I kneaded my thumbs into the clay, the slick rust colored mud streaking my palms. I lugged the mound in my hand and cradled the bowl as I walked over to the radiator. You were standing there, scratching your initials into the downward slope of…well, I wasn’t sure exactly what to call your “work of art”. Biting the edge of your lip, you furrowed your eyebrows in concentration.
Placing my dish on the rack next to yours, you set the pick down and turned towards me, giving an acknowledging nod. You glanced down and your eyes widened in shock. “Hey Connelly, you know it’s the soup BOWL festival we’re making these for right, I mean, what you got over there is great and all but-hey!” I swiped my grimy fingers on his cheek, leaving a trail of burgundy. I yelped as you took me by wrist, brandishing a bundle of paintbrushes. 
“Everyone settle down…” Mr. Milne mumbled, peering over his wire-framed glasses. He rustled the newspaper in his hand and nestled back in his shell, masking his mouth with the turtleneck.
We peered at each other and stifled laughs as I walked back to my stool, and you walked back to yours.

“Would you quit it?” I snapped, slapping your hand from the keys.
“I’m just helping…” You retorted, tilting back in your seat, running your hands through already rumpled hair.
“You can help from over there”.  I pointed at an empty desk ten feet away from the computer screen. The cursor blinked as I hesitated on what to type next.
“May I remind you, we chose to be partners?”
“Yeah, and I’m coming to regret that now.” I smiled faintly as you narrowed your eyes, and spiked the tennis ball you were tossing up and down absent-mindedly. I started as it crashed on the board, a jumble of text splattering on the document. “Great contribution.” I shook my head, picking up the ball and landing it perfectly in the recycling bin.
“Wow, I see you’ve improved since fourth grade,” You mocked, strolling over to rummage in the pile of graded quizzes, crumpled notes, and empty boxes of tissues.  “Would you relax?” You said, clapping your hand on my shoulder as a grim look settled over my face. “It’s a 7th grade math project. On bridges. Just write something about the Romans or suspension or-“ You trailed off as I glared.
         You came over and bent down, examining what I had written so far. “Here,” you motioned for the mouse, your fingertips brushing against my wrist. I tensed immediately. My stomach churned, and I was painfully reminded of the time I had decided half a cup of coffee, 3 hours of sleep, and a chocolate chip granola bar would be enough to get me through my US history final. In my chest, I felt a quaver. Like the feeling of pushing up from the concrete with your high-tops. Swinging higher and higher. Until finally deciding to let go.

“Hey Connelly, get off your butt!” You called, the deflated basketball evading your steady dribble. “I need someone to play one on one!”
         “Go get Jake from inside.” I grumbled, massaging my temples. The driveway’s sweltering surface stung the soles of my feet.
         “I’m not playing with a third grader.”
         “Then why are you asking me?”
         “True…”
         You tossed the ball towards the freshly trimmed lawn, and slumped down next to me. I leaned back against the scuffed boards of the garage, a line of chalk trailing lazily beneath my hand. A trickle of sweat slithered down my neck. A fly whistled beside my ear. I flung my arm to swat it, but the scorching heat made me feel as if I was wading through molasses.
“Can you believe we’re starting high school tomorrow?” You said, awestruck.
         “No, I can’t believe YOU’RE starting high school tomorrow,” I replied, getting a jab in the rib. “Time flies.”
         “Uh no, we are not starting THAT conversation Connelly.”
         “I can’t help it that you don’t have a single emotional bone in your body.”
         “Hey, I am a very sensitive, endearing, loving-“
         “And modest.” I interjected, sniggering to myself.
         You sprang up immediately, and I steadied myself on my elbow, as I veered to the ground, where before my head had been resting on your shoulder.  “Where are you going?” I croaked, too sluggish to follow. You returned moments later, flourishing a pipe. “What is-AH!” I gargled on water and thrust out my hands to stem the spray. “What are you doing?” I yelped, as I was yanked up on my feet. You encircled my neck with your arm, and overturned the hose. A steady jet of water bombarded the top of my head and I beat my arms wildly, battling to escape from your grasp.
         Clutching the hose, I tugged the nozzle from your hand and aimed the spray towards your mouth, and you coughed, spluttered, screamed, as I snickered mischievously. Soon I was sprinting, bounding across the lawn, sidestepping the stream you now had a hold of. I inhaled sharply as I felt your arm across my waist pull me in. “What, you’d think I’d let you get away that easily Connelly?” The torrent surged around me, palpitations, confusion, all entangled in the waterfall. You dropped the hose where it lay limply on the lawn, now caked with strands of uprooted grass and slashes of mud.
         We headed towards the front door, you chortling as I followed closely behind, beaming to myself.

I peered hesitantly into the classroom, swarming with unfamiliar faces. I caught your eye and you motioned for me to sit down. Grinning, I strided forward eagerly, when she slid into the seat. I turned around, scanning the room for other empty desks.

“AND THE SCORE IS 6-6!” The commentator boomed. I saw you dig your cleat into the ground, and turn towards me. I smiled, and I saw the slightest quiver at the edge of your lips before you turned around and jogged to where your team was huddled.
I shivered violently, the frigid blasts of air nipping my contorted face. I pulled the jacket in tightly as shards of rain sliced through the frozen drafts. You were jogging across the turf, cleats battering the rigid field. You swung your foot back, and the ball went soaring across the charcoal sky. The goalie raised his arms lazily, as the ball brushed the edge of his fingertips, smacking the net behind him. A raucous roar erupted from the scattered crowd on the bleachers. Most had left in the first 20 minutes of the game, as the storm had smoldered.
         I saw you simpering as the other team fumed at the scoreboard, where the neon 6 clicked, and was replaced by a 7, a narrow victory of one point. I caught your gaze, as you walked towards the benches where I sat. “I’d say all those years of kickball against me taught you something.” I grinned, raising my palm, which you smacked excitedly.
         “You were never a real match for me Connelly,” You said, sitting down next to me. “Here, you look freezing.” You nestled your warm up around me, and I flushed. I saw your mother  motioning for you to come to the car. “Ah…alright, well I have to go, see you on Monday!”
         “Wait, your jac-“ But you had already raced off to where your mom’s Prius was waiting, a steel tinted grey that could match the clouds. I tugged the warm up tautly, as a glimmer of sunshine peeked behind the veil of graphite.

My thumbs trembled above the screen, finally slamming “send”. The three dots pulsated as I gnawed my already chipped polish, awaiting your response. Covers shrouded me, phone in one hand, my novel I had abandoned lying face down on the disheveled sheets. I read the bubble with your answer and grinned knowingly. I glanced at the time, which read 2:30 am. 3 and a half hours of aimless questions, pointless jokes, thoughtful and not so thoughtful remarks.
At times I questioned our state of mind. Sometimes the conversations were as innocent as a new song recommendation from Counting Crows or Michael Buble, whereas other times it was frenzied competitions of typing nursery rhymes with our eyes closed, seeing who could better match the words. After a hurried day of observing the implanting of electrical wires in a vagus nerve, or pouring coffee for the lab staff, I felt comforted knowing I would once again be cloaked in my blankets, talking to you about the latest fact you had gleaned from Harry Potter Wiki, or continuing our debate on the putrid nature of mint chocolate chip ice cream (you thought it was amazing). The time of 3:00 am pulled on my eyelids and I fought to keep them open. I strained to read your paragraph, where you had ranted for a solid three minutes about why running was definitely harder than biking. As long as I was talking to you, 30 minutes seemed like 30 seconds, the hands on the clock jumped immediately from the twelve to the six, and the early rays of the sun cast a glow over my bed just as quickly as they had sunk down behind the horizon.

“This party is lame.” You grumbled, fiddling with the sealed wrapper of the salt and vinegar chips.
         ““It’s a Model UN dance, what did you expect?” I muttered, poring over the fine print on my phone. I groaned as you snatched it from my hands.
         “Sorry Connelly, I don’t think any amount of Spark Notes will help you for that Caesar test.”
         “It’s worth a shot.” I whined, swiping my arms through the air, but to no avail.
         You grinned as you dangled the phone out of my reach. “Looks like you got the…short end of the stick when it comes to height.”
         “Shut up,” I sighed, slumping back onto the cushions. “Look, can I get a ride home?”
         “Sure, it’s a SHORT trip!”
         The discordant cries of teenagers rang from the neighboring room. The pulsating music blared from the speakers. You heaved me to my feet, sliding the phone back into my hand. We walked into the neighboring room, and I wrinkled my nose at the acrid stench of sweat and stale pretzels that lingered in the muggy air of the basement. 17 year olds thrust their arms upwards, leaping up and down, a movement I supposed could be called “dancing”. You pulled me into the mob, and I drew back, slowly shaking my head.
         There was a pause as the song was switched. I recognized the faint plucks, the rhythmic clapping. I Choose You, by Sara Bareilles.
         You extended your hand and bowed deeply, shoes slithering across the glistening red punch spilled on the floor. I took it, rolling my eyes as we walked to the center.
         Let the bough break, let it come down crashing.
         I swayed hesitantly, my arms around your neck, your arms around my waist. I was leaning back, not looking you directly in the eye.
         Let the sun fade out to a dark sky.
         I glanced behind me to see Rachel squealing in the distance, giving a furtive thumbs up. I wheeled around, crimson blooming across my cheeks.
         I can’t say I’d even notice it was absent.
         Cause I could live by the light in your eyes. 
         You clutched my wrist, and I was pushed away. I stumbled as you attempted to twirl me, and I circled around, the whitewashed walls, the tables stacked with plates of uneaten pizza, the dimmed lamps swinging from the ceiling, all blurring together. So much for the smooth slow dance a girl always dreams about.
         I’ll unfold before you.
         I was dipped backwards, steadying myself against your lanky frame.
         What I’ve strung together.
         You pulled me towards you, chortling, pushed me back out again, in a sort of two-step.
         The very first words
         I thought of the water pouring over my head.
         Of a lifelong love letter.
         The kickball slamming between my shoulders.
         Tell the world that we finally got it all right.
         Turning to my left, seeing your encouraging, as the notecards trembled in my hands.
         I choose you.
         The crinkled notes at the corner of my desk flowered with your handwriting.
         I will become yours and you will become mine.
         I choose you.
         You let go of my hands, and called to Jacob across the room. You said something, and I nodded, not listening and I stood under the flickering fluorescent squares.
         I choose you.

I wrenched the door open, and inhaled deeply. Rooting about in my purse for an extra dollar, I walked towards the end of the line. With eyes still cast at the piles of scrunched gum wrappers, folded receipts, and packets of skittles, I stepped forward, right onto the back of her shoe. “Hey!” she exclaimed, and I looked up, startled.
         “Oh sorry…” I mumbled, and she tipped her head and turned around. I pushed my glasses up my nose and gazed at the menu, deciding between an Asian chopped salad or a grilled tomato mozzarella Panini.
         “Next!” The cashier called out, fidgeting with the frayed end of her ponytail. The cashier smacked her gum as I walked forward.
“Tomato mozzarella Panini plea-“ My eyes caught her, as she balanced a tray with one hand, pushing her sheen of auburn hair behind her ear. I watched her as she walked back to the booth and you sat forward, your hand brushing her shoulder. Sitting as close as you two were on the first day of school.
         “Hello?” The nasal voice of the cashier broke my spell.
         “Oh sorry, what did you ask?”
         The cashier whistled impatiently through her teeth and repeated: “I said, do you want it for here or to go?”
         “Oh…to go please.”

Crashes.
Shattering glass.
Ear splitting roars.
Words spat.
All blended in a cacophony of chaos.
Tears streamed down my face as I knelt on the carpet, orbs dripping off my chin, splashing onto the already stained antennae of the butterfly. I covered my ears, masking the screams, the sound of the door slamming. My heart hammered in my chest as the deafening tones of my mom’s shrill yells battling my father’s reverberated. She threatened to leave, take the children with her. He yelled that she was selfish, a black omen since the day she became a part of the family.
My hands quivering, I dialed your number, a sequence that seemed almost automatic. “Hello?” You said groggily, as if you had just woken up.
         “Hey…they’re…it’s…it’s not stopping.” I broke down, body racking with sobs as you continued chattering from the other end.
         “Erin. Erin, are you okay?”
         “They’ve never argued like this before, I don’t know what to do, I haven’t done anything wrong, I-I-I-“ I hiccupped, burying my face in my hands.
         Silence. “I’m coming over.”
         “N-No, don’t, ple-“
         “I’m your best friend Erin.” There was a click, and the dial tone rang, drowning out the shrieks echoing from downstairs. And I wasn’t sure if it was those words that hurt even more.

“What do you mean you haven’t started writing it yet? Commencement’s tonight!” I sputtered, mouth agape in shock.
         “I mean, I wrote like a paragraph,” You grinned. “Kidding! I’m kidding!” You reassured, noticing my widening eyes.
         “Knowing you, it’s pretty believable you waited until the day of.” You and I had been chosen to give the commencement speeches of our graduating class, boy and girl.  “I didn’t even know what to say for mine. I just put in the one quote from Thomas Edison about hard work, something like tha-”
         “I’m just pretty psyched to graduate,” You blurted. “I mean I’ve been waiting forever. I can’t wait to leave for North Carolina.” I felt a pang at those words.
         “Really? Not one thing you’re going to miss?” I said, trying to disguise my voice as genuinely interested, not wistful.
         “Taco Bell.”
         “You’re moving to North Carolina!”
         “Ms. Smith.”
         “Get OVER it, it’s been 3 years, yes she’s attractive, but she was our history teach-“
         “You.” I faltered at those words, and stared at you. “I’m gonna miss you Erin.” You had called me by my first name.
         “I’m going to miss you too.” More than you’ll ever know, I thought.
         There was silence as we gazed at the sun casting beams of light over the glittering water.
“It’s been an exhausting eight years Connelly.” You dangled your legs over the deck, toes trailing in the murky water.
         “Why eight?” I laughed, as a dragonfly landed on my knee. I swatted it away, and my arm smacked your side, almost toppling you into the water.
         “That’s why!” You steadied yourself on the termite-ridden wood. “Because eight years ago, you, Erin Connelly, moved to Belmont, Massachusetts, and God knows what I’ve had to do to survive since then.”
         “The water isn’t even 5 feet deep.”        
         “Oh, well you might be the one drowning then-“ You yelped as I nudged forward and you slid off the edge, right into the lake below. I screamed as I felt you pull on my legs and I fell face first. We were both laughing, feet burying into the soft mud, our slimy t-shirts clinging to our skin. The last eight years had been tears, unspoken words, ungranted wishes. But they’d also been midnight Steak and Shake runs, uncontrollable laughter at Parks and Recreation bloopers, and a whirlwind of unforgettable memories.

“What do you mean you haven’t started writing it yet? Commencement’s tonight!” I sputtered, mouth agape in shock.
         “I mean, I wrote like a paragraph,” You grinned. “Kidding! I’m kidding!” You reassured, noticing my widening eyes.
         “Knowing you, it’s pretty believable you waited until the day of.” You and I had been chosen to give the commencement speeches of our graduating class, boy and girl.  “I didn’t even know what to say for mine. I just put in the one quote from Thomas Edison about hard work, something like tha-”
         “I’m just pretty psyched to graduate,” You blurted. “I mean I’ve been waiting forever. I can’t wait to leave for North Carolina.” I felt a pang at those words.
         “Really? Not one thing you’re going to miss?” I said, trying to disguise my voice as genuinely interested, not wistful.
         “Taco Bell.”
         “You’re moving to North Carolina!”
         “Ms. Smith.”
         “Get OVER it, it’s been 3 years, yes she’s attractive, but she was our history teach-“
         “You.” I faltered at those words, and stared at you. “I’m gonna miss you Erin.” You had called me by my first name.
         “I’m going to miss you too.” More than you’ll ever know, I thought.
         There was silence as we gazed at the sun casting beams of light over the glittering water.
“It’s been an exhausting eight years Connelly.” You dangled your legs over the deck, toes trailing in the murky water.
         “Why eight?” I laughed, as a dragonfly landed on my knee. I swatted it away, and my arm smacked your side, almost toppling you into the water.
         “That’s why!” You steadied yourself on the termite-ridden wood. “Because eight years ago, you, Erin Connelly, moved to Belmont, Massachusetts, and God knows what I’ve had to do to survive since then.”
         “The water isn’t even 5 feet deep.”        
         “Oh, well you might be the one drowning then-“ You yelped as I nudged forward and you slid off the edge, right into the lake below. I screamed as I felt you pull on my legs and I fell face first. We were both laughing, feet burying into the soft mud, our slimy t-shirts clinging to our skin. The last eight years had been tears, unspoken words, ungranted wishes. But they’d also been midnight Steak and Shake runs, uncontrollable laughter at Parks and Recreation bloopers, and a whirlwind of unforgettable memories.

“AFTER 12 YEARS YOU’VE FINALLY DONE IT CLASS OF 2018! CONGRATULATIONS GRADUATES, YOU’VE OFFICIALLY FINISHED HIGH SCHOOL!!” Our principal boomed in the microphone. We turned to each other, one hand on our caps. After a brief nod, we plucked them off our heads, and launched them in the air. It seemed like everything was in slow motion, all the tassels and hats showering down one by one. We hugged and as I linked my arms around you, I never wanted to let go.

I adjusted the photograph on the mantel. It was you and me, your elbow on my head, me scowling beneath, that same orange popsicle in your hand. That fourth grade kickball game. I snickered to myself and I heard your voice behind me.
“You just can’t get over it, can you?”
“You got lucky.” I folded my arms across my chest.
“Let’s face it, 20 years still isn’t enough for you to beat me.” I shoved you and you fell back on the couch, pulling me down with you.
“20 years huh...wow, we’re old.” I said, leaning my head on your chest.
“Don’t remind me,” You moaned, tossing your arm over your forehead. “And it’s been what, 10 years since I asked you out?”
“Maybe I shouldn’t have gone back for that high school reunion…”
“Haha very funny...face it, I’m irresistible.” You puckered up your lips. I pretended to swoon and then turned away, rolling my eyes.
“It took you long enough.” I said.
“Yeah well, I was an idiot in high school. I mean who was that one girl I dated? Olivia, red hair? I took her to Panera once, and she ordered tomato soup. Just tomato soup! I mean, who does that…” You continued blabbering about the finer choices of Panera’s menu, and I watched, c***ing my head to one side, reminded exactly of why I loved you in the first place.
“MOMMY! THE T-REX IS COMING FOR US!” Sophia shrieked, and a barreling force crashed into me.
I scooped her into my arms. This was the consequence of preschoolers learning about dinosaurs.
         “Where??” I inquired, peering behind the curtains, underneath the couch, beside the pillow, under Ollie, Sophia’s stuffed dolphin.
         “RIGHT…HERE!!!” You jumped up from the couch and Sophia screeched, bounding away from me and grabbing the fur blanket as a shield. You staggered towards Sophia and tickled her, until she was giggling madly. “OH YOU CAN’T ESCAPE ME EITHER!” You roared, tackling me and pulling us into a tight bear hug. After a few minutes of the struggle, Sophia finally surrendered.
         “I KNOW IT’S YOU DADDY!” She struggled to say, grasping a stitch in her side.
         “Alright, let’s say we get some ice cream,” You said. “You ready Connelly?” You looked towards me.
“I’ll remind you we’re married, in case you forgot.”
“Fine, you ready Adams?”
         I gathered Sophia in a hug and laced my fingers through yours. “I can’t wait.”