Kenya
It’s hard to say goodbye. Better to just say see you soon. That’s exactly what I tell Lark, my best friend.
“You’re sure about this, Ken?” she says.
I nod, smile. “I’ve never been surer about anything.”
She’s sitting in the bed with me.
“The mighty twosome becomes a onesome.”
“Onesome?”
“This is my moment. Don’t intrude.”
I laugh.
She does, too.
“The benefit concert should benefit someone other than me.”
“School costs a grip. I’ll take the money,” Lark says.
More laughs.
“So your mom is driving you?”
Lark smirks. “Yup,” she says. “Honey’s ushering her daughter into adulthood.”
“Adulthood, huh?”
“My clock is ticking, Ken.”
“I’m happy for you.”
Lark takes my hand, squeezes it. A friend’s gesture—same kind of thing Donnell does. “I’m happy for the both of us,” she says.
I bite my lip, nod, but keep silent.
“You’re gonna be okay, Ken?” she says.
“I am…but look. We need to establish some parameters for our relationship if we’re gonna make it work.”
Lark snickers. “I agree.”
“At least ten text messages every day.”
“And two live calls,” Lark adds.
“As opposed to a dead one.”
She wrinkles her nose. “Smart-ass.”
“We have to make it a point to see one another as regularly as possible. I suggest we get together every six weeks or so, when you come to see Donovan.”
“And you have to get your future husband to drive you down some, too, Ken.”
I nod. “Will do.”
“I’m going to be off in a strange and dangerous land by myself, so feel free to send gifts, care packages.”
“You ain’t going to Baghdad, Lark.”
“Without you there…it’s gonna feel like it.”
And we cry.