It was a beautiful day. Liza’s favorite kind of day: blue sky, a few puffy white clouds, and a bit of a breeze. She would be waiting, Calla knew, where she always waited: on the bench overlooking the ornamental pond. She would be watching the koi as they swam among the water greenery and smiling at the tinkling music of the little waterfall.
Calla half-skipped down the walk, eager to see Liza’s face again and to tell her all the news from the past year. Who was seeing who, what’d happened when Challenger 20 had landed on Rigel, which college had accepted her, and most importantly how Liza’s parents were doing. There was so much to tell and so little time to do it!
Calla rounded a bend, and there she was: just a little bit different from last year. Was her hair darker, her face thinner, and was she just a bit taller? It was harder for Calla to remember each year, but Liza’s eyes were as blue as the sky above, as always, and she still looked like Liza. Bright, independent, brave Liza.
Calla waved as Liza turned away from the koi pond and saw her. Liza’s familiar grin answered, and the two girls raced across the green grass to throw their arms around each other, laughing as they spun around and around until they were dizzy.
“I haven’t done that in ages!” Calla gasped.
“Liar,” Liza retorted cheerfully. “It’s been exactly one year, almost to the minute.”
“Sooooo literal,” Calla drawled.
“When I want to be,” Liza nodded. “Now, catch me up on everything!”
Two hours sped by before Calla knew it. They spoke of old friends and Calla’s new boyfriend. Calla shared the news of her college acceptance, and then they talked about Liza’s parents and family. Liza laughed when Calla told her about Liza’s brother’s recent antics that drove her grandmother to yelling dire threats if he didn’t behave. As their time neared an end, the light dimmed then brightened again. Calla reluctantly stood up and brushed the grass from her jeans. “I have to go,” she said sadly.
“I know,” Liza nodded. “I’ll see you next year. You can tell me all about college. Bring your sketchbook; I want to see what you’re designing.”
“I will,” Calla agreed as she reached out to hug her friend. “Why does your grandmother call you ladybug?”
Liza grinned. “She always did, ever since I was a baby. I don’t know why.”
Calla looked over her shoulder several times as she walked slowly up the path to the exit. Liza watched her go, but her friend’s expression didn’t hold the same sorrow that was in Calla’s heart. It couldn’t. Liza didn’t know the truth. Calla could leave the virtual reality suite, but Liza never could.
Jeff read the card again and shook his head. His boss was a weird guy. Most places used auto-delivery, but Harrison insisted that flower deliveries required the human touch. Jeff didn’t get it, but it was nice to see how people reacted to getting flowers. He’d made deliveries to all sorts of places, but this was the first time he’d delivered to the VR Café, although not the first time he’d had to make a delivery at a specific time. It was the first time that he’d had to call someone else to find out what that time would be.
The hall was lined with doors, some of which glowed a faint red to indicate they were occupied. Others were green, with rate charts neatly illuminated on them. Jeff had never been in a VR suite, and at those rates he never would, unless he was proposing or something.
A girl was just coming out of the suite he’d been told to find. “Calla Sanderson?”
“Yes?” She turned around and smiled at him, but her eyes were shiny in that way girls’ eyes were before they started crying. No way was he sticking around for the waterworks.
“These are for you,” he said quickly, handing her the flowers. “Eighteen pink roses. Happy birthday!”
“But it’s not my bir—” Jeff was out of earshot before she finished her sentence.
Calla looked at the dozen and a half pink roses framed by dark, glossy green leaves and accented with white baby’s breath. It wasn’t her birthday. It was Liza’s. Who would have sent her Liza’s birthday flowers? Who would have sent Liza birthday flowers?
“Read the card, goose,” Calla murmured, opening the envelope holding the vidcard.
After a second’s hesitation, the recording started playing. Calla’s breath caught sharply in her throat as Liza’s fourteen year old face grinned back at her.
“So,” Liza said, “you know that dream I had, the bad one, which led to us making promises to each other? I started thinking about it again, and, Calla, I know you. I know you’ll be here, and I know what you’ll be doing. If you’re receiving these roses, that means my dream wasn’t as silly as we pretended. What teenager dreams about dying and believes it will happen? Just me!”
On the vidcard, Liza’s smile faded. “You’re my best friend. You’re better than a sister. I don’t know how many years you’ve been coming, but you don’t need to come anymore. It’s not really me in that recording, and it’s not fair to ask you to keep doing this. Remember me in your heart, Calla, but not this way. Remember I love you, and that will be enough.”
The memory on the vidcard ran out, but Calla couldn’t see it anymore. Her tears blurred everything. She blinked her vision clear and saw a little ladybug with red and black wings crawling on one of the leaves. She smiled, remembering Liza’s grandmother calling her ladybug.
“All right, Liza,” she whispered. “I’ll always remember you, I promise.”
The ladybug’s wings flared open and it took flight—first brushing the tip of her nose before flitting out of sight.
Ameria Lewis lived the life of an American gypsy for most of her adult life, floating from state to state as the whim and wish took her. Ameria has run a writing club for nearly 20 years, attends college as a non-traditional student, and won NaNoWriMo for the first time in 2013. She is currently pausing in northwest Louisiana, for who knows how long.