Still Waters
- Kaia Bonham
- Dec 23, 2024
- 3 min read
I stare at her, my head slowly tipping on its side, turning and twisting so I
don’t have to look at her right-side-up. So I don’t have to look at her head-on.
This way, I can almost pretend she isn’t everything she has proven to be.
So, so badly do I want for her to be the person whose laugh I fell in love
with when we were five. I want her to be the person whose humor I fell in love
with when we were seven. I want her to be the person whose energy I fell in
love with when I was eleven, and the person whose brilliance I fell in love with
when I was twelve.
But sometimes, friends and family and people who you thought were
forever are just momentary. Sometimes their presence is fleeting and the
smiles they give you are ephemeral.
Now, her smile is nowhere to be seen. And maybe I could be okay with that,
but she isn’t frowning or crying or anything else either. In fact, her expression
doesn’t show much of anything at all except boredom and a little bit of
impatience. It hurts more than any look of disgust would because with her,
anything at all is better than nothing.
That’s how much I loved her laugh, her humor, her energy, and her
brilliance.
That’s how much I loved her.
That’s how much she hurt me.
I un-tip my head and turn it back and look at her right-side-up. Head-on.
“Why did you leave?” I ask.
She glances up to the sky and then off to the right and then off to the left
and then at me, but she doesn’t say anything.
“Why did you leave?” I ask again, because it’s the question I’ve been asking
for two years and seven months and seven days. I ask it again because it’s the
question I don’t have an answer for.
She doesn’t answer, either.
I give her one last look, drinking in the curves of her face and the color of
her hair and most especially the empty look on her face, before I turn and walk
away.
It is only when I am the one walking away that she speaks up and stops me.
“Everyone has something they can’t live without,
” she says. I swallow.
“What are you afraid of losing?”
You, I want to say. I was afraid to lose you.
But then I guess I did lose her. And the world kept spinning, and the tides
kept flowing, and the days kept ending. So I give her my truth.
“You,” I say, and I notice the visceral response she has to the one word, like
she has not even considered it as an answer.
“I was afraid to lose you. And now
I am afraid to lose my mother and father and brothers and friends and my dog.
I am afraid to lose my house and my bedroom and my backyard, and the park
down the street and the wind in my hair and the way sunshine looks when it
hits water. I am afraid to lose music and dancing and connection and hope…
and love. I am afraid to lose love.”
I pause. I am afraid to lose love.
I whisper it to myself in my mind because it’s a truth that I’ve only just
discovered, and I want it to belong to me if only for just one heartbeat. It feels
like rediscovering and redefining who I know myself to be.
I look up, a soft, sad sort of smile playing across my lips. She looks utterly
lost and unknowing of what to do or say.
So I forgive her.
And I forgive myself.
I forgive myself for believing her to be my best friend when I was really just
her friend. I forgive myself for tying my love for her around my waist like a
lifesaver when I was in still waters. I forgive myself for being so afraid to lose
my love that I let myself be shipwrecked by her pinprick of a storm in an ocean
so vast it is unknown.
I breathe in.
And I breathe out.
I am ready to love.
about the author
Kaia Bonham is a writer and high school junior from the Bay Area. Enamored
with the beauty of language and prose, her writing often explores the human
experience and reflects the intricacies of emotion through fictionalized stories.
She has worked with fellow aspiring writers from all over the country and loves
working with others to push the boundaries of literary expression. Kaia is also
known to be found happily buried in a stack of books, crocheting, or enjoying a
sunny day in the pool!
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