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Chapter Nine: "A Buddy"

5/27/2016

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Picture
Denver wasn't done with me yet. Not by a long shot. Entering a new college, knowing no one reminded me of when I first moved to Wyoming. It was like high school all over again. I sat alone at a table in the cafeteria, trying to fill that void by stuffing my face with food. It was lunch hour at the Regency student housing. I sat there--alone. A few minutes passed and all of a sudden, I overheard someone behind me asking me if anyone was sitting at the table with me. At first sight, I thought nothing of it. I remember I didn't even look her in the eye when I responded, "no, just me." I had been minding my own business, eating alone at a table when she approached me. She sat next to me, which kind of made me nervous, but also helped avoid eye contact. Off my peripheral I could study her features; she had her hair in a ponytail, was wearing what looked like gym clothes, and looked like she had just worked out. We made small talk, I almost didn't pay attention to her, for I was too focused on wanting to be alone again. I remember she told me her name and had said she went to a school somewhere in Aurora and just gotten out of softball practice.

​Small little details is all I have from her now. After small talk was done, she stood up, punched me on the shoulder and smiled, leaving saying she hoped to see me again. The next time I saw her, I barely recognized her; I realized then that the first time I wasn't concerned on paying attention to her because of how she looked. The second time I saw her it seemed like she was a completely different person. A simple punch to my shoulder startled me, but that wasn’t the only thing that startled me because as I turned around to see who punched me, I realized she was standing there, green top, her hair straightened down, her eyes a lot clearer than before, and a smile that took me by surprise. She said my name and asked how I was. Unbeknownst to her, I was not okay, not in the slightest. But that didn't matter, so I didn't tell her. I smiled back and chatted a bit before someone from two tables over called her over. She punched me on the shoulder again, said goodbye, and walked away. This was one of those slow-motion moments again; I stood there transfixed by her appearance as I saw her walk over to the table, sit down and laugh at their jokes. To this day I still struggle to understand the reason why she walked into my life, only to disappear so suddenly, and never to be heard from again. No matter how hard I looked for her, I never found her.

All I had was a first name...that got me nowhere.

She was definitely, the one that got away. The major "what if?" The question that I'll never know the answer to.


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    Writer/Artist

    My name is Francisco, you can call me Zisco.

    Endings are hard, but in reality, nothing ever ends, does it?

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