I hear your words on the other end of the phone. Pleading, you ask me to come home… cry for me to come home. Drawing a breath from deep inside I say, I can't. it's not home to me any more. I live here now. I've lived here for almost ten years. I don't think you actually hear me- I think the sound of your sobbing tears drown out any comfort I can whisper across the wires. So I brush my hair off my face, wipe the tears from my eyes, and whisper I love you. You sob back a reply, a faint and tear-strained, love you too. In my head there are words of comfort circling and dancing, but my lips find themselves repeating the phrase that has become a mantra over the last few years… and I say, it'll all be okay.

We've been through this before, you and me. I cannot count how many times you've asked, ordered and begged me to come back, to help you and take care of you. So many late nights on the phone… so many hurts and accusations have passed between us. I sometimes wonder if we were meant to be friends, or if- if we forced something unnatural and that is the cause of all the hurt and anger between us. Our courtship was short. One day we were bitter enemies… you was the horrible mean girl on the playground, and I was my usual doormat self, holding your shoes while you kept me from using the swings during recess. We never outgrew these roles. You the boss, the leader and I followed you, not only willingly- but with a sick sense of admiration for your bravery.

I moved away shortly after we acquired our 'best friend' necklaces. Not just to another town, or school, but hundreds of miles away. I was ripped away from the one true friend I had had… or the one true friend whose friendship I had valued and understood on levels no sixth grader should. I remember on my last day at school, we had a little party with our guidance counselor. Your dad brought us pizza hut pizza and you gave me a shoebox full of stationary and whatnot.. to amuse me during the car ride and my first few weeks at my new home. I wish I still had that box. Sometimes I wish I were still in sixth grade.

After I moved our phone conversations were limited to fifteen minutes by our parents. You'd always write down the day and time you were supposed to call me and you always forgot anyway. We never wrote much during those years. A card or letter every few months… short… filled with superficiality. I never really fit in at my new school, and I craved your phone calls, they made me feel special. Worthwhile, even. The first time I really went back to visit… I was sick and unable to go home, so I was sent to my grandmother's, fifteen minutes from you, and from where I grew up. Something happened between us. Neither of us had changed and our expectations surpassed our actuality. I left after a month and we didn't speak for six more.

Since then we have rekindled our relationship, we have survived our first true loves together, and our first true broken hearts. Funny how in a way, they ended up being the same boy.

When you told me you were sleeping with him, I literally dropped the phone. I felt my breath catch, and I felt unable to support you. You ensured me that it was a one time thing, a mistake. And a week later you told me that you did it again… a few extra times… for kicks? I had laughed and moaned about it with my roommates and finally discarded it as another one of your little mistakes. But what you told me the other night. The thing that completely shattered my image of you… it changed everything. You two created a life. And you killed it. And he didn't care and you discarded the whole event with an apology to me (for what?) and a promise that you'd get help, for everything.

You kept me up all night, I sat here talking to you and him over icq, because it's cheaper than phone calls. I sat here crying, and unable to type. I sat here talking to him, about something serious for the first time in three years. He asked if I was angry at him, like I still harbored some high school crush. Like my every thought was about how he hurt me…

After the crying and frustration, I went to sleep in the arms of the one who loves me now. And the next day, still worried and scared for you, I called my mother. She told me, Lisa, she told me that she thinks I should stop talking to you. That you're going downhill and that I have to think about myself for a change. You're the leader, tell me what to do? I can't sit by and watch you destroy yourself and your chances. I can't lie awake worrying about you and your escapades. I love you more than anything. You will always be my first real friend. You will always be my sister in so many ways. But I have to worry about me for a while. I guess, in a way, we both spent all our time thinking about you, so it's time I took care of myself.

If you need someone to listen, you know where I am. But please, understand that I can't be your crutch anymore.

Remembering All of our Yesterdays,