We were so young when we first met in Madame Bouchard's class. You were the new kid at school. You plopped down beside me and told me about your dad's extramarital love affair. I nodded politely and fell in love with you like only a best friend can.

Tonight I think of all those inside jokes we had and how they made us laugh for hours on end. Those were the good days, the fun days. We used to pull out your sofa-bed and giggle the night away as the old springs poked into our backs. Remember how angry your mom got as we kept her from sleep?

Nowadays we reminisce a lot, bringing up anecdote after anecdote, laughing at how stupid/innocent/silly we were. But is there anything else to sustain our friendship? Six years have elapsed, best friend.

You and I were talking some months ago and I had an epiphany of sorts. It was our senior year of high school. I liked him and so did you. He liked you.

You asked me how big of a crush I had. I asked you, would really make a difference if I liked him a lot? You told me no.

That was my epiphany: the confirmation of something I already knew. It was like hearing car tires screeching : someone running over your beloved pet. You intuitively know what happened from your station in the back yard, and as you run around the house, you know it's going to hurt as you round the corner.

I never told you how much you hurt me that day.

It's not that I hate you, quite to the contrary. I just don't want to see you much anymore. For once, this is actually tangible. Your locker isn't across the aisle from mine anymore, you see. We're freshmen at different universities. I met lots of new people, nice people, potential friends.

I'm not disregarding all the fun times we had, but my memory of our friendship is forever tarred. I don't even want to try to fix it. I'd rather make new friends and try to forget the fact that, for six years, I had a friend like you.