Our theme for the month of October is “haunt.”
On the first day of kindergarten, seven-year-old Alicia was standing by a red slide on the playground. It was a sunny day, the first of many back-to-school Septembers, with brimming yellow leaves, and brand new sweaters on the children. But clearer than anything, even clearer than the red slide, Jenny stands out in Alicia’s memory.
Jenny was short. Her brown hair was cut in a fluffy bob that bounced around her chin. Her thick bangs hung like a rug’s heavy tassels over her eyes. A chunk of her hair was pulled high into a fountain on top of her head with a pink bow; reminiscent of a cherry on top. Her clothes were colorful, as if she was colored in with markers.
Lost to memory is who-asked-who first if they wanted to play, but Alicia remembers it happened by the red slide. From that moment on, Alicia and Jenny were best friends.
Another September found the girls in first grade, where they began to author and illustrate their own books. The teacher let them proudly read their creations to the whole class.
An October oak dropped red and brown leaves, allowing the two to build top of the line, third-grade forts—accompanied by sticks, twigs, and mud they managed to gather.
Autumn after autumn brought new teachers, new classes, and new adventures. But as the very nature of fall brought change, so equally sure was Alicia and Jenny’s steady and unwavering friendship.
Alicia remembers the time she got the two of them lost in the woods while pretending to follow “deer tracks” she hoped would lead them home. All while Jenny trusted her unwaveringly.
Jenny was born with clubbed feet. She had surgery when she was a baby, but nevertheless, it made her a bit slower than the others on their soccer team.
On the other hand, Alicia often had to stay in during recess to work on her reading. Jenny didn’t mind and always waited for her right outside the door.
Jenny and Alicia went to summer camp, where they ended up stuck canoeing in the rain.
Jenny and Alicia would watch movies together; over, and over, and over again.
Jenny and Alicia even wore the same big goggles and long white coats when they went to science camp.
Jenny and Alicia also laughed at bullies together.
On an unusually warm September, Jenny and Alicia trembled as they walked into their first day of high school together.
Alicia doesn’t really remember when it started to stop. It was not as clear as the red slide was on that sunny day.
One day during senior year, someone in Alicia’s French class casually mentioned something about “Jenny” and something about “gay.”
Alicia argued. “Not my Jenny. She would have told me.”
But, yes. It was indeed her Jenny.
The burn of humiliation immediately rose in Alicia’s cheeks after insisting, “my best friend would have told me.”
As the bell rang, dismissing class for the day, Alicia remembers walking to her car in a daze. She remembers looking up and seeing Jenny running to her from across the parking lot. “Hey!” Jenny’s tone was dripping with guilt, her eyes filled with apprehension.
“Hey.”
“We should talk.”
So they sat in Alicia’s car.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Alicia asked.
Ten years later, curled up in a blanket on her couch, Alicia shut her eyes to try and remember what Jenny said. But after all this time, the details of the exchange have faded.
The memories of their childhood continued to play like a home movie in her mind.
Alicia sipped her tea, realizing that two fist-fulls of autumn have now slipped by. Whatever she said all those years ago; it wasn’t the right thing, or at least it wasn’t enough…she still didn’t quite know. All Alicia knew was that, for some reason, her best friend in all the world had stopped trusting her. And that unknown reason still haunts her.
Past the threshold of graduation, Alicia tried to keep contact. She’d call Jenny on her birthday, and maybe once or twice more throughout the year. But Jenny became as mysterious and elusive as a ghost.
The inevitable changes that every autumn brings had finally caught up with them.
Alicia still sees Jenny in her dreams. She often wonders what it would be like to reach out and ask Jenny to coffee or to grab lunch. Alicia often relives this imaginary interaction in her head; she would weep, and try to apologize for whatever she did that made Jenny not trust her.
But, as always, Alicia pushes the thought from her mind.
Jenny probably doesn’t wanna see her, anyway.
Nothing is as clear as the red slide anymore.
With these thoughts, Alicia falls asleep on her couch, alone in her apartment, under the face of the Hunter’s Moon in high October.
Suddenly, she looks up and sees a bright blue sky. She’s eleven again and is picking apples with Jenny at the orchard in their hometown. She calls out to her friend.
“Why, Jenny?”
The familiar face briefly appears from high up in a tree. Jenny laughs, and her voice is distant, “What? I can’t hear you!”
Alicia’s voice is now twenty-seven.
“I said, why? Where are you?!”
The haunting continues.
Sophia (‘19) double-majored in theatre and religion and insists that her life is a “storybook.” She lives in an apartment above a flower shop in downtown Chicago and has multiple roles working across the arts in comedy, music, theatre, film, and visual art—though her greatest passion is writing. Her work includes stage plays, screenplays, and articles, focusing mostly on cultural trends, comedy, reviews, and religious satire. She loves road trips, visiting her family in Grand Rapids, hunting for the perfect latte, and rescuing plants from the flower shop’s dumpster.
You’re a gifted storyteller. I am haunted by tears after reading this.
Captivating