Passage Of Time

• Poppy Grice, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2013

The last time we met had been years ago. Now he passed by as if he didn’t know me, or remember the time we had spent together as children, or any of the memories we had as we grew. Anything we had was gone now, taken by what society has made him into.

As young children, material things never mattered to us. We never noticed the differences in society. Our friendship was based on the fact that we liked being together. We never saw the differences between our clothes, toys or families. We knew that together, we played and had fun.

As life continued, the differences began showing through. Where my clothes were streaked with dirt, his looked brand new. I walked for miles through dirt and rain. He arrived in a different car every day. It still didn’t matter to us. We saw the differences, but nothing was said.

It was towards our teenage years where things became different between us. It was not only us who saw the differences now, everyone saw, to them our differences mattered.
‘She’s gross!’ his ‘new’ friends would say.
‘So disgusting! Look at that hair!’
‘She’s a nice girl,’ he would say, looking in my direction as I sat alone picking at my empty lunch. ‘Its just… well..’ he always trailed off.
To me our friendship was first, but to him it mattered less.

Edging closer to adulthood, his eyes would judge my messy hair and dirty dress. Our worlds were changing before us. I saw him among the judgmental children in the school. He was one of them now. He began to see the joke I was to society. Soon, he began to laugh with the other children. Someone who was once my friend never defended me.

Every day, I would force myself to walk away before the tears in my eyes fell down my face staining it more than the permanent dirt, which was ingrained into my skin. He would see me, sometimes sparing me a nod or a smile. We never spoke, not wanting to break from our places in society.

We would play together, that was the last time I saw him, before the judgmental views of society crept in.

He walked down the street where so many sat and begged, trying to sustain our families for another night. He stood in a suit with his wife and two beautiful children. I sat in the same dress I had worn when saw me last, a decade ago. My children sat by my side; they had so little, but were so happy. He looked into my eyes, for a moment we shared what we once had, but within moments it was lost in society.

He would never have to live in or raise his children in such poverty. He would never be subjected to such harsh reality.

The last time I saw him, I was 5. Since then I have never seen him as I did before.