"This has been fun," she says.
​How can you describe what it feels like to love some one who loves you not?
"A wild ride," she smiles.
​How can you describe what it's like to feel something so strong for someone who doesn't hold you dear?
​"Goodbye, pal."
​The window rolls up, and I am left staring at my expression. I had told myself that I would be polite, composed, but the reflection appeared to show more than I liked. My musings are cut when the car begins to move. I watch my friend drive away, I watch the dust roll up from the tires. I can see the large dent on the left side of the bumper. I grit my teeth so hard they creak. I remember when her car had gotten that dent, we'd both been in the front seat, laughing and screaming as the person behind us drove up a bit too close.
​How can you describe what's like to feel a chapter in your life close without even knowing it was going to end?
​I've known Erica Thomas since elementary school. I've always known her. She was my best friend, we were a team. We were buddies. We loved each other.
​I loved Erica. She was one of the greatest friends I ever had. She was my friend when no one else was.
​"This has been fun," she said, "A wild ride."
​Moving away?
"Goodbye, pal."
She announced she was moving not one week ago, after she'd made the arrangements.
​"You're moving?" I asked her, my voice cracking against my will.
​"I am," she said, her lips, I remember, a thin line, "I'm moving to Washington."
​"DC?"
​"State."
​Why. Why. It was the only question I had. We'd certainly grown apart as we've grown up. For a  while we remained friends, but, for the past year, at least, it has been as though, while she grew up and became a woman, I stayed but a child.
​But moving? So suddenly? Why?
​"I've got family up there," she explained, refusing to look at me, "I hate living here. If I move, I can be with the people I love, and be a happier person."
​"I--I see," I said. She didn't tell me she was moving. I found out after overhearing a teacher.
​"She's not going to be in this class anymore."
​"I hate living here," she said, "If I move, I can be with the people I love, and be a happier person."
​Was she not happy? I didn't know. I never knew. She never told me. Perhaps I should have known?
​"Well," I told her, "I hope you like it there."
"Me too," she nodded.
Then she went away.
​A week later, I saw her car moving up her driveway, the back loaded with boxes of her stuff.  I walked over to her, my hands shoved deep in my pockets. The car slowed to a stop, and as I approached, the window rolled down.
​"Hey!" she said to me, a smile painted on her face.
​"Hello," I replied, giving her car a once over, "You....you leaving, now?"
​"Sure am!" she said, tossing her hair away from her face, "Got a long drive ahead of me, I wanted to get an early start."
​"That's sensible," I nodded.
​An awkward silence filled the air as each of us waited for the other to say something.
​"Oh!" she said suddenly, "I've got something for you!"
Something like hope coursed through me.
​"Oh yeah?"
​"Yeah!" she said, "Look in the back seat, towards you, there's a box with your name on it."
​I hesitated before pulling open the car door. There was indeed, a small box with my name written on it. Pulling it out, I asked, "What's this?"
​"Look inside, silly."
​I was looking inside. It was my stuff. All the stuff I may have left in her house over the years, or the stuff I may have given her over the years.
​"It's your stuff!" Erica said, "I figured you would want to have them back."
​I fingered a small, metal mood ring I'd given her on her tenth birthday.
​"That's...awful nice of you."
​"Ah, well," she turned away.
​I tucked the box underneath my arm.
​"I'm guessing I should go," Erica said, giving her watch a flamboyant glance, "I want to get to the highway before the rush hour traffic, you know?"
"It's probably best," I said.
​I wanted to ask her if she would write, email, or call me. I wanted to ask her if she would visit every once in a while, if she would come back and give her old life a glance. I wanted to ask her all these things, but I said nothing.
"This has been fun," she says, "A wild ride."
​Memories came rushing back to me faster than I care to admit. Suddenly, everything I'd ever said to her, every memory I'd ever made with her, even the small, insignificant ones came rushing back like a tidal wave. It was as if I were another person, reaching the end of a chapter in a novel.
"Goodbye, pal."
​I watch her leave until she's out of sight. Then, I listen to the sounds of her car engine, I listen until it disappears, until the sounds of bugs take over again. Although my mind told me that she would write, she would be back, I had a gut feeling that this would be the last time that I ever see her.
​"Goodbye, pal," she'd said.
​Pal? Was that all I was? Not a friend? A friend since childhood?
"This has been fun," she'd said, "A wild ride."
​A wild ride, not a, "It was nice knowing you. I'm going to miss you."
​Erica was important to me. She was my best friend, one of the few friends I had. I never realized that I'd cherished her more than she did me.
​It's now been almost a year since she moved away. I haven't heard from her since the day she left. I wish that it hadn't turned out like this, but there is nothing I can do but move on with my life. Erica may be gone, she may not have loved me as I did her, but that is of no importance anymore. I can make new friends, and have done so. I will remember her, but if I want to be happy, I need not to focus on the pain any more, and just remember the happy times as they were.
​My chapter with Erica may be over, but I can now look forward to the new chapters to come.​