Kate

     Tears dripped down my face. "Please Kate, don't go!"

    Kate ran to me and gave me a hug. I felt her warm sweater against my skin. I had always liked that sweater: bright purple with abstract designs, decorated by a smiling line of light brown teddy bears around the chest. But just then, I wanted to rip those happy smiles off.

    I looked at Kate, remembered she was moving far away--from San Jose to San Diego--and burst into tears again.

    I heard Kate's mom speaking softly. "Kate, honey, time to go." Kate gave me one last squeeze, then went with her mom and the front door.

    I followed her, but stopped at the door. The barefoot five-year-old, tears and snot running down her face, waved. Such a fake, happy gesture felt like betrayal of my sorrow.

    I had just lost my best friend.

*     *     *

    Kate and I had known each other since practically before we were born. Our moms had signed up for the same aerobics class, becoming fast friends.

    We were even almost the same age; less than a month separated our birthdays. We went to the same preschool--Bright Beginnings.

    Of all my preschool days, I only remember two events clearly. For some reason, they both involve Kate. The first was the day I learned how to swing--the fun way.

    "Woo-hoo!" I crowed, bending my knees and reaching up for a better grip on the chain. I had figured out how to swing standing up (I hated regular swinging), and now taught it to all my friends.

    We all picked swings and practiced standing-up swinging. Kate was always beside me.

    The other event I remember is also about recess. Every recess--when we weren't swinging, that is--my friends Erika and Marisa would play Peter Pan with Kate and me.

    "I'll get you, Peter Pan!" Marisa cried out, brandishing one curved finger at me. She swung forward on the monkey bars, and I launched myself from the ladder to do battle.

    Kate, Tinker Bell, flitted between us nervously. "Watch out!" she called to me.

    I dodged the "attack" by Captain Hook and drove forward furiously. "Oh ho!" Marisa jumped off and I reached Erika, who was sitting patiently with her hands folded at the other end of the bars. I swung us both down with a triumphant, "I've saved you, Wendy!" followed by Erika's gushing, "My hero!" and Kate clapped.

    Other roles changed--Marisa would occasionally become a Lost Boy or Erika would play Captain Hook, but Kate and I remained Tinker Bell and Peter Pan. Every Thursday Kate would come over to my house, and when she was twenty minutes late one day I worried--until I remembered why. She was gone.

    Peter Pan had lost his Tinker Bell.

*     *     *

    Renee, Kate's mom, served me some candy as I watched the circus. I munched happily and admired the elephant tricks.

    "I'll go get Kate," she said, or perhaps thought. In any case, I understood. I nodded, and Renee disappeared. Just melted into the air. But things happen like that in dreams.

    Still in the dream, much time had passed. I saw Kate's dad and asked him where Kate was.

    "Oh," he sad, "she's not coming . . ."

    Not coming, not coming, not coming . . .

    With a jerk, I woke up. Light was shining through my window. It took me a second to recall my dream. But when I did . . .

    Oh, no, I thought with grim determination. That's not going to happen. I haven't seen her in three years--she's not going to disappear on her dad's business trip on Saturday and that is that.

    "Nicole, are you up?" My mom peeked around the door.

    "Yeah," I replied groggily.

    She rubbed her hands together and looked at the floor. A cold chill ran up my back. Why was she uncomfortable?

    "Well00Kate can't come up here and see you. Terry's business trip was cancelled." She paused and looked at my stricken expression. "I'm sorry, Boo," she said, using the nickname from my kiddie years, "I know you were looking forward to it." And just like that, she opened the door and left, disappearing just like Renee . . .

    No! I screamed inwardly. This can't be happening! I can't have dreamt that dream! No!!!

    I collapsed on my bed, burying my face in my hands.

    A dreamer had lost her dream.

*     *     *

    Kate . . . my breath froze in my throat. Yes, she had written! I was eight, and years had passed since our first letters of "I love you. I miss you. Love,--" and gradually contact between us broke off. I still missed her. And I still loved her like a sister.

    It was a fairly long letter. And at the end . . .

    P.S. Rags died.

    Oh, no, not Rags! Not that little cat with no tail . . . I still remembered racing up Kate's stairs with the gray cat, still remembered my disbelief when Kate told me some cats had no tails. And now she was dead . . .

    Rags symbolized Kate. Kate had had her forever. Rags was one of those immortal animals who never die. But now she had . . . and to me, Kate had died, too.

    P.S. Rags died.

    A believer had lost her symbol.

*     *     *

    "How do you like it?" My mom held out the sweater.

    I stared at it. Purple, with abstract designs and a smiling row of teddy bears . . . "I love it! Thank you so much!"

    My mom blinked, plainly stunned by my enthusiasm--I had gained a distaste for anything linked with parent with my ninth birthday. "Um . . . you're welcome," she said hesitantly.

    I peered at her face. "You . . . don't remember . . . this is the sweater--well, same design at least--that Kate wore that day when she left . . . you don't remember."

    My mom shook her head.

    "Well it is! And thank you! I love it!" I turned to leave the room, tugging on the heavy sweater, but Mom wasn't quite done.

    "Nicole, this summer we're going to San Diego to see Kate!"

    She watched my expression go from listening to comprehending to comprehended to joy. I rushing into her arms.

    "Oh, thank you! Thankyouthankyouthankyou!"

    A girl had found some hope.

*     *     *

    I waited, hands clasped on my knees. Was that her? . . .  no, just strangers, coming to see the attractions of Sea World. I was twisting my head to the left, looking frantically for Kate, when I felt a tap on my right shoulder.

    "Kate!" I bounded up to give her a hug. She had grown--but then, so had I. The brown hair was thicker and longer, the strong features more sharply defined, the voice a bit deeper. Had it really been four years since I had last seen her, that summer day when she had left? I had changed in similar ways, as well as gaining glasses and braces.

    We walked through Sea world, hand in hand. We traded stories about school, track, pets (I had received a hamster for my eighth birthday), sisters . . . oh, that day was great. Being in San Diego, seeing Kate again . . .

    Ties cut, friends lost--Marisa and Erika had long since stopped being so close, and I had believed Kate gone forever from me. How foolish. It had all been in my head.

    I had found my friend--but I had never really lost her.

Written July 2000, Nicole La Fetra

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