Don't Forget Me, Christa

"So what are you saying, Liz?"
"I'm saying, Christa, that I'm not going to be here."
"What?"
"I'm moving. To Guam."
5 seconds passed while I registered what I just heard.
"What the fuck?!"
"Please, Christa. Don't swear. My parents might hear you."
I paused.
...
I opened my mouth to exclaim my shock (again), when Liz rushed in with, "I'll always remember you Christiana." As always, Liz's word came out calm and without much feeling.
My mouth dropped to the floor of her immaculately clean living room. I thought I was going to her house to hang out, like I do every Saturday. But this Saturday, Elizabeth Harnett decided on stripping her house clean and moving to Guam.
"Liz." Her mother was standing behind her now. My mouth was horrendously agape. I heard her father tiredly honking the car's horn.
I couldn't say anything as Liz hugged me. Her mother's eyes were rimmed with tears as she roughly grabbed me and embraced me, longer than Liz I must admit and with more feeling. But that was how Elizabeth Harnett regarded everyone- as an experiment. Her parents were one of her more lasting trials of scientific advancement.
Sniffling, Mrs. Harnett kissed me on my forehead and sadly wished me well with my life. My life. She distinctly used that word because she knew Liz would never come back. I would never see Liz Harnett ever again. Ever. Liz always made good-byes thorough and had never re-did anything, let alone meet again with a past friend.
That's just how Liz Harnett worked. As they loaded their stuff onto her father's station wagon, I stood facing Liz. Finally I spoke.
"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING, LIZ?! Guam? Like the fucking island we learned about last week in fucking history?!"
Okay, I yelled. But technically it counts as speaking. Just in a louder tone.
“Christa, I explained that you cannot swear around my parents.” Her eyes hovered somewhere over my head. “And yes, Guam the fucking island we learned about in fucking history.”
I was stunned. This was massive. I was losing my best and only friend. Fucking Liz. You little fuck.
“Christa, I want to wish you well,” She concluded as she spotted her mother waving frantically from the station wagon. Mrs. Harnett was sobbing uncontrollably blowing kisses my way. It would appear like Mrs. Harnett was my best friend and Liz was her mother, the way they were carrying on. “I also want you to try and reduce your swearing. It will put you in good stead.”
She reached over and patted my back. Then she got into her car and I watched her tell her father to drive, please.
I glared at their car until they disappeared into the horizon. Then I closed the door, and trudged on home. What a fucking Saturday.
****

“How was Liz’s?” My mother asked. She was at the stove again. Cooking something that would undoubtedly add a couple hundred extra calories I didn’t need to my thighs.
“She’s moving.” I plopped down on one of the kitchen chairs. It squeaked under my weight. “I mean she moved. I mean… she’s at the airport.” I silently wished for the gazillionth time that I weighed about 100 pounds less.
“What?!” My mother turned toward me, genuine concern in her eyes.
“She was leaving when I got there. On her way to…Guam.” My voice cracked and quite suddenly I felt tears rolldown my face faster than a river. I tried to turn my large body away from my mother but the table got in the way of my stomach. Which only contributed to my anger.
“What?! Oh, honey. Guam? Where is that? I didn’t know her dad was getting deployed to Iraq. Oh, sweetie. It’ll be alright.” By then she had reached me and was hugging and kissing me furiously. Never mind the fact that my eyes and cheeks were red, my face was wet as the ocean, and my face was twisted into a stupid frown, now my equally obese mother was smothering me in cherry red lipstick and Chanel #5 perfume.
Iraq. I scoffed. Which made my mother assume she needed to pat the tears out of me. She then turned to furiously “pat” my back, which would be the equivalent to swinging a baseball bat to score a homerun in the major leagues.
I was able to get up after several “pats” and tell my mother I need some alone time. She nodded and I felt her eyes follow me to my room. I could imagine her holding her hands under her chest, eyebrows knitted, all the while thinking, What is a Guam?
Upstairs, I fell into the familiar groove of being your only friend. It didn’t help that in the back of my mind my conscience whispered, “You start high school tomorrow.”