I hadn't talked to her for four years, and hadn't seen her for longer than that. We were friends back in 'the day', the time when it was alright to like Les Miserables and days were spent jumping over Skip-It's and jumpropes. I still remember the phone call when she told me she wouldn't be coming back in sixth grade. What happened was inevitable... conversations dried, the space between them grew greater, and somewhere along the line we lost touch.

...then, as the line grew longer, we began to communicate again. The first time, the first night, I remember staring at the white screen, telling my fingers to type something, anything, but there was a blood clot in my veins. There must have been.

Don't worry, I told myself, the friendship just got a little rusty in the pipes. Brush it off, everything will be fine.

But I wonder.