I met her on the second day of class. She’d been absent the first because of something like a mild summer cold.
She arrived late, carefully sliding the door open so as not to disturb the ongoing lesson. Her hair was tied back in pigtails that looked hastily thrown together, loose strands falling around her face. I wondered whether she had cut it herself. The thought lingered as she took the empty seat next to me.
Despite her rushed entrance, her desk was neatly organized, and she paid careful attention to the lesson. There was something quietly charming in the way she carried herself, an energy that felt both spontaneous and thoughtful. I was drawn to it without fully understanding why.
Soon enough, we were talking every morning. She greeted me warmly when I entered. When she was nearby it was like being next to the most fragrant stall at a festival. She made the classroom feel less like a place we were stuck in with her presence and casual conversation. At lunch she always brought some new convenience-store snack to sample. I didn’t notice at first that almost everything she chose was citrus, but it quickly became clear. No one else seemed to catch that detail, but I did. One afternoon I brought citrus candies from home, and she lit up as if I had given her something precious. I had wrapped them in yellow paper, and I know that she’d kept it afterwards. I saw her tuck them carefully into her bag.
By then, spending time together had become routine; we often visited each other outside class, on weekends too, and our friendship had settled into something familiar. Her company was enough to make my day, even when we simply sat together in the same room. I always smiled when she was close. One of our favorite pastimes to share was going on walks around the neighborhood and surrounding areas. I liked the way the quiet settled between us, without interruptions. Occasionally, we’d run errands together.
One weekend, we ended up taking my neighbor’s dog for a walk because they were away for the afternoon. He was an elderly mutt with no discernible breed who had a habit of sighing uncannily. His old joints needed exercising, but the dog moved so slowly that at some points we ended up standing more than walking.
That was how we noticed the beetle sitting on the side of a crack in the path, its back a polished green that caught the light every time it shifted. The dog had stopped beside us, sniffing the edge of the path in a leisurely manner. She crouched down first, mostly to keep the dog from stepping on it, and I crouched beside her a moment later. She studied the creature with interest, though I could tell she wasn’t quite sure what she was looking at. She leaned in, squinting a little, as if trying to place a familiar detail. A moment later, her face lit up with recognition.
She mentioned that in middle school they’d had a project in class with a goal of raising a beetle like this particular one up to adulthood. Her eyes followed the beetle as it tried to climb a pebble and slid off. I glanced over at the old dog briefly before realizing that he wasn’t going to move anytime soon.
Apparently, her sister had lectured her once the beetle was brought home. They were the kind that eat one specific plant, and the leaves needed to be fresh and not bruised. When I asked what sort of plant it was, she frowned while trying to recall the name. She was eventually unsuccessful.
Almost casually, she mentioned that her sister used to bring home all sorts of plants, seed packets, and young trees. The porch attached to the side of their house had once looked like a tiny botanical garden. There wasn’t a single empty pot. They were consistently moved around for the best light. She didn’t seem to mind much and said she had enjoyed the greenery. I remembered her mentioning they hadn’t spoken much in a long while, but she didn’t sound sad as she described it.
The dog pawed the ground impatiently, so we stood up again. She brushed off her knees, even though nothing had stuck to them. As we walked, she kept glancing back at the beetle until it was out of sight. The rest of the walk was quiet, the good kind. Pleasant days like that became part of our routine, with the most important part always being beside her.
When I walked into the office that first day in my new department, I could only think of one memory upon seeing her.
It was a warm, dry afternoon, and school was out. We had agreed to walk along the side of a field on the outskirts of town. I don’t remember if we were in high school or college, but it didn’t matter at the time. For once I could breathe clearly after a week or two of some seasonal allergies, and I was in a good mood as a result.
She ran her hand along the tops of the grasses as she walked ahead, and I watched her from behind. We stayed like that for a while until she slowed down and came to walk beside me.
The only thing I could think of doing in the moment was to gaze at her face as our shoes crunched along the dirt path. The ground had dried up from the sun, becoming brittle in sections. There was a sort of soft haze in the air that made me feel sleepy and comfortable. It was like standing next to a heater in winter, the way I liked being near her. I’ve never been one for metaphors, but that’s just how it felt. It had always been like this with her. There was a mystery in the way she carried herself; you could tell that she’d never say everything that crossed her mind. When we were together, some of that seemed to ease. She was my closest companion. One day, I thought, perhaps we could be more than companions; although I tucked away the thought whenever it came up. It was best to live in the moment as friends, or rather safer, at least from my point of view.
There was a light breeze stirring when she turned and looked at me. We stopped for a moment there, facing each other. Her neatly styled black hair had been tousled a bit by the wind and her headband had started to slip. I remember that I had wondered how she would look without the headband. I couldn’t remember ever seeing her straighten it.
There was a sudden movement from her, and only after a second I realized that she was hugging me. Of course, I reciprocated, but I was surprised. She had never liked to be touched by anyone, let alone initiating it. I could feel her chest rising and falling against mine and her face buried in my shoulder. I held her tightly, but somehow I was afraid of squeezing her too hard, as if she could break with too much pressure. Looking back, I guess you could say that she was. I hadn’t realized it then. I closed my eyes and promised myself I would remember.