Harbinger: A Journal of Art & Literature | 2018-2019

AURORA
Melissa Beal
I sat in the Taco Bell alone, squirming nervously on the cheap, faux-leather seats. This
place had always felt so safe. It was warm and comforting, even with its bright orange and
purple walls and those strange abstract paintings that looked like a five-year-old created
them. But now this Taco Bell felt like my prison. Today wasn’t about comfort or filling
my stomach with cheap, hot, and delicious ground beef. Today was about reconnecting
with an old friend, a friend who I had left behind quite some time ago. After all that we
had been through together, I never would have thought that our friendship would end,
but eventually some people do just grow apart I guess.
I had already ordered and picked out the table we would sit at. I was staring at her back
as she ordered, her silky black hair lying perfectly across her shoulders, her hips moving
back and forth as she shifted her weight while she talked to the pimply teenager behind
the register. Her waist was still slender, even after having her daughter, and memories of
wrapping my arms around that waist in friendly hugs sprang into my mind. She finally
turned to look at me, giving me one of those cute, excited smiles that I was so familiar
with, and my heart quivered.
Now both at the table, I wasn’t sure what to say. How do you re-introduce yourself
to someone who used to know everything about you? I sipped at my drink anxiously,
hoping that she would break the silence in some cute, awkward way, just like she always
used to.
“Well, uh. I mean. You look really good. That’s a new top right? Probably got it at
Kohl’s. I know you always shop there.” It wasn’t new. I’d had it for nearly a year now, but
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