BFFLs

BFFLs

My parents are workaholics: a doctor and a lawyer. They never have time for me, but my house is amazing. My house has five bedrooms and three bathrooms, just for the three of us. It’s big, white with green shutters, and is one of the nicest homes in the whole neighborhood. My backyard is even better. Flowers, a garden, lawn chairs, and a pool; It’s a fenced in paradise.    

Cynthia is my only friend. We like all of the same things: Halloween, spaghetti, narwhals, you name it. We discuss boys while we wait for the bus. She thinks Tyler Simpson is cute, but he doesn’t even know she exists. Sometimes people stare at us; I do not know why. Cynthia is optimistic about it.

            “They’re just jealous of our friendship,” she tells me, so I ignore them        

            At school we are in all the same classes: Psychology, Algebra, Theatre, and Gym. We sit next to each other in each class too. At lunch we have our own table. Underneath it I wrote: Cynthia and Caitlyn = BFFL. When school lets out she always comes over. My house is hers. We snack and watch reality television, then go out to the backyard to relax.

            “Let’s go in the pool,” Cynthia tells me.

            “You know I can’t swim,” I remind her.

            “Don’t be such a wimp,” she teases, “What’s the point of having this nice pool if we never swim? We’ll just stay in the shallow end. It’ll be fine.”

The pool had no stairs, no ladder.

            “I guess we’ll just jump in then,” I tell her.

            “You first,” she pressures.

            I take several steps back so that I can get a good jump. I run towards the pool and get some good height. I curl into a ball and splash into the water. I sink until I finally realize that there is no way I’m on the shallow end. I open my eyes under water in a panic. Sure enough, I see the drop-off point beyond my reach. Flailing my arms and legs, I manage to get to the surface. I yell at Cynthia to throw me a noodle.

            Cynthia watches me.

“You know I can’t do that,” she hollers back, “Just try and grab the side!”

            The sides of the pool are also beyond reach.

            “Go get somebody, help,” I struggle to scream out to her.

            She stands there still, and answers, “You know I can’t do that either.”

            I’m having trouble keeping my head above water. I’ve swallowed enough chlorine to clean a toilet bowl. This is it, I tell myself, I’m going to die and there’s nothing Cynthia or I can do about it. My lungs are full of water now. I’m floating, facedown. My struggle resolved. My parents find my body when they get home from work, both traumatized. Cynthia is nowhere to be found.