The Walk (a short story)

Walking On an early summer day in 2004, I sat in my room awaiting my best friend’s arrival. The sun was out and shined faintly into my room. Finally, the doorbell rang and I sprinted down the stairs to answer it. “Hi Brittany!” I said to my smiling friend who held her pack over one shoulder and a guitar case in her opposite hand. She greeted me, and we ran to the living room to get on the computer and listen to music. Looking out the window again, an idea came to me. “Want to take a walk up the hill?” I asked. “Yeah! We’ll bring our CD players, too,” she replied. Five minutes later, Brittany was walking ahead of me out my front door with her black Columbia jacket on, along with her familiar white tennis shoes that had thick, bright pink laces slinking through them. I wore my lucky blue jeans and black hoodie. Both of us had our CD players in hand, bobbing our heads to some of our favorite classic rock bands. The sun was shining on me, warming my face and making it hard to see Brittany, now walking next to me in the empty street. As we strolled up the street, I decided I wanted to show Brittany more than just up the hill. “Let’s walk all the way to the recreation park. I’m not allowed to, but who’s going to catch us? It’s only a little further.” “All right,” Brittany replied, “as long as you think it’s okay.” Side by side, we continued our walk in the sunlight, conversing about life now, more than listening to our music. We had been best friends for such a short time, but the bud that started it all was surely the most big and beautiful flower in bloom that we would each ever know. On the way back toward my house, I watched Brittany out of the corner of my eye. I knew then that she wasn’t the only one as happy as me to be walking with someone, rather than alone, like we both did only a few months before this day. Brittany really was the greatest best friend anyone could ever ask for in their lifetime.