AN: hahahaha I had fun with this one. It's for creative writing at my school. Short stories. Tell me if you think that it's good. Tell me if you think that it's bad. Tell me WHAT YOU THINK! Truthfully and in all honesty much appreciated. :D xoxo.

I met him when I was five years old. It was a play date, and our mothers, who just happened to be best friends, had dragged us along. Not that we had any objections to going to the park. And so we met. We met and liked each other immensely immediately. I was the outgoing little girl in pigtails and he was the boy who liked to play by himself, with sticks. I thought he was weird when he first picked up the nearest stick and started swinging it around, making sounds like a gun. He thought I was mean as soon as I ripped it out of his hand. I studied it, looking at it back and forth, and then looking up at him.

"What's so cool about this stick?" I asked, handing it back to him.

"It's fun. It's not just a stick. It's a gun, and those are the bad guys," he motioned towards the swing set. I turned to look and, seeing nothing, turned back to him with a confused expression, "You don't see them?" he asked.

He walked over to the swings, his stick held above his head. He waved it around as if there was a flag over the end of it. I watched the end of the stick, straining to see what he saw.

"See?" he called from the other end of the playground. I walked over, the watchful, twinkling eyes of my mother following my every move.

I shook my head. "There's nothing there Joshua." I said, my little voice marred slightly by a lisp.

He sighed. "Well then, I'll just have to teach you how to play, Bridgette." Joshua shook his head. "You'll just have to learn how to play."

Three minutes later I was alongside him…my own stick held out in front of me as I fought to the death a duel against a rival pirate. I won, and with a triumphant smirk turned to Josh.

"I see them."

He became my best friend and partner in crime, the one that went out at night and snuck into the community pool with me in my most rebellious of days, the one that nurtured my growing imagination, throwing pieces of paper at me whenever I lapsed into a quiet thought…even after things changed. My best friend, the one that I eventually fell in love with…

"Dude. This is going to be awesome!" I pumped the air with my fist, still managing to keep the thick blanket tucked in around me tightly. I released one hand to better celebrate, then pushed my blonde hair from my eyes as I retreated back into the hood of my black sweatshirt. Josh laughed at my expression, sitting across the aisle from me on the bus. His black hair fell into his curiously brown-green eyes as he watched me.

"It's not going to be that great…" he muttered, shrugging my, thinner, blanket up towards his neck from his shoulders.

"You have no idea, man. I mean, I came here last year. We did all sorts of things and…"I leaned forward conspiratorially to whisper in his general direction, "the food was awesome. I swear, last year I gained twelve pounds…even with all the running around." I rolled my soccer ball, the black and white hexagons mesmerizing me, beneath my feet in excitement.

"Church isn't really my thing," he said, tucking his head beneath his blanket. I smiled at his vaguely turtle-ish look.

"We don't pray all that much…besides, it will be good for you. The spiritual high is great. And there are a lot of people like you that will be here. They won't want to be, but they'll have been dragged along by pushy friends."

"Isn't that an oxymoron?"

"Moron!" I laughed and settled my head against the window, the coolness of the glass calming me slightly. I was pink and flushed from excitement, I could tell. I watched the trees go by as we climbed higher and higher into the mountains. I could smell the scent of pine permeating even through the scent of thirty or so teenagers' various colognes and perfumes. I breathed deeply.

I was excited.

It was that weekend that I realized just how much I liked him, as more than a friend, I mean. It was also the weekend that he met Mandy. Mandy was the perfect girl-next-door type. Brown hair, brown eyes that 'sparkled', freckles across the bridge of her nose. She played soccer, she played the guitar, she sang, and she had the most perfect body that any girl could wish for. It was enough to turn any guys' head, leaving me unsurprised when Josh immediately had his head turned. What did surprise me, however, was the fact that she reciprocated the feeling. Now, I had always told Josh that someday his perfect girl would discover him, and they would fall automatically in love and ride off into the sunset, but I had just begun to picture myself riding off into the sunset with him. Tragically, that vision almost immediately was crushed by the arrival of Mandy in a rush of flying bags.

A car pulled up behind the bus as we slowly moved towards the cabins, the car was honking its horn wildly and fishtailing around the dirt roads behind us. We watched as we pulled up to the cabin and the car behind us, sleek, black, and shiny, finally settled into a rather straight (but fast) route behind the bus. Shrugging our shoulders, Josh and I turned to the front, standing and gathering our blankets and bags behind us. It was when we finally left the bus that the girl from the car made her appearance. A boy, older than us by several years, jumped out of the driver's seat of the car, and started pulling bags out of the backseat with almost a fury-like expression on his face. A girl emerged from the depths of the backseat. Behold, Mandy Peterson.

Two years later, after their dating he told me…he was in love. He was in love with her.

"Bridge?" Josh's voice cut in on my nice nap. The gentle fingers of the sun in its lowest point were so calming that I had fallen asleep out there in the park, among the leaves. The coolness of the grass was a direct contrast to the warmth of my skin and of the blanket beneath me. It was with a calm smile, however, that I looked up at my best friend. His eyes looked even greener in the waning light, though there was an expression in them that I couldn't quite place.

"Yeah?" My voice was quiet and calm, a sound that I immediately placed as a result of my relaxation, not defeat.

"I…"the look in his eyes grew stronger. I knew now what it was. It was determination, burning in the depths of deepest green, it was courage, lighter in strength but still a pure green, and it was vulnerability, tinged slightly with the most sparkling of brown. And I knew, automatically, what he was going to say. I propped myself up on my arms. It took him until Junior year…from freshman year to junior year to realize something I could tell after their first date. My smile, I knew, was understanding. Quiet, serene. Never belying the feelings that roiled beneath the surface. Beneath the façade.

"I think that I love her," his eyes swept down, he was ashamed of his vulnerability, of his confession. "I think that I love her and that I want to be with her for a long, long, time, but," he glanced up at me, his eyes, so expressive, soft. "I want you to know that you will always be my best friend. I won't leave you. I promise." I nodded, complacent; acknowledging a promise I knew would be impossible for him to keep.

For he didn't…he couldn't…love me anymore. This I knew even in when I tried to convince myself that this one missed movie night didn't mean anything. I knew this, especially, when they became lovers. I knew he had changed as soon as he came to me for the first time, withdrawals shaking his body. I knew he had changed when she hurt him…over and over and over again…and yet he always found his way back to her. That was his 'love'. I called it…wrong. And then he came to me one night, for the last time, five years after his confession.

He had never been the same since his mother's death. Two years she had been gone, and for two years I hadn't seen him. I knew that it would take a toll on him, I knew that he would never be the same. And yet, I never found the time to call him, understanding, somehow, that he would have to approach me first. So I delved deep into my imagination, living there for two years, writing my stories, falling in love with green-eyed characters. Falling in love with stories I knew could never be true. Living my life through the books that became my life.

He showed up, one day, on my doorstep. "Bridge?" His voice was different, scratchy and gravelly, as if he had been yelling. I nodded, silently. His eyes…his eyes held no expression whatsoever. I yearned, silently but strongly, for the expression that I knew I would want automatically. I stiffened in shock when it didn't happen. I didn't yearn for an expression of love. I didn't yearn for his approval. In fact, as I looked down at him from the doorstep, I saw a pathetic individual. He was skinny, he was almost emaciated, and he was dirty.

And then she showed up behind him. At 21 years old, he was a father and husband. A shock ran through me…I hadn't even been invited to the wedding. The small bundle that Mandy held in her arms squirmed as she attempted to hold on to it, the expression on her face completely anguished. She held the bundle close to her, as close as possible.

"Do you have nothing to say?" The rough, gravelly voice again, cutting through my thoughts.

"Josh?" I could feel a sob in my throat. His eyes swept down, yet again.

"Yeah." He looked me in the eye. I felt a wave of revulsion course through my veins.

"What happened to you?" I couldn't hide the shock, the disgust, in my voice. He didn't look anything at all like the boy I once knew. He didn't look at all like the boy that I was in love with.


Mandy stepped forward, tears coursing down her cheeks. She nudged her hip against his, and I felt myself envying, for one second, the way her body fit into the contours of his. How they matched.

"I…we…need you to do something for us," the bundle in Mandy's arms squirmed once more. It's face was turned to her chest, and she held it protectively, as if I was going to snatch it from her very arms.


"Will…will you take him for us?" he reached towards his…wife with dirty hands. "We…we can't support him," his voice caught in his throat. "We aren't good parents, we never would be. We're not ready. You…" he swallowed, "You at least have money. You can look after him. You can do this for us."

He held the bundle out to me, his hands gently supporting where it's head would be, were it visible. "And…" he pulled the bundle closer when I didn't immediately reach for it, "We have to leave. Leave the country. We're in trouble," he was desperate, his eyes were jumping every which way, "We have to go somewhere. You don't understand. We're in deep, Bridge. Just like you told me we would. Darling Bridge," he was sinking, I noticed, tears coursing down his cheeks. "I don't know what I did, but I know that I can change. I know that I can get out of this; I know that Mandy and I can get out of this. But I don't know that we can do it with him. He's too much. It's too much. Please, Bridge. Do this. One last favor. For me."

I was in shock. For one thing I hadn't seen him for five years. Now, he's trying to shove a child into my arms?

I took the bundle. Nodding my head as I did so, pulling him up from his almost-kneeling position. "I'll do it," my voice was clear, strong, whereas his had been slurred, weak. "Because I loved you, once." I could feel Mandy's eyes on me, on the child in my arms, "And because I still love you…the both of you. I feel that it's better I don't know what's going on."

Josh threw himself on me, his arms going around me with strength I remembered from high school. "You're my best friend," he whispered to me, though those words no longer held any meaning for me. I was disgusted with him for having let himself get this way, disgusted with myself for letting myself pine after him.

"We have to go now," Mandy's voice was choked, and she covered her eyes as Josh laid an arm reassuringly across her shoulders.

And they left.

The little bundle they hadn't even named. They hadn't felt that it would be right, not when they left it so early. He was like an animal to them, I realized later, they didn't want to get too attached before they abandoned it. Every time I looked at him, for a week afterwards, I could feel disgust coursing through me, again. How dare they? He was so…so beautiful as well.

He had his father eyes, though a darker, clearer, green. The eyes Josh had when he was a boy, unmarred by the effects of drugs and alcohol. He had his mother's freckles and hair. He was pudgy in that perfect baby way.

I was in love with a green-eyed boy. Not with a man, but with a child, he was my son, and I was his mother. And in a way…nothing had changed.