Tanisha explores how shared memories shape one’s identity and a sense of belonging by reflecting on a past friendship.
My hands hover over the keyboard as my Spotify playlist blasts “Kiss & Tell” by Mokita. As the song plays, I close my eyes and see myself in my childhood bedroom, sitting on my floral bed sheet listening to this song for the first time while my (then) best friend raved about this artist she accidentally discovered. I smell a hint of strawberries, and her asymmetric dimples flash across my mind.
I laugh a little, thinking of her loud mouth and how I’d always end up dragging her away and calming her down before she started a fight. I wince as I picture us sitting on the cold, dewy grass at the local music festival, a couple of dumb sixteen-year-olds. A smile escapes my lips when I remember how we both pretended to be together to get a creepy guy who reeked of cigarettes to leave us alone.
I think of our last sleepover, when we talked about our future and how we might end up in different places. Even then, with all the unknown feelings in the backs of our minds, the idea that we might just stop talking one day never crossed my mind. But that was then, and now we have both moved on in our lives, made new friends, and chased new dreams. I wish we had fought over something, anything, because then we would have had a chance to make up. But we just stopped talking one day.
Now, as I sigh and close my laptop, I feel a pang of nostalgia and regret. I wonder what she’s doing right now. I pick up my phone and open Instagram, scrolling aimlessly until I come across her picture on my home page. Just a single swipe and I could send her a text. Would she reply? Would it even matter if she did? I don’t see us going back to the way we were, and anything else would be futile. I close the app when I hear my friend banging on the door. Maybe she has moved on, and so should I. Some memories are best left untouched.
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