THE PUBLIC SHELF
Open when you're angry with me
If you're opening this, I probably messed up. I'm sorry first. I'll listen second. I'll explain myself last, and only if you want me to.
I wrote this on a good day, when we'd just spent four hours at the diner talking about nothing, because I knew a bad day would come eventually. We've been friends since fourth grade. That's a long time to not get angry at someone. We were due.
I want you to remember what we've already survived.
We survived the year you got bangs and I said they looked fine, and they did not look fine.
We survived your boyfriend who played the ukulele at parties.
We survived the road trip to Nashville with no air conditioning, when we didn't speak from Louisville to the state line and then laughed so hard at a billboard that you pulled over.
We survived your mom's funeral, when I didn't know what to say and you told me later that I said exactly the right thing by not saying anything.
We will survive this too. I'm not going anywhere. I'm not going to make you talk before you're ready, and I'm not going to pretend it didn't happen.
When you're ready, I'll be on the stool at the diner. I'll order your fries.
Kayla
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