An old shoebox sits in the back of my closet, buried under the piles of dirty clothes and some assorted trinkets of various importance. To anyone else it would be just a shoebox, filled with old pictures taken with even older disposable cameras and napkins scrawled with meaningless phrases and long-forgotten “inside-jokes.” But there’s a reason it sits under that mass of stuff, in the far corner where I don't have to see it. That box holds my memories. The ones that are too big, too painful to hold in the back of my head. So they stay in their box where I only have to visit them on the rare occasion that nobody’s around and I feel like sitting down with old friends, who may not even remember me, but for whatever reason they're still with me in my little shoebox.
***

First there’s an old crumpled name tag from 6th grade orientation. I was quite shy at the time so I was careful to hide in the back of the classroom where the only noise was the occasional crinkle of the name tag on my bulky sweater. I slunk in and out of each desk so noiselessly that I can suggest with a significant degree of confidence that not a single soul noticed me that morning. When lunch finally arrived and I wandered towards the cafeteria, I sat down in the far corner, where few ventured. I quickly pulled out Much Ado About Nothing, my favorite play at the time. I was so absorbed in my reading that I hardly noticed when she sat down next to me. She had light brown hair that fell in bouncy curls just past her shoulders with a matching set of excited brown eyes. Her name tag had Abby scrawled over it in pink marker with a big smiley face drawn next to it. The almost-panicked way she glanced around revealed she was slightly lost, but she was surprisingly excited and confident all the same.

“Hi I'm Abby. It’s short for Abigail,” she beamed. I blinked at her for a moment before realizing what she wanted.

“Laura,” I replied, vaguely interested, but not enough to tear me from my precious reading. I started to look back down, but she tugged the book away. Normally I would've been irritated, but there was a sort of playful naivety in her eyes that couldn't mean any harm. It was like trying to push away a puppy, I just couldn't do it. So we sat and talked for the rest of lunch. Who knew that such a coincidence would grant me my new best friend.
***

Then comes the old picture of Abby and I on twin day. Matching striped skirts with gray tank tops and hoodies, we coordinated everything down to our shoes. The outfits were awkward to say the least, but they were awkward together. We were matching, and that was enough for us. Later that day we actually decided that we looked enough alike to be sisters. We didn't actually look anything alike, but sisters seemed a level of friendship that was unbreakable. It was a promise to be friends forever. So from that point on we developed the habit of telling people we were related. We had different last names and we really did look nothing alike, but somehow, people still fell for it. There was something in Abby’s eyes that just implied genuine innocence and a complete lack of the capacity to tell a lie.
***

The next slip to be tugged out is a contract. It’s scribbled out in sparkly purple pen and neatly folded four times. Abby and my signatures are carefully signed at the bottom agreeing to all terms and conditions of the above document. We had written it on a warm summer night. We'd gone out to our favorite ice cream place and left the parents for our secret hiding place. We were enclosed by a hollowed out bush, virtually undetectable besides for our distinct giggles. After the ice cream was long gone and the sun was finally starting to set, she'd pulled out the paper and pen and suggested a pact. We both formally vowed that by eighth grade we would be the most popular girls in school. We would plan the week together every Sunday night and we would let no one and nothing stand in our way. I had begun growing out of my former shell; nevertheless the idea still frightened me. But Abby’s coaxing and repeated promises of fun and excitement finally won me over. I finally agreed and signed the page she'd scripted out.

“Perfect!” she smiled at the signed paper, “take this and don't ever lose it.” She handed me back the page and gave me a quick hug before wandering from our simple fort without even a formal goodbye. I knew she was just off to go and find her parents, but the whole thing still struck me as a little bizarre. I sat there for a moment questioning it before following in pursuit. I never would've guessed that this wouldn't be the last time that she'd leave me.
***

The last piece is a note from Abby to another friend of hers, Lucy. The note was written in seventh grade, just a short while after everything changed. After Abby stopped talking to me. After she stopped answering my messages. After she drifted away almost entirely.

I had never wanted to lose Abby, but by the time I realized what was happening she was already lost. From the first day of seventh grade on, Abby had started to leave me. She drifted slowly away, and by the time I understood, it really was too late. Abby made new friends and increasingly ignored me. I felt no harm in her excursions at first, but one day she took it too far. I had heard rumors of the things she said about me when I wasn't around, but I had never once considered that they might hold some truth. Until that day, when she walked right up to me, her face hardened in a cold sneer, an expression I didn't even realize was possible with those big puppy-dog eyes. She walked right up and told me we weren't sisters anymore. It was childish of me to still call her such and I needed to grow up. Her words were harsh, but harsher still was the dark menacing glare that hardened in her eyes. Her prior innocence was gone and she was left with only an angry smirk. She'd ignore me in the halls and stopped returning my messages. But the one note was what crossed the line, or whatever remained of it, anyway. Lucy sat near me in math and I saw it slip from her binder as she left the class. I snatched it up, and unable to resist my curiosity, I read it. There was line after line taunting my every action, everything about me was suddenly wrong. But worst of all, it cited our pact. How she had only tried to follow it and I had ruined everything. After all this time following Abby, the words broke my heart. I went home and cried for so long that I couldn't cry anymore. I tried to avoid her but she began harassing me in the halls, on the bus. Her voice was always there shouting out that everyone hated me, that I was an ugly dog that had no friends. The once welcoming voice became one that sent fear and pain into every fiber of my being.

But I made myself a promise and I never once answered her. I’d hear her sneers and I’d walk away with my chin up, tears streaming down my puffy red cheeks. She later sought to apologize for it all, but still I refused to speak to her. That sickly sweet voice and face represented nothing but betrayal to me anymore, and I was done with that. So I moved on, I made new friends, and I never looked back. Except sometimes I search through that old shoebox, just to double-check; to make sure that she’s still just a memory.