I've been thinking about Celeste lately. You remember. Her name isn't really Celeste, but that's what I call her - the girl who ruined me and strengthened me with the same blow. My former best friend. I've just been reminiscing about how perfect those days of my life were - when I'd spend Saturday after Saturday at her house, flying down the roads on our scooters, eating all the snacks in her pantry, and exploring the creek in her backyard. I remember the color of her walls - lavender - and how she never liked electric lights, but she loved candles. She loved smelly things. I remember the closet full of stuffed animals and books. I remember the oak desk with the rolling top. I remember how quiet her house was, smack dab in the middle of a forest, like a little paradise. I remember her backyard. A flat plane of long grass with the beckoning forest at its edge. I remember kicking our soccer ball into the woods and chasing after it. I remember walking down to the creek and leaping across islands of sand and stealing smooth rocks from the water. I remember how we hid a paper - a treaty of sorts - promising that we would never stop being friends, complete with our scrawled sixth-grader signatures and our endlessly naïve sixth-grader promises, under a tree root and returned to it week after week until it crumpled into mud. I remember swinging side by side on that creaky old playset and trying to climb up the slide (it was impossible). I remember the maroon color of the kitchen walls and the cold granite countertops and the bowl of snacks that was always ready for us on the table. I remember pizzas ordered and laughs shared over servings of stretchy cheese and dough. I remember trying to play the piano in her living room even though my fingers fumbled on the keys. I remember her fluffy purple bedspread and her beach photos and how much we loved American Girl Dolls. She loved making videos. One Christmas she got a laptop and a fancy editing software and we made all these silly videos together - about dolls and the creek and friendship. Stretched out on her bed, we'd manipulate music and footage to create DVDs that represented our childhood. Today I was sitting in the car and this song came on - Good Life by OneRepublic. Everyone has a song, and that was ours. As I sat in the air-conditioned capsule under a perfect blue sky, I could feel myself remembering scraped knees and shorts and sunny days spent in the glow of a friendship that I never thought would end. Later today I popped a DVD performance of last year's marching band show into the TV only to find that it was not a DVD performance of last year's marching band show. It was one of me and Celeste's videos. I started crying in two seconds flat, and as the music started playing I hit the stop button and wondered why she kept popping up in my day. Why would I need to care about her? She has plenty of friends and her boyfriend, whom she'll probably marry the day she graduates high school. I will not be in her wedding, like we had planned it when we were ten, and she will not be in mine. I'm grateful to be out of Celeste's life, and I let it all go a long time ago. But I will never get over how she left without a single word. How I held her up and mended her wings and loved her just to let her leave me without a glance back. I was there, always, and she never was. The death of our friendship made me stronger than pretty much anything else could have. I'm glad it happened. Having Celeste out of my life is a blessing. But I think sometimes it's good to remember the things that made you who you are, and to remember that God is always good. He took a pushover of a girl and helped her become someone who knows her value and knows that true friendships don't mean missed calls and nights spent crying. And he reminded her that His plans for her life are so much better than her own. As OneRepublic says, it's a good life.
- Sparrow - (I was going to write a thing where Cas and Sparrow had adventures in the empty grocery store, but I stink at writing dialogue so we'll come back to it later. Now he's driving her home.) Cas' car is a squat blue Toyota, smack in the middle of a very empty parking lot. Inside, it is freezing, which is normal. It also smells like spearmint, which is not as normal. I hop into the shotgun seat and shiver, folding my arms to keep in the warmth while the air vaporizes my breath. The driver side door opens, admitting cold air and heavy snowflakes and Cas before he plops down and slams it shut. He rips off his gloves and rubs his cold hands together. "Great weather we're having." Finally, he sticks the key in the ignition. Warm air blasts from the vents as the car comes to life. I sigh happily and unwrap my scarf to let the warmth touch my neck. Cas turns on the window wipers, and the piled snow collapses off the windshield. "So where are we going?" he asks. The snow lights up the blue of his eyes as he looks at me seriously. I squint through the windshield and see just whiteness. "Seaport Lane," I say. "Do you know how to get there?" "Yeah. That's near Benson, right?" While he's talking, he starts backing out of the parking spot, snow crunching under the tires. "Yes." Benson is the town one over from Burgess. I live on its outskirts, like I kind of live in Benson and also kind of live in Burgess. I try dialing my mom again, and the call doesn't go through, so I give up and slip my phone into my coat pocket. At least now we know she's okay. Cas is saying something about his cousins who live in Benson, and I watch his face reservedly as we pull out of the parking lot. Everything about him is like light. His silly smile, his bright eyes, his one wildly gesturing hand as the other grips the steering wheel. And the way he keeps glancing at me, as if to make sure I'm still there. It makes me feel too important. Like, I'm just Sparrow. I sit around eating soup and writing bad poetry and scraping at my violin. Stop blessing me with the presence of your gorgeous face and gorgeous self. But he does anyway, like he doesn't care that we live on totally separate levels of existence - he on one of grocery store greatness and me on one of social discomfort and soup obsession. The road ahead is long and white, and fat snowflakes batter the windshield. I'm perfectly happy with sitting here and being near Cas. "What's your favorite color?" he asks suddenly. I consider it for a moment. "Purple," I reply. "All shades." He smiles and uses one hand to swing the tail of my scarf into my face. "I figured," he laughs. "What's yours?" He's quiet for a bit as he stares out at the driving snow. "Green." His teeth flash in a smile. "Like moss and grass. Springtime." I wave my hand over the expanse of white ahead. "So this is definitely your kind of weather." He smiles and is silent for a bit. Then he asks, "How's high school treating you?" I consider it, then shrug distantly. "I hate it." He laughs. "Well then. How come?" "Because of social hierarchies." I wrinkle my nose. "Because of math class and college applications and crowded hallways. I hate being enclosed." "Your name suits you," he smiles. "And people are just rude!" I continue explosively. "I get so tired of people." A thought occurs to me, and I fall silent, smiling to myself. I could never say it out loud. And yet... maybe sometimes I need to say what I think instead of holding it in. My voice is quieter than before - more tentative when I say, "But I never get tired of you." Cas smiles at that, looking down for a moment. Is he blushing? I can't tell. His eyes are back on the road. After a half hour of slow snow driving, we pull into my driveway. I try to peer past the windows of our squat blue house, but I can't see any movement inside. "I wonder of she's even home," I muse to Cas as I start getting out of the car. He hasn't moved - he's just looking vacantly out the windshield. I pause, and my brow lowers. "You're coming, right?" He looks at me in surprise. "...Should I?" "Of course! Come on." I slam the car door shut, and snow falls off the edges. Cas gets out and joins me on the other side of the car, his hands shoved into his pockets. He gives me a small smile, and we start up the path toward my front steps. I've never invited a boy to my house before. My mom'll probably freak out. Not in a bad way, but in a "Sparrow-you-actually-have-friends" kind of way. Probably in a "what-a-cute-guy--you-should-date-him" kind of way. Blood rushes to my cheeks at that thought. Me and Cas, dating? Good Lord. The stairs are coated in snow. I step up them carefully and ring the doorbell, then knock with a curled fist, very conscious of Cas behind me. The door opens to my mother throwing her arms around me. "You made it, dear!" I laugh. "You didn't answer your phone, mom." "It hasn't been working right." Her voice is muffled, coming from somewhere behind my ear. She unfolds herself from me and focuses on Cas immediately. "Who's this?" I can hear the approval in her voice. Oh, god. "This is Cas. He brought me home." At the sound of his name, Cas smiles and goes in for a handshake, but my mom hugs him instead. He grins at me from my mother's grip, and I try not to laugh. Then she lets him go. "Nice to meet you," Cas tells her with a tentative smile. "It's a pleasure, darling. Come on in." She turns to get past me and inside - and as she does, she waggles her eyebrows at me. I frown in mock anger, my eyes going to Cas. He's watching the exchange with interest. I grin and turn to follow her in.
