Summer days. Two gals, riding along, bikes jiggling down country lanes, past sweltering fields of beans and corn.

Together as always in those days. Laughing and singing. Tasting the ripened berries.

Holding hands, walking through hallways of an old brick schoolhouse smelling of caustic cleansers.

One day you hugged Trudy goodbye. Feeling her thin shoulders tense up. The porch screen door squeaked.

"Get on home, Becca. It's suppertime." Trudy's mom frowned and closed the door behind your friend.

A long ride home. Your scrawny legs so tired. Why were you crying?

Trudy found other friends. 

Whispering friends.

You moved on.