I had this friend growing up, Abigail Remmie, who lived next door to me. Well, no, I mean, I guess not literally next door to me, but, she lived a few houses down from me, but, nonetheless, it was almost like- no, never mind that, I’m losing my train of thought. Where was I? Oh, right. Abigail Remmie. Abigail Remmie was… Well, tell me, how do you sum up a girl like Abigail Remmie without totally coming off as a jackass for selling her short? I mean, Abigail was just… Abigail. She was everything that you could ever want in… a girl, a friend, a lover, a dream… She was just… effortlessly… Abigail. That’s it. That’s the best way that I can describe it, I guess.
Abigail was strong-willed, and passionate about life, and people, and places, and things. She loved fiercely, and hated even fiercer. You know, she always had this firm belief that if you took a minute to pick yourself up when everything was hellish, instead of wallowing in your own melancholic sorrow, you could rise out of the ashes of misfortune, and emerge a beautiful, strong phoenix of your former self, improved, evolved, actually, better equipped to handle the garbage life tries to cram down your throat. She believed that the wallowers were a useless bunch. Only there to bring down everyone with them. Abigail absolutely despised people like that. The melodramatic, stereo-typical angst-ridden teenagers who spend their time in dimly-lit rooms full of emotional baggage, and tears. Unfortunately for Abigail, these wallowers consisted of about 99% of the student-body, so Abigail found herself with fewer, and fewer friends as the days went by. However, despite her decline in social standings, I remained loyal to her, and this was how Abigail, and I began to really get to know one another. I learned about her past, her present, her desired future, and she, mine. WE turned to each other when times were hard, but only to rant, and rave, never to wallow. Never wallowing. Abigail hated that.
I loved her. I loved her so much it hurt me. It hurt me to breathe without her. It hurt to sleep, to wake up, to dream about anything besides Abigail Remmie, and her beautiful spirit. I spent my hours away from her painfully wondering what she thought of me outside of the boundaries of our friendship. I wondered if there was existence outside of those boundaries at all for her. I wondered. I worried. But, I hoped. And I prayed. Every passing day, Abigail and I became closer until it was as if we were one joint person.
But, at the same time we were so very separated. Separated by uncertainty. A separation that probably existed only because of me. You see, in my quest for her loving affection, an affection outside of our close friendship, I began to further myself from Abigail. Slowly, but surely, Abigail and I began to drift. Drift apart. A change, I never intended, nor ever even wanted, yet, as the days crawled by, the distance between her, and I, extended. One day, a few less words exchanged. The next day, even fewer. Then even fewer. Then even fewer. On and on, until what were once conversations that scaled hours, and hours, days, and days, quietly turned to brief paragraphs of dialogue, mere shreds of what they once were. Then, eventually brief sentences. Then words in passing. Then… nothing at all. Silence.
A silence so numbing, so powerful, so painful, I would often find myself crying. Weeping. Spewing tears, and tears, and tears until I nearly drowned in my own liquid regret. I regretted allowing such a travesty to occur. I regretted being so shallow. What is it they say about men? Always wanting something more when it comes to women? Never knowing when to stop? Never taking “enough” for its face value? Sex. Love. Whatever. Always wanting it. Nothing else being good enough. Nothing ever suffices, does it? I cursed myself for joining the ranks of all those pathetic revolting men. I cursed myself for being just another pig. I had allowed my selfish need for extended affection get in the way of the most beautiful friendship I have ever, or will ever know in my life. I let that disgusting yearn sever me from my best friend. From Abigail. What was once my other half, was now a complete stranger.
Abigail Remmie, a stranger?
When I said earlier that Abigail removed herself from the student body, I meant it. She refused to associate with anyone besides me, and since that was over, she associated with… no one. I don’t mean that figuratively, or hypothetically, or metaphorically, or whatever else. Literally. She associated with no one, well, I mean, besides her family, of course, but, that’s irrelevant. At school. Nothing. No cordial greetings, or remarks made to anyone besides teachers when answering questions in class. Otherwise, mouth shut. Silence.
I think the worst thing in this entire world is becoming what you hate most. For me, becoming just another selfish, crude man. For Abby, becoming… a wallower. As time slipped by, and are separation slipped even further, SHE slipped into… Well, I don’t know what you called it, because it was more complex than any word I know. Just like with describing her, I can’t even begin to describe what was plaguing her. She became… someone else. Nothing else. Everything else. Everything that was the opposite of Abigail. Dispassionate. Lonely. Distant. Alone.
And I saw it. I saw this change. I saw this regression, and instead of running to her side to help. I ran away. I ran idly. I never moved a muscle. Yet, in my mind I ran as far away from this new Abigail as humanly possible. And I saw Abigail slowly descend into a state of Abigail I had never seen, nor imagined. I saw a walking corpse. I saw a walking figment of a former human being. I saw… nothing.
And to this day, I regret not resuming my duties as friend. As best friend. I regret leaving her to fend for herself against the ever-present loneliness that welcomed itself to her. I regret doing nothing. I hate myself every day for it. I hate myself more, and more as I think about it. More, and more as I retell the story in my mind, again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and…
I wanted her to love me once. I wanted her to reciprocate my burning feelings for her. I wanted her hand in mine in a fashion meaning so much more than friendliness. I wanted the world to be in the clasped hands of Abigail, and me. I wanted the world with her. I wanted a world that catered to us. A world with everything we could ever want, or dream for.
And now… all I want is a world with her in it.
But, I just stood by, and did nothing when she needed it most. And now, that silence that first reared it’s ugly head when we began to drift, is now with me forever. For the rest of my life, I will be haunted, not by her absence, or her memory, but by the silence.