EMPTY SPACE FOR A FRIEND
I was just your parking spot.
A free space, with only a 10 minute walk
to our greedy high school that wanted a $200 fee
for the same area with young drivers who
haphazardly parked outside the lines as teenagers do.
Our moms were best friends, we had gone
to the same church since the sixth grade,
but you would gossip about me and never
managed to give me a thoughtful birthday gift.
I was someone who would listen, but you never
heeded my advice or inquired about my life.
I was just your parking spot.
A gray asphalt rectangle with a few
weather-faded white lines on three sides.
Somewhere you could stay for a little while,
between destinations, wherever you were
actually trying to be: school, another friend’s house,
a lover’s adventure, a classmate’s group project . . .
Someone to help you do your homework
and edit your school news articles.
I was just your parking spot.
Somewhere that would ease your mind, like a spot close
to the mall door the weekend before Christmas with
two good parking neighbors on both sides of the worn lines.
A place where no one was going to ding your bumper
or tow you away. A reliable spot that was always
open for you to park at, even though others envied that square
of pavement—cars using their blinkers to stake a claim
and pull in before realizing it was marked reserved.
Someone who would praise your noble work,
and defend you against others’ criticisms.
Today, I had the courage to confront you, to state
how I felt, to say that I was done, and then walk away.
I am no longer a convenient placeholder
like a _______ in a poem I write,
something later on replaced with a select word.
Now, I don’t give a _______ about you.
Naomi Van Horn just graduated as an Economics and Global Studies double major at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill from the Class of 2020. She loves the Beatles, beach volleyball, and cold glasses of pink lemonade. She is also your typical angsty millennial who is upset with society and loves to travel and explore the world around her.