

A month later, I left Danville, and I left my friends. These friends that had so wholly consumed my thoughts and behavior, who made me feel confident, secure, and popular, were now gone in the blink of an eye. I think now, if only I had realized this notion earlier, then maybe Rayna and I would have had proper closure. My sixth grade self would have shuddered at the thought of my seventh grade self, a girl who had let her relationship with her best friend slip so she could stabilize herself on a platform of new ones. Though I was beginning a new chapter in Westlake, a year or so later, it dawned on me that I had to resolve the hurt I had caused in Rayna, as well as the shame I had inflicted upon myself. 

I carefully crafted a lengthy text, which contained a sincere apology and optimistic reflection on our friendship, and sent it to her, beads of sweat lining my forehead due to the heavy anticipation. To my delight, she responded warmly, as she had always been, and we keep in touch today. No, we don’t text everyday or FaceTime weekly, but there’s no bitterness anymore. Looking back on my decision, I only wish I had apologized in such a way before moving, so I could have said sorry in person, not followed by a red heart emoji. This regret makes me treat my current friends with value and importance based on their individual personalities and characteristics, not based on social status or outward appearance. And if strife does arise between us, Rayna taught me that no two words hold more significance than “I’m sorry.”