Parasitic Friends Are The Only Ones Who Stick Around

Where did he go? I lost my friend in the mall, which is funny because nearly everything is closed, so there’s hardly anywhere for him to hide. He said he would meet me right here outside the old pet shop. So many great memories from here, but all that’s left is Dillard’s, Macy’s, and shells of stores I used to adore in middle school. Ya know… Hot Topic, Earthbound, Abercrombie, and Aeropostale. Happier times bygone, I really miss them now that I’m standing in the middle of it all. But look at me, reminiscing.

“Hey, thanks for waiting. And, also, thanks for the fifty bucks, you’re such a lifesaver-”

“Dee, would you care if I was dead?” He raised his eyebrows and adjusted his shopping bags, then responded nonchalantly,

“Uh, yeah, I would care. How am I supposed to live without you? Everyone else is so boring.” He flips his curly, brown hair out of his eyes and shrugs off the conversation, walking away towards the food court, which miraculously is still open. I follow his striped beanie and leather boots wondering how he ever thought that could have been a good combo before he left the house. I smirk behind his back and pick up my pace. His legs are much longer than mine; he’s a gangly thing, and when he’s after food that he doesn’t have to make for himself, he’s on a mission. He stops in front of Subway and I let him order first. The other worker behind the counter doesn’t notice me at first, so I step up and politely shout for attention.

“Can I get a six-inch please?” The worker turns around, an apathetic, blue-haired person with huge fake lashes and claws that would probably earn a reprimand for unsanitary working conditions, that is if there was anyone around to care. My sandwich appears down the line with a bag of Lays and a super-icy Coke. I pay with the cash I took from my dad’s wallet, he owed me anyway, and turn to find my only friend in the world plopped in a chair halfway across the seating area, staring out the glass doors at the drizzle sparkling in the black night.

I note the moodiness in his eyes when I toss my bag on the sticky, crumby table. He doesn’t say anything, so I sit, open my chips, and keep observing him.

“Don’t forget your... thing.” He mumbles eventually.

“Too late. Left ‘em at home.” He rolls his eyes at me. He does that so often, someone should tell him he doesn’t get paid to do it. His phone buzzes, like seventeen times in a row, and he snatches it from his pocket, fingering the straw of his drink distractedly. A smile spreads over his face and he laughs dryly. I frown because I don’t like to be ignored, though I’m used to it.

“Oh, my godsssss, Malia is so funny, she's spilling all the tea. Like, Catarina literally will not get over herself. She’s like, ‘He’s my sun, moon, and stars’ in the caption, but, like, they literally met, like, two weeks ago after her and that other prick broke up. I mean, they were only together for, like, six months or something, but seriously, this looks so bad on her part.” My turn to roll my eyes while he keeps mumbling ‘oh my gods’ under his breath, chuckling and texting on his ever-buzzing phone. I keep crunching up chips without really tasting them.

“Tragic.”

“And he’s a Gemini. Ohhhh, sis…” I can’t even believe the incredulity. “But anyway, why is your stuff at home, you bad girl?”

“You know why. It doesn't work, it’s garbage.”

“Garbage to make you feel better.” He says with a little pout.

“No. I can handle myself.” He smiles devilishly at that comment because he’s known forever I won’t take anything prescription anymore. “I’d rather die than take it.” Now he looks angry.

“Don’t you dare talk like that! Enough, okay?!”

“Don’t yell at me! You know what I’ve been going through for three frickin’ years. What the hell is your problem today?” I don’t deserve that kind of treatment, and he’s too selfish to see my pain for what it is.

“Are you okay? You on the phone, or something?” The blue-haired worker had been quietly inching through the food court cleaning tables, unbeknownst to me, and startles me with stupid questions.

“I’m fine, thanks, so stay out of it.” I snap in response and turn back to continue my argument, but there is nothing on the table across from me and the chair is empty. Pushed in neatly, like it had never been touched.

Depression, my only companion for three years, has left me now too.