It was the breaking point for the girl. It really was. She could not stand the constant cattiness of her friend. The girl had endured for a long time and it was about time that she walked away. She was reminded of the science project that she worked on in middle school. The one where she had to build a structure that could withstand the most weight. She remembered that she had watched, with a slight hint of curiosity that almost all young children have. She remembered that the structures would bulge out, like it was inflated with air, before buckling down.
Yes, she was at that inflated, bloated stage. She had taken enough. It was amusing really, that something tiny, something so inconsequential would tip her over the edge. It was like playing miniature golf on the computer, with the little bar that would rise slowly up to the red area. It was the area, if the arrow stopped there, then the golf ball would most certainly go out of bounds, with great force. She was encroaching on that area. Just a little bit more. That one action. The same action that her friend had been doing for the past couple of months, which annoyed the girl, but the girl didn’t say anything. She wasn’t going to. The girl had accepted it, like the way she accepted the color of her eyes and the color of her skin.
She had accepted a lot of things. Maybe she was too meek, too quiet. People said that about her, that she was too nice for her own good. Maybe she was.
Maybe it was due to the smell of the room, which was quite bad in her opinion that the girl began to think of all of this.
She remembered that she wasn’t always thinking like this about her friend. She remembered the nice moments, the moments that she used to laugh along with her friend. The way they would act like seven year olds, finding humor in everything, even the stupid things. That memory seems so far away now, so … lost in the constant waves and crashes of memories.
The girl knows she cannot impose the memory of the girl she once liked onto the girl she knows know. It doesn’t, and will not work like that. Time moves forward. She has to move forward, or else she’ll be dragged forward.
She remembers the last time she talked with her friend. The time when she finally stood up for herself, and utter confusion of her friend. Her friend did not understand the girl’s reaction. She never would. Yes, it's time to move on.