My Dear Friend
by Derick Stephan
As I pull into my driveway from a hard day at work, I momentarily see the woods in front of me before I shut the headlights off. I shut down the engine, but I don�t pull the key out quite yet; I don't feel like going inside just now. I put Mariah Carey�s Music Box, one of my favorite CDs, into the CD player. I lean back in my seat and look at the stars through my sunroof. It's always quiet out here in the woods, but tonight it's exceptionally so. The night sky is as clear as my mind. As I search for the big dipper I hear the soft, sweet melodies of a music box. Suddenly, my mind is not so clear. This song harshly, yet ever so gently, reminds me of one of my dearest friends. Instead of seeing the big dipper, or even Orion, the stars through my sunroof begin to form her face.
It's all so clear to me now. I can see her smile, experience her compassion,...and feel her pain. I remember how her grandmother hated her, how her grandmother kicked her out of the house. I remember her grief as she had to move away. Away from school, away from her family, and away her friends. These thoughts don't stay with me long, for they are not the fondest, or clearest, memories I have of her. As I stare up at the heavens, my eye is drawn towards the north star, which reminds me of the twinkling in her eyes.
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The night I met her I was washing dishes at Oliver's, not my favorite of jobs. I had been working the restaurant for a few weeks, and she had just started. She could always tell how I was feeling, even that first night. She knew that I wasn�t happy washing dishes, and tried throughout the night to cheer me up. To try to lift my spirits she would, every now and then, pop her head into the dish room and yell,"Hey Derick!"; I turned to look at her and she would brightly add "Smile!" while beaming me with one of her own; and she wouldn't leave the dish room until she had seen me smile. At the time I found it a bit irritating, but I have to admit, I eventually started to cheer up. That was not the last time I saw her smile, and for that I was thankful, because I had come to depend on her smile like a drug.
It was my first day going to school with my new car, the same one I'm sitting in now, while looking at the stars. Most of my fondest memories of her also involve my car. A two-tone gray, 1987 Mustang, it was a very nice looking car, and I couldn't wait to show it to her. I saw her in the hallway at school. "Betsy!" I yelled as I waved for her to come over. "I have my new car." I told her when she reached me.
"Really, when can I see it?"; she asked.
"Come see me in the parking lot after school; I'll show it to you there,"; I replied.
"You drove it to school? I'll be there," she said and patted me on the back, "I wouldn't miss it." From that point on, I spent the day anticipating her reaction upon seeing my car. Knowing her as I did, I knew exactly what she was going to say.
After school I watched her as she looked around for me. She saw me, looked at my car, then back at me and flashed one of her great smiles. She ran over to where I was standing and exclaimed, "It's so pretty!". "I love it!" she said, as I answered her smile with one of my own. I cherished her opinions, and knowing that she liked my new car made me feel great.
The sky is not as clear as it was a few moments ago. My view of the stars is being marred by the cruel splatter of rain on my sunroof. The rain is trying to spoil my mood, trying to make me go inside, but it only brings more memories of Betsy. I look away from the heavens and gaze towards the passenger seat. I can see her sitting there, like so many other times.
She'd plant herself there, in my passenger seat, reminding me of the roses that used to grow in front of my house. She was always watching the road, sometimes losing her vigil over the road to look over at me, unaware that I was watching her through the corner of my eye. Every now and then our eyes would lock, and in her eyes I�d see her compassion, understanding, and trust. Parts of her that only I was allowed to see.
I was driving her home after a long day at work, it was cold, dark, and wet that night. She was staring out the window, unaware that, at the time, she had my full attention. The squeal of the windshield wipers suddenly brought my mind back to the road. We would be at her house in just a few moments. When I drop her off, I'm reminded of what Romeo said to Juliet, "parting is such sweet sorrow."; I dread having to part company with her, but after we do, I get to look forward to seeing her again. "Thanks for driving me home," she said, as I came to a stop in front of her house.
I looked at her and told her "Anytime". She knew that I didn't mind driving her home, and she knew that thanking me was not necessary. She smiled and made a mad dash for her house, to avoid getting drenched by the rain. As I watched her, it seemed to me that the rain couldn�t touch her. My mom taught me that it's polite to wait for your passenger to get inside before driving off, so I waited for her to get inside her house. I saw her try the doorknob, then knock on the door. Suddenly she turned and ran back to my car, opened the door and hopped in.
"I'm locked out," she informed me. Since I couldn't wait with her until her parents came home, I offered her my jacket to keep her warm and dry until they showed up. She solemnly looked at me and said in a tender voice, "Derick, you're so sweet." She took my jacket and put it on. Slowly, she got out of my car and walked towards her house. When she reached her porch, she turned around and waved at me. I waved back and, hesitantly, I pulled out of her driveway and went home.
My mind drifts back to the present. I think about how much I would like to see her again. I think, with amusement, about how she still has my jacket. The song that started all of this is beginning to fade out. I look over at my house, still reluctant to let go of my time alone, my time to think, ... my time to remember.
Slowly I turn off the stereo and pull out my keys. Hesitantly, I get out of my car and start towards my house. As I walk through the door, my dog throws himself at me. I pet the dog and look over at my family as we briefly talk about our days. No longer in the mood to sit down and watch the television, I say goodnight and go to bed. As I close my eyes to go to sleep, I try to clear my head. However hard I fight, though, my wandering mind keeps drifting back to Betsy, my dear friend.