> > The Forgotten Friend > By Judith Burnett Schneider > > It was my tenth birthday - double digits - and I would > have the biggest party ever. The guest list, which I kept > at the back of my homework assignment folder, began with a > few close friends. But in the two weeks before that > special Friday night, it had quickly grown from seven girls > to a whopping total of seventeen. Nearly every girl in my > fifth-grade class had been invited to sleep over at my > house for a big celebration. I was especially happy when > each guest I invited excitedly accepted the invitation. It > would be a night of scary stories, pizza and lots of > presents. But as I later realized, I would truly treasure > only one gift I received that night. > The family room was a flurry of shouts and bursts of > laughter. We had just finished a game of Twister and were > lining up for the limbo when the doorbell rang. I hardly > paid attention to who might be at the door. What did it > matter, really? Everyone I liked from school was there, in > my family room, preparing to lean under the stick held by > my two sisters. > "Judy, come here for a minute," Mom called from the > front door. > I rolled my eyes and shrugged to my friends as if to > say, 'Now who would dare bother me at a time like this?' > What I really wanted to say was, 'It's tough being > popular!' > I rounded the bend toward the front door, then > stopped. I know my mouth dropped open and I could feel my > face turning red, for there on the front porch stood Sarah > Westly - the quiet girl who sat next to me in music class - > and she was holding a gift. > I thought about the growing list in the back of my > assignment folder. How had I forgotten to invite Sarah? > I remembered that I only added a name to the list when > someone had shown an interest in me (like kids do when they > know someone is having a party and they don't want to be > left out). But Sarah had never done that. Never once had > she asked me about my birthday party. Never once did she > squeeze into the kids surrounding me at lunch time. And > once she even helped me carry my backpack while I lugged my > science project to our third-floor classroom. > I guess I had forgotten to invite her simply because > she wasn't pushing to be invited. I accepted the gift from > Sarah and asked her to join the party. > "I can't stay," she said, looking down. "My dad's > waiting in the car." > "Can you come in for a little while?" I nearly begged. > By now I felt pretty bad about forgetting to invite her and > really did want her to stay. > "Thanks, but I have to go," she said, turning toward > the door. "See you Monday." > I stood in the foyer with Sarah's gift in my hands and > an empty feeling in my heart. > I didn't open the gift until hours after the party had > ended. Hours after the games, the food, the ghost stories, > the pillow fights, the pranks on those first to fall asleep > and the snores. > Inside the small box was a ceramic tabby cat about > three inches tall with its tail in the air. In my mind, it > was the best gift I had received, even though I was never > really into cats. I later found out that the figurine > looked exactly like Sarah's cat, Seymour. > I didn't know it then, but now I realize that Sarah > was my one true childhood friend. While the other girls > drifted away, Sarah was always there for me, ever loyal and > supportive. She was an unconditional friend who stood by > me, always encouraging and understanding me. > Although I'll always feel bad about forgetting her, I > also realize that I might not have discovered Sarah as a > friend had I remembered to invite her to that unforgettable > tenth birthday party. > > «:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«^i^MISSI ^i^«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§« Richiele Marie [email protected] (Missi) I disbelieved in reincarnation in my last life, too. »§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«