Margo

A Short Story by Christina Marcon

“I need to step out and clear my head,” I quickly say as I hang up the phone. I sit down

on the faded wood bench with the pretty wrought iron arms, at the corner of Greghurst and 5th,

and stare at the burning bright orange light of the lamppost that stands strong in front of me. I ask

it to remind me of someone named Margot.

Margot was my best friend. There was no one I loved more than her. We came to this

bench every Friday night after we both got married and bought houses. I live downtown but

Margot was just outside the city. I didn’t see her every day anymore, but we made sure we saw

each other every week to recap the adventures we had. We did it over the phone sometimes too.

A week after my 27th birthday I called her in a panic. I felt like I didn’t know what I was doing

with my life – I didn’t know who I was. I felt like I was making everything up about myself as I

went along. “You need a hug,” Margot whispered into the phone. She drove an hour to my house

and we stayed up all night, made brownies, and watched every Oscar-nominated movie.

“How’s Ryan?” Margot asked.

“Broke up,” I muttered, too focused on the TV screen.

Romantic love was hard to find. We thought something was wrong with us, but the more

we looked into each other, the more we couldn’t find any faults. Margot was perfect. Love came

and went, much sooner than we thought it would. It left like we initiated its exit – like the doors

were opened for it to leave. It left like the sun on the day we spent entirely together talking about

our futures. It was just before high school started. We were excited to experience our first

everything together. First job, first car rides through the autumn tree-lined streets, first parties, first

relationships, first heartbreaks. “I’m not excited to see you cry,” I reassured Margot, “I’m

just excited to be with you – to have to comfort you through it.” And then the day came. Sitting

at the gazebo outside our local coffee shop, Margot was fighting with her boyfriend. Maybe I

wasn’t the best at comforting her. I was more aggressive than I thought I would be. “He was so

shitty to you, you should be glad it’s over. Fuck him!,” I exclaimed, “Not literally.” I got so mad

when she told me about the secret hookup she had with him after they broke up. “It was one

time, and I’m never doing it again!” she yelled. I just wanted the best for her. I knew she

deserved much more than him – I still hate him.

And how can I forget about Halloween night? We were seniors, and it was much too late

for our first party, but we were so excited. It finally felt like the high school experience we were

waiting for. I couldn’t drive yet so I used that as a lame excuse to get drunk. I kissed Margot –

technically my first kiss, but I don’t remember anything about it so it didn’t count. I had no filter

and couldn’t stop rambling on. I went up to Margot and told her to go kiss the cute boy by the

shed. We both hated him but no one was gonna deny his looks. I also told her to have a little sip

of my drink, even though she was driving home. She didn’t do any of these, thank God, and just

laughed. I sat near her at the bonfire and started crying about everything – everything – my mom,

my grandfather dying, the guy from last year. “He’s just a stupid boy,” Margot said, “You need to

get out of this town.”

So get out of the town I did, and Margot followed. We went to the same university. There

was something about her that made our friendship work so well. We both became architects. I

worked with Margot on some of my favourite projects. Anytime I explained an idea I had, she

immediately understood it. The projects came to life and won awards. You know when you can

be around someone and not have to say a single word and it isn’t awkward? That’s how it was

with Margot; it just felt right. I think soulmates can be platonic too. We were bridesmaids at each

other’s weddings, and she was there with me when I gave birth to Flo. She never had any kids,

never wanted them, but she was so great with mine.

But sometimes I hated Margot. Like when she wouldn’t be able to see me, when she was

busy with other people. It was like we were dating, and I was worried she was off with other,

more exciting people. But Margot never really thought that about me; it was all in my head. But

we had fights. She got on my nerves when she was worried about things. I tried to provide

solutions to her problems but she never used them. I mean every girl does that. I know I made

Margot crazy too. There’s nothing better than girlhood. Margot made me believe that. There are

things some people just wouldn’t understand, like pulling into an empty parking lot at night just

to finish belting a pop song, or hating each other so much because you love each other so much.

Margot died today, at 51. Stan, her husband, just called to tell me. She’d been battling

pancreatic cancer for almost ten years now. Everyone knew the day was coming; I just wish I had

more time. I don’t care that I’ve spent over half my life with her; there were still things we hadn't

gotten around to. I want more time. I wanted to retire with her, I wanted her to be at my

daughter’s wedding, I wanted to die with her right by my side, so there wasn’t any moment we

had to spend without each other. Stan asked if I could perform the eulogy at her funeral. What

would I even say to the people who didn’t know her like I did?

I’m glad to have been able to spend so many years by her side. She’ s the greatest person

I’ve gotten the pleasure of knowing. We laughed as easily as we cried – we laughed until we

cried. Margot was the wittiest person I knew. Every comment about our teachers she made in

class, every expression on her face, every one-liner we quoted from our favourite sit-coms –

this girl knew how to make me laugh. And her laugh was so contagious too that I couldn’t look at her

in serious moments because I couldn’t hold it in.

Margot had the best parties, blasting music until our ears bled, screaming until our

throats hurt, and scrambling to hide the smell of liquor in our mouths before going home. Margot

would drive me everywhere when I didn’t have my licence. Margot let me show her my favourite

movies because she wanted to love them as much as I did. Margot would call me when someone

from high school got married, or had a kid, or got divorced. Margot made up the worst

nicknames for our friends and code names for our crushes. Margot would stop every

conversation so we could collectively ponder on a philosophical or scientific question she had.

Margot would start these debates about the most random topics, but they created the best

discourse. We would question God and the afterlife, and now, as I stand here today I’m thinking

that bitch knows the answer.

No, I can’t say that.

My phone rings again – it’s time to leave – Stan is calling me back. I thank the lamppost

for the reminders, and the bench for the time well spent. As I get up, laughter fills my left ear.

Two teenage girls are leaving the convenience store. With the smiles on their faces, their synced

walk, their hands full of snacks, their beautiful youth and the joy that radiates off of them, I just

know they love being girls together. Margot and I were girls together.