Precious Time

Precious Time(Bridget) “I’ve done something really stupid.” she whispered. I heard a tired sigh on the other end of the phone. I swallowed, leaning my head back onto my pillow. “What do you mean, Molly?” I asked, a thousand past scenerios running through my head. What could she have possibly done now? The other line went dead. A dull beep. I rolled my eyes and quickly hung up the phone, rolling over and pulling the covers over my chest. I didn’t care. This was the first time Molly has contacted me in a week. She was supposed to be my best friend. Why now, at 2am, was she calling me? Exhausted and frustrated, I shut my eyes. I wasn’t frightened at all. Or worried. I should have been.

The next morning my alarm didn't wake me up. A scream did. I jolted up in bed, trails of sweat wet on the back of my neck. "Mom?" I called, crawling out of bed. I slipped my feet into my slippers, and opened my door, tip toeing down the stairs. It was silent as I entered the kitchen, searching for the voice behind the scream. There she was, my poor mother, hunched over behind the couch. She was still in her bath robe, clutching her knees to her chest, the home phone in one hand. Her head was buried in her knee as she slowly rocked back and forth. Speechless, I made my way to her quickly. "What..whats going on?" I stutter, surprised at the state of my mother. She didn't look up at me as she answered "Molly's gone."

The days past by and the season changed, and I was numb. Nothing felt the same without Molly. A bestfriend is always there for you, always by your side. She was the one I could run to, the one who would let me cry on her shoulder, and who would stroke my hair. I could still hear her laugh, remember her favourite song and recall every inch of her bedroom, but her face was slowly becoming a blur. Every morning I would wake up, and check my phone. Look out the window. Scan the paper. No sign of Molly Parks.

When it first happened, I hadn't really reacted in a normal way. I was silent, and shocked. Molly, my best friend, the girl with the brown eyes and purple hair, no, she couldn't have been missing. She was right where she needed to be, at the dance studio. And sure, the day I got the news of her disappearance, after all the questioning and police reports, I biked across town to that dance studio. I remember quietly making my way through the winding staircase, peeking through the window onto the dance floor. But it was empty. Just mirrors and mirrors, reflecting the dark vacant hardwood. She would come back, I had thought. She will return.

But she didn't. I guess Molly had been gone long before everyone thought. Weeks before her vanishing, we drifted apart. I had come back from summer camp, and she was nowhere to be seen. A million phone messages ignored, dozens of bike trips to her house to find out she wasn't home, and too many nights crying myself to sleep terrified she had found a new friend. I hope she didn't. The police think she did. Something about that summer changed Molly Parks. I guess when she was ignoring me for those weeks she had started doing new, illegal things. Things she had pinky-sworn against with me at a sleepover once. The investigators also said she was involved with "people of age." The way they talked about Molly in the police reports, it didn't sound like my Molly. It sounded like a stranger. Just a wild, unruly girl I would hear about on the news, the one who tried to grow up too fast and got caught up in the wrong crowd. But I couldn't picture her like that, the girl who taught me to climb the tall oak tree in her backyard, the friend who held my hair back when I was puking and had the flu, the one who let me cry on her bed and sleepover when I got in a fight with my parents. I guess people really do change.

Even though I didn't know what Molly was doing while I was at camp, or those weeks afterwards, I still trusted her. Unsure why, I felt strongly that Molly hadn't done something to get her in trouble. Even though I could hear people around town snorting under their breath "she was asking for it" or "she got herself into this" I thought of Molly as an innocent victim. No matter what evidence they had of her wrong doings, nothing could change my mind.

When school returned that autumn, the auburn leaves and brisk breeze picking up around town, I was still known as "that-girls-best-friend". It was often difficult to ignore the looks in the hallway, the sympathetic smiles in class and the a little too sweet "How are you?"'s from teachers and parents in the neighbourhood. Why couldn't this all be a dream? Molly was going to come back, on her blue bike, headphones in, making her way to the dance studio. She would take her Converse off, shake out her dyed hair and pigtails and set free. She was going to blare her iPod, and spin and twirl until she was dizzy. When she would collapse on the floor, I would be there with her, holding her hand firmly. "Don't you ever leave again." I would say, and we would hug and laugh, just like we used to.

Now, the snow is falling. Over six months ago Molly left. And I haven't gotten that hug.

Sometimes I think about what I could've done. I think she would've listened to me. Maybe if I stayed home from camp with my brothers that summer, Molly would've hung out with me, we could've gone to the lake for a swim, or to the movies and to get ice cream. She wouldn't of hung out behind the elementary school with those college guys. She would've been safe, with me. She would've been telling me stories, most of them lies, and I would roll my eyes like always. Molly would have been okay with me. Maybe if I didn't leave she would still be with me now, sitting down in front of the fireplace, her favorite white knit sweater keeping her warm. Cups of hot cocoa in our hands, marshmallows overflowing the mug. But she wasn't here. And she probably never will be again.

And when the snow melts, and spring comes, Molly will not be here. I'll watch the flowers grow, and think of her. I'll watch them dance in the wind, and think of Molly. The weather will get warmer, and I'll get a tan. Molly would always get sunburnt. And when July comes around, I'll probably go to camp with my brothers. It will be the same as it is every year. Roasting sausages on the fire, playing soccer on the beach, sleeping in bunkbeds fighting off mosquitos. And at the end of camp, we'll pack our bags and wait to get picked up. I'll see my mother and she'll give me a kiss on the cheek, and I'll jump in the backseat, sleeping on the long drive home. Nothing will be different.

But nothing is the same. Nothing is the same without Molly. A best friend is irreplaceable, and I will always love Molly, no matter what people portray her as. I know her. The girl with the crazy hair, the girl with the blue bike, the girl with the dancing shoes. Each day my heart will hurt no less, even when August comes rolling around, and September, October, November...

And even though my pain for Molly is never ending, I learned to realize that time doesn't stop for my sympathy. For any of our sympathy. A couple weeks changed mine and Molly's life, and six months go by faster than you can imagine. Even when some days feel long, and your eyelids feel heavy, your limbs feel weak, time is moving on. Time is precious. Life is precious. Friends are precious. Molly made mistakes that brought her down, changed her indifferently. They affected everyone around her tremendously, including me. She wanted to grow up so fast, which made her leave so young.

Rest In Peace Molly, I love you
February 12, 2009
Bridget