My Old Friend

by Jesse Traynham
06-02-16

Author's Note

While recently cleaning off some hard drive space, I came across this short story which I wrote in 2016. I liked the story, but it needed bunches of work. It lacked "showing" and was more of a barebones concept than a story. I took the bones of the story below and re-wrote it as "The Visitor". The newer version is much better and can be viewed at https://unheardsongs.com/the-visitor/. It is preferable to read "The Visitor" before reading the version below.

I hardly recognized my old friend. As I slowly and cautiously opened the door I was greeted by someone who had obviously been through an ordeal. Her eye was blackened, her clothes were ragged and her face was so dirty I could not tell who she was.

Against my better judgment, I asked her in.

I went and wetted a cloth. She took it and began wiping her dirtied face. It was then I finally recognized her.

“My old friend!” I exclaimed. “How have you been?”

Expecting to hear a sob story, she responded true to her character.

“Things could not be better. I mean, I’ve hit a few rough spots, but things are really looking up, you know. The future is bright.”

“Barf.” I thought. How cliche. But then that’s how she always came across.

The mood of our conversation changed when she asked about one of our mutual friends, Despair.

“How is he doing these days?” my friend asked.

“Pretty well actually. I seem to see him everywhere. At the store. Down the street. I run into him all the time these days. In fact, I saw him at church this past week.”

“You understand that being friends with Despair is toxic, right.” my old friend reminded me.

“I know, but he’s a good friend. He’s always there when I need him. He is accessible, and most of the time…”, I paused, not sure if I should complete my thought.

“Most of the time you are simply too hard to find,” I muttered.

“What in the world are you talking about!” she exclaimed. “I’m always here for you. I’m only a call away. You simply have to acknowledge my existence.”

“You know, Hope, when I met you at the door earlier, I didn’t even recognize you,” I admitted.

“I know,” Hope said. “I’m here now.”

“You always did know just the right time to show up,” I told her.

As she left I suggested that we should meet together more often.

“We should do this more often!” she exclaimed. “Your future is bright!” she said in her usual obnoxious and ever hopeful demeanor.

As I closed the door, I pondered the absurdity that I had not recognized the face of one of my closest friends. I vowed right then that I would never again lose Hope.