She watched as her friend picked the vegetables out of the Chinese takeout container, leaving the rice like some bird scattering the less desired seeds to the ground in search of the best sunflower kernels. Eating together felt less like an act of communion and more like accidentally opening the door while someone is peeing -- an awkward encounter of an intimate moment not intended to be shared. She wondered when the closeness had been lost.
They used to write each other letters every week, share their darkest thoughts and most ambitious dreams, but after her friend dropped out of school in the middle of the semester, the letters stopped. When they started up again, they were longer than ever but with vacant, endless descriptions of the landscape that read like a Thomas Hardy novel, with a tragic subtext lying under the surface, just out of sight.
Their conversation that evening was no different, and she had to force a smile as she said goodbye. Closing the door behind her for the last time, she walked down to her car alone.
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