The friendship that formed between us had been nothing short of dramatic. That's why I knew we were meant to be best friends.
I’d been sitting on the bench in a not-so-secluded part of the school’s field, watching other students milling about. All of a sudden, I heard people screaming upfront. Thinking it was probably a fight, I relaxed back on the bench. I didn’t like getting involved in things like that. But then I paid attention to the excited shrieks and leaned forward to have a look.
“I promise to treat you right, Stella. Please take this flower and accept me.”
Stella’s friends surrounded her, tapping her excitedly and nudging her towards the boy who was still on his knees, with outstretched arms.
“Okay, I’ll be your girlfriend,” she muttered and placed her hand in his. Around them, their friends screamed and clapped their hands as the new lovers hugged and gave each other light, timid kisses.
“Mtchew.” I hissed out loud, looking at them with barely concealed mock amusement. I paused for a brief second because it felt like someone else had hissed with me. I whipped my head to see a girl seated at the far end of my bench looking at me with amusement. We burst out laughing a second later.
“The flower is not even fine, sef,” she said.
“I’m telling you.” I concurred, launching into another laughing fit. When we both quietened, I muttered, “I kind of wish something like that would happen to me sha.”
“Me too.” Said the girl as she slumped a bit in her seat. I looked at her and we both chuckled. The bell signifying that break was over rang and we went smiling to our different classes. I realized that I hadn’t asked for her name and hoped that I would see her again.
When I went to the bench the next day. She was already seated and had a huge smile on her face like she had been waiting for me.
“What is your name?” We both asked at the same time.
“We need to stop doing this.” She said in between snorts of laughter.
“I’ll stop when you stop,” I said, still laughing.
“It’s Chelsea.”
I gave her a bemused look. “Chelsea? Like the football club?”
“Yeah,” she said, face-palming. “My Dad just had to show how deep his obsession with football runs.”
I giggled. “That’s crazy. My name is Tracy.”
She assessed me. “It fits.”
I smiled and poked her in the arm. “How is that possible?”
“All the Tracy's I’ve known were incredibly beautiful.”
I didn’t ever think I was capable of blushing, let alone because of a girl but there I was struggling between laughing and kicking my feet
“Thank you,” I said finally. “You’re pretty as well.”
She smiled and I motioned to the book in her hands. “What were you writing?”
“A story.”
“What kind of stories do you write?”
“Love stories. If I can’t have a good love story, I can at least write the best ones ever read, right?”
I looked at her beaming face. I liked her already. “Would you let me read?”
“If you let me read yours.”
I was astonished. “How do you know I write?”
“I’ve seen you once or twice.”
Few days later, we exchanged notepads and I remember skipping the entire way home, impatient to read Chelsea’s writings. I spent the entire night doing just that. I didn’t ever think there was someone who shared the same style of writing with me bWhat should have been obvious to me on that first day we met became clear. I had found my person.
I rushed to school the next day, eager to share with her all the lovely things I’d seen. I doubt I listened to a word that was said in class. I was out of my seat before the bell signifying the commencement of break rang. The nearer I got to our favourite spot, the more my heart sang. I knew Chelsea would have a similar experience.
However, she wasn’t on our usual bench. I thought little of it and concluded that she was probably on her way. When the bell rang again thirty minutes later, I was crestfallen. Chelsea hadn’t shown up. Not did she show up the next day or the day after that.
I scolded myself for forgetting to find out what her class was and the rest of the week was spent describing to dozens of people how she looked like with hopes that someone would know who she was. I heard the disheartening news the week after. Her parents had been transferred and they’d left to an undisclosed location.
I cried for many days, hugging Chelsea’s notepad to my chest. Just when I found a friend, the cruel universe wouldn’t even make it last a week. I vowed to keep the notepad safe forever and hoped she kept mine safe too.
There were screams of excitement up ahead. Was such noise even allowed in an airport?
“Say yes! Say yes!” the people around shouted. I craned my neck and looked in amusement at the kneeling man and the weeping woman in front of him.
“Of course, I’ll marry you!” she yelled, promptly jumping into his arms and wrapping him in a hug. Around them, people cheered. These were the things people fed on. I hissed.
“Mtchew,” I heard someone say a few feet away. I whipped my head like someone electrocuted and stared into the astonished eyes of the woman in front of me.
It couldn’t be.
“Che- Chelsea?” I called out, stuttering.
“Tracy?”
I walked a few metres and laughed as she catapulted herself into my outstretched arms. “I can’t believe this,” I kept muttering.
It was an unforgettable moment. Our waiting flights forgotten, we spent hours talking, reminiscing on old times and the world of events that had happened in the past fifteen years since we last saw. Happiness and appreciation swelled in my heart when I found out that she’d also kept my notepad safe.
As we walked out of the airport together, I said to her. “Low-key, I wish I was that woman.”
Immediately understanding who I was referring to, she muttered. “Me too.” And together we laughed, long and hard.
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