FORTY-SEVEN

The Choices We Make

Samantha wore a long, flowery dress that had a deep plunge on the back, accentuating her curves and her black, flowing hair. Lolita had been amazed by her dark beauty the first day she saw her; and was even more flattered that she wanted to be her friend. Samantha was the widest of the three. She changed her hair at least three times a year, and she was the outgoing type. She was the one who made all the mistakes, who drove them crazy with their ideas. She could be smart sometimes, considerate even and non-judgmental. This was what Lolita liked the most about her; that she could take in your deepest, darkest secret and hold it within her, like a sponge absorbing water.

Now, she poured hot chocolate drink for Lolita. They were in her yard, gazing into the blank space and the earthy ground that Samantha made last summer. Her feet were bare as she sunk her toes into the dirt, allowing the wind to caress her face and hair.

“It’s hot enough to burn your throat,” she sai