Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul II

  We spent less time together, and we rarely talked on the phone. At school, I would try to talk to her, but she would just ignore me. When we did take a minute to talk, one of her more popular friends would come up and Molly would just walk away with her, leaving me in the dust. It hurt.

  I was so confused. I'm sure she didn't know at the time how badly I felt, but how could I talk to her if she wouldn't listen? I began to hang around with my new friends, but it just wasn't the same. I met Erin, who was also a friend of Molly's. She was in the same situation I was with Molly. She and Molly had been close friends, and lately Molly had been treating Erin the same way as me. We decided to talk to her.

  The phone call was not easy. Talking and saying how I felt was difficult. I was so afraid that I would hurt her feelings and make her angry. It was funny, thoughwhen it

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  was just the two of us talking on the phone, we were friends again. It was the old Molly.

  I explained how I was feeling, and she did, too. I realized I was not the only one hurting. She was alone without me to talk to. What was she supposed to do, not make new friends? I didn't think about this before, but she was feeling left out by me and my new friends. There were times when I didn't even notice I was ignoring her. We must have talked for a long time, because once we were finished I had used a handful of tissues for my tears, and felt as if I had lifted a heavy weight off my heart. We both decided that we wanted to be with our new friends, but we would never forget the fun and friendship we had shared with each other.

  Today, I look back on all of this and smile. Molly and I are finally in the same classes, and you know what? We still get in trouble for talking too loudly. Molly is not my best friend anymore, but more like my sister. We still enjoy the same things, laugh at the same jokes and share the same love for sunflowers. I will never forget her. Molly taught me something very important. She taught me that things change, people change, and it doesn't mean you forget the past or try to cover it up. It simply means that you move on, and treasure all the memories.

  Alicia M. Boxler

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  Friends Forever

  It seemed as if Chrissy and I had been friends forever. Ever since we'd met on the first day of fourth grade, we had been inseparable. We did almost everything together. We were so close that when it came time to pick partners, it was just assumed that we'd pick each other.

  In ninth grade, however, things changed. We had been in the same classes for the last five years, but now we were going to different schools. At first we were as good friends as ever, but eventually we found we had no time for each other. Slowly but surely, we were drifting apart. Promises were broken and important get-togethers postponed. I think both of us knew we were breaking apart, but neither of us wanted to admit it.

  Then one day, I finally faced the fact that Chrissy and I weren't close anymore. We'd both grown up, and didn't have much in common any longer. I still missed her, though. We had shared five incredible years togetheryears I will never forget. Years I don't want to forget.

  One day, as I was thinking of our great times together, I wrote a poem about our friendship. It was about letting go and growing up, but never forgetting friends.

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  I still talk to Chrissy sometimes, though now it's hard because we both have such busy schedules.

  To this day, I still think of Chrissy as one of my best friends . . . even though by some definitions we aren't. But when I'm asked to list my friends, I never hesitate to add her name. Because as she would always say: ''Real friends are forever." When I gave her this poem we both cried, for it's changes like these that make growing up so difficult.

  Changes

  "Friends forever," you promised.

  "Together till the end."

  We did everything with each other.

  You were my best friend.

  When I was sad, you were by my side.

  When I was scared, you felt my fear.

  You were my best support

  If I needed you, you were there.

  You were the greatest friend,

  You always knew what to say:

  You made everything seem better.

  As long as we had each other,

  Everything would be okay.

  But somewhere along the line,

  We slowly came apart.

  I was here, you were there,

  It tore a hole in my heart.

  Things were changing,

  Our cheerful music reversed its tune.

  It was like having salt without pepper,

  A sun without its moon.

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  Suddenly we were miles apart,

  Two different people, with nothing the same.

  It was as if we hadn't been friends;

  Although we knew deep in our hearts

  Neither one of us was to blame.

  You had made many new friends

  And luckily, so had I

  But that didn't change the hurt

  The loss of our friendship made me cry.

  As we grow older, things must change

  But they don't always have to end.

  Even though it is different, now,

  You will always be my friend.

  Phyllis Lin

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  I Remember Gilbert

  It's been seven months since I last saw the light in Gil's room. Mrs. Blithe waved at me from his bedroom window next door. I smiled, but inside I was numb.

  I will never forget the first day I met Gil and his mom. I was seven, and Mom and Dad were taking me to our new house in the suburbs. My mother's employer transferred her, so we'd had to move and leave everything behind.

  I missed my room and my best friends back home. I could not believe how my parents were torturing me. The idea of going to a new school was frightening. I didn't have any friends to talk to, and I did not want to make new friends either.

  My grandparents were at the new two-story house to welcome us, and I noticed a lady hugging my mother. It turned out that Mrs. Blithe was Mom's best friend from high school and our new next-door neighbor.

  Mom took me to my room upstairs, and I let myself fall onto the bed. I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I knew, it was getting dark. The huge window in my room was open, and I could hear loud music coming from outside. I looked out the window, and

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  across from me was another window. A boy in dark clothes was looking through his telescope and into the glittering night sky. Right away, I noticed the white Christmas lights on his ceiling.

  "Hi, I'm Gilbert Jim Jonathan Blithe. Call me Gil." He startled me.

  "I'm Katharine KennedyKatie for short," I shouted back.

  It was our beautiful beginning. I realized then and there that I liked this weird neighbor of mine. Gil was like a brother to me. We spent countless hours just talking and telling stories to each other. My dad put a fire escape ladder on my window. After that, Gil used it as an entrance to my room. Funny, he never used the front door. And he had lights on his ceiling because the stars and planets fascinated him.

  When school started, we biked there together. He kept me safe and held me back from hurting myself. Sometimes, I had to keep him out of trouble. Afterwards, we would go to the park and play on the monkey bars. Most of the time my family's backyard was our playground, and the big acacia tree, which had boards nailed to its trunk, held our tree house. It was home, and nobody was allowed in there except us.

  Summers passed and I turned thirteen. Gil gave me April blossoms. Then Mrs. Blithe told Mom and me that Gil was sick and needed a heart transplant. When I heard that, I was so distressed, I felt I needed one, too.

  The hospital was gloomy. A white-walled prison that had disgusting food. Every day, Gil had to eat mushy-looking meals. I promised him I'd bring chocolate-covered peanuts the next day, and I knew I made him happier.

  Whenever Gil sensed I was anxious or about to
cry, he would tell me to look out my bedroom window. "Let the light in my room tell you I'm always there," he said softly.

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  He always found a way to make me smile.

  After a month in the hospital, Gil came home. It was the first time I had ever been in his room, and it felt peculiar. It was unexpectedly neat. After jumping onto his bed and throwing me a pillow, he said he missed his room. I said I missed him more. It troubled me that things might never be the same, but Gil was up and about after a couple of weeks. I knew he was all right when he climbed up to my room and ate pizza with me.

  Before we knew it, Gil and I were in high school. School and girls kept him occupied, but he was always there. Despite our jobs, we spent sunny summers together. As usual, the days hanging out with him passed quickly. But then he got sick again.

  During the first semester of our senior year, Gil was taken to the hospital for the second time. At first I thought it was a false alarm, but it was worse than I could imagine. All I could do was hope and pray that he would get better. The unlit room across from mine was the constant reminder of his being away. I visited him in the hospital as often as I could, even though I never knew what to say. To tell him that everything would be all right was a fallacy, yet it comforted us both.

  Christmas was spent in a cold hospital room. He was determined that we would go to our graduation together. I assured him we would. I held his hand and looked into his eyes until they stopped looking into mine. No words were uttered; we both knew what we were feeling. He looked peaceful when he said his last good-bye.

  I locked his face at that moment in my thoughts, but it wounded my soul. He went away even though I tried my best to keep time from slipping.

  How could a friend, someone who was with me and kept me happy, be the one person who would leave me now, forever? There was no one now to console me.

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  Now, as I stood looking at his bedroom window and the stars and planets on his ceiling, I knew he would always be therein my room, in my heart and in my memories. I wiped away the tears on my cheek, and I saw a little boy waving at me. Until this day, I cannot figure why I could not say "I love you" to Gil, even at the last second. Maybe because I knew he felt the same way.

  I'm leaving for college soon, and I am sad he won't be there to laugh at my jokes or comfort me when I'm blue. But because of a little boy looking through a telescope into the infinite night sky, I now know that friendship goes beyond time. I will always remember Gilbert, and the light of his love tells me he's always there.

  April Joy Gazmen

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  The Tragic Reunion

  I almost dropped the phone when I heard the words. "Julia's father died today." After I hung up, I walked to my room in a daze and fumbled with my CD player, hoping that the sound of my favorite songs would provide some comfort.

  Although I had known this day was coming, I still felt as if the wind had been knocked out of me. As I sat on my bed, the tears came. My mother came quietly into the room and held me in a gentle embrace.

  As I sat cradled in my mother's arms, I thought about last summer. I had gone with Julia and her parents on a trip to an island off the coast of South Carolina. We'd had a great time together, sharing breathtaking sunsets on the beach, eating at posh restaurants and biking along the rugged coastline. Julia's dad had taken it upon himself to fulfill our every desire.

  Now I knew that beneath all the laughter and fun, Mr. Yolanda must have been suffering. One night, as Julia and I were getting ready to go out, Mrs. Yolanda came into our room looking upset. She told us that Mr. Yolanda was sick and was not up to coming with us. Julia didn't seem alarmed,

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  and we went out as we had planned without her father.

  The next day Mr. Yolanda appeared to be his usual self: soft-spoken, generous and on the go. Since his illness was not mentioned again, I didn't think about it any more for the rest of that wonderful trip.

  When school started, my friendship with Julia began to change. I watched as she became caught up in making new friends. She didn't include me in her new plans, and I felt left in the dust. Pretty soon, we were no longer best friends. In fact, we were barely friends at all.

  One day, my mother sat me down and told me that Mr. Yolanda had terminal pancreatic cancer. Shocked, my thoughts turned to Julia. At school she seemed a happy-go-lucky teen. Her sunny exterior displayed no sign of any turmoil, but now I knew it had to be present somewhere within her. Not wanting to upset Julia in school, and still feeling separate from her, I didn't say anything to her about her father. But inside, I wanted to run up to her in the hallway, give her a hug, and let her know that I was there and that I cared.

  Now I wondered, as I walked nervously into the funeral home, if it was too late. Wakes make me uncomfortable, probably because they make death so real. And the thought of seeing Julia in this setting, knowing what a very private person she was, also made me uneasy. As my friends and I got in line to pay our respects to Mr. Yolanda, I noticed pictures of the Yolandas surrounding the casket. One photograph in particular jumped out at me. It was of Mr. Yolanda and Julia on our vacation in South Carolina.

  The photograph triggered an overwhelming sadness in me, and I began to weep. I simply could not understand why God would take a parent away from his child. Julia found me then and seeing me in tears, she too began to cry.

  Even though I told her how sorry I was about her father, I realized I could never fully understand what she

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  was going through. What was it like to come home every day to a house where someone you loved was dying, or to head off to school each morning not knowing if your father would be alive when you got home? I couldn't imagine. But I did know how to express support and compassion. It wasn't too late.

  Julia apologized for her neglect of our friendship, and we vowed to be friends again. A funeral is a strange place to make up with a friend, but I guess a tragic reunion is better than none at all.

  Amy Muscato

  Submitted by Olive O'Sullivan

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  3

  ON LOVE AND KINDNESS

  One kind word can warm three winter months.

  Japanese Proverb

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  Bobby, I'm Smiling

  Little deeds of kindness, little words of love, help to make Earth happy.

  Julia Carney

  When I was ten years old, my grade school closed, and I was transferred to a school in a nearby town. In each classroom, the teachers would seat my classmates and me alphabetically, thus seating me beside the same boy, time and time again. His name was Bobby, and he was as outgoing as I was shy. I didn't make friends easily, but Bobby managed to reach beyond my shyness, and eventually, we became friends.

  As the years passed, Bobby and I shared all the normal school experiencesfirst loves, double dating, Friday night football games, parties and dances. He was my friend. My confidant. My devil's advocate. It didn't matter that we were so differenthe the popular, handsome, self-assured football star who had a beautiful girlfriend; me the overweight, inhibited and insecure teenage girl. We were friends, regardless.

  One morning during the spring of our senior year, I

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  opened my locker and, to my surprise, there was a beautiful flower. I looked around to see who might have left it for me, but no one stood by waiting to take credit.

  I knew that Gerry, a guy in my history class, had a crush on me. Had he left it? As I stood wondering, my friend Tami walked by.