The Writers' Circle

Ok, so this is what I got. I'm not a great writer, so
 I'm open to constructive criticism. This is my first post and I think it's Ok, but it gets a bit boring for me in the middle. This is only half of it anyway. Well, I look forward to any comments!

 What you did.

We wouldn't have been friends. 
If we had meet in the real world, I mean. The world of conformity.
But that wasn't the world we lived in.
 In the world of the homeless, you had two choices. 
Trust. Trust people, people who give you money, people who buy you food. People who talk to you like your a normal person.
 Or, simply don't. Stay away from everyone, because they all mean you harm. Well, that's the way I had seen it at the time. 
We were too completely different people.
I was taciturn, thoughtful and shrewd.
You had a complacent streak. You where wild,  loud and confident.
You lived in a whole world of your own. In your eyes, you weren't a homeless kid. No, in your eyes, you where free. No one could hold you down, and no one could keep up. You got a natural high from life. And you ran around as if you owned the whole city. 
I hadn't known at the time of course, how unscrupulous  you where . 
But look at what we became. Inseparable. Joint at the hip. 
And it's all thanks to that day.
It's thanks to the situation in life that we both shared. All thanks to the fact that we needed each other

You where homeless, by choice. You told me that everyone in your old life restricted you to normality, set you boundaries that you couldn't keep. So you left them. 

Me? Homelessness was the last thing I wanted. But my mother and I had lived recklessly for some time. Spending money we simply didn't have and well, life caught up with us. 
It was just me now. 

Granted, it's not the most usual way for two unalike people to come together, get to know each other and find that they actually do have a thing or two in common. But it wasn't as simple as that, was it? 
Of course, until only recently I had thought that it was that simple. 
But you always knew, didn't you?
You thought you were being conscientious- careful, by simply, letting me fill in the gaps by myself, letting me believe what appeared to be true, but it's not like you didn't lie to me on top of that. 
And now, I- I mean after everything that we've been through together, how could you just- just let me think like that? As my friend, as my one and only friend, I can't understand you. And you can never know me, not the way I thought you did. Not the way you let me believe you knew me. 
It's like you picked me up, and with me in your arms, you flew, through the air and high into the sky. You showed me how to get that high you always got from life, not matter how bad things seemed, and sometimes, I felt it too
And then I looked down. 
After all these years, I looked down for the first time, and realized that the ground was now, and always had been a mere meter away. 

So, right now, I have a mixture of feelings.
 First, I'm grateful. you made me feel like I could fly,  with you I had a pair of wings of my own. But it wasn't real. You knew we were just hovering above the ground like that and yet you pretended like we weren't. 
So, I also feel hurt. 
It's a wound that can't be mended with a simple apology. 
Maybe the only cure is time. 

Now, I'm not saying that this is all your fault.  Maybe, subconsciously, somewhere in the depths of my mind I knew it wasn't real, this whole time. But I believed you, because I wanted to believe you. A part of me needed you to understand what I was going through, I needed you to be able to relate to me. And it was easy to get pulled in, you and I were completely devoured by it, weren't we?
But that doesn't make it right. 
Sometimes, the easiest thing and the right thing aren't always the same thing.

I won't lie.
I'm not going to pretend that what you did didn't mean anything to me, like I couldn't care less.  I do care. 
Through all my waking hours I've lived that day again, and again, desperately searching for that little thing I missed . That thing that will reveal all, connect all the dots. 
But so far all efforts have been wasted. 

The memory is still embedded into my mind. Entwined between all other thoughts in my head, holding it together, holding me together. 

To me it had started as a normal, insignificant day. The memory of which would end up tangled in the mess of all those other summer days I can hardly remember. Lazy, sleepy days. Empty days. 
But I was wrong. That day was more significant then I had thought it would be. 
Because that was the first day I saw you. 
Clouds blanketed the sky and the sun was making a pathetic attempt to break through that soft but stubborn layer that cast shadows over the land below. As if the high rising buildings weren't doing a good enough job of that. 
People flooded the streets. Each one of them seemingly in a bigger hurry then the last. 
I watched them pass from the corner I occupied, next to a shop display of various items sitting outside the shop front. 
The person working the cash register kept eyeing me nervously through the window. Watching for the moment that I think they won't be looking to snatch one of the dinky little things in the display, an assortment of kids toys and tourist souvenirs.  
Ah-huh.  I thought because every homeless person is a stealer.

Well, I wasn't. . . not back then anyway. But let me tell you, nothing in the stupid display of theirs would be of any significant value to me.
But I had long learned to ignore the judgemental, presumptions stares of the general public. 
I continued watching the streets. Staring out at them with my wide puppy dog eyes, pushing my foam cup into the faces of anyone who came near enough. Currently, it contained, fifty cent made up of a variety of different five and ten cent coins, a loose button, and a mint wrapper. 
Exciting.
My grubby fingers clutched that cup for dear life as I inspected my loot, one eye peering into the bottom of the cup, the other eyes closed so I could get better focus. 
I pulled out the button and tossed it onto the street. 
Worthless piece of junk.
I watched as it bounced along  the foot path, in front of peoples feet. 
In front of your feet, where it stopped. Where you stopped. 
You stared at it. Your green cats eyes, wide and wild. Your short chestnut hair was limp and dirty. It had been cut in the strangest shape. Later you had told me that you had just pulled it back into a ponytail and hacked it off with the pen knife you kept on you all the time. 
You looked from the button to me. Your eyes widened further, (if I hadn't seen it I wouldn't have believed it physicality possible. Those eyes of yours where already like giant saucers) 
This whole time I had been transfixed by your curiosity with a simple everyday button. What was going through your mind? 
I soon found out. . . 
Quickly you dropped to your knees, pick up the button and crawled over to where I was sitting. 
A manic grin pulled on your lips. 
"Is this your button?", came the gravely high pitched sound of your voice. 
To this day, I remember the wonder and awe you managed to incorporate into that single short sentence. 
"Eh, I guess?", I managed to crook out. A frown creasing my forehead. 
You continued grinning at me, and gestured at the stained shirt you where wearing. 
I looked at it, but missed whatever significance you had been talking about. 
You saw the look of confusesion on my face. 
Your stuck out your neck and rolled your eyes and said- as if it where the most obvious thing in the world. "My shirt has the same buttons, See?", you said holding my button up next to one of your own, so I could see that they where in fact the same type of button. "So?", I was pretty sure you where a few cards short of a full deck at this point. 
"SO?!", you sighed with much exasperation, "don't you see what this means?", when I gave no indication of weather I did or not, you pulled yourself off your knees and sat next to me, leaning up against the shop wall so that both of us faced the street. "What is the likely hood of you throwing this button onto the street just as someone wearing the same button walks by?". 
I stared blankly at the button, "Well, it's a pretty common looking, button-" I started but you cut me off before I could finish. "Not likely whatsoever!", you declared in a joyous shout, as if you'd just won the loto.
 Now, I was really freaked out. 
But not scared.
If there's one thing living on the streets did to you was it toughened you up.
You took out that pocket knife you always seemed to have hidden on you somewhere or other. 
Admittedly, I was a little freaked out to see a knife in the hand of a crazy person but you didn't notice. You took the knife, cut off one of your buttons and hid the knife away again. 
Then, you held up your button between two of your bony fingers. "There!", you beamed at me, a sly, crazy grin,"Now, what we do is come back here tomorrow. This place, this time", you glanced up at the clock on the nearest church tower, "three o'clock tomorrow, and we both bring our buttons, and you see", you continued, excitedly, "if I forget what you look like, I'll just ask to see your button and then I'll know that your not just some one else pretending to be you". Your smile looked smug as you unveiled your master plan. 
"Who would pretend to be me?", I asked cynically, not sure if you where serious or just having a laugh. 
Of course, you didn't let my silly question, or misunderstanding of whatever it was you where talking about phase you. You just kept smiling and stood up, ready to leave. "Hey, what's your name anyway?", you laughed at yourself for leaving such an important question till last. 
"Em, Lauren".
Your face lightened up, although I don't know why, "Wow, that's a pretty name Lauren", you paused briefly, "Hey can I call you, Meg?".
Again, you had me speechless. "OK?" , I managed.
"Great!", you chimed, "the fates have brought us together Meg, you just wait and see, we'll be best friends. There are great things in the stars for you and me you know!" you shouted this over the bustle of pedestrians as you began to walk away. 
"Wait", I shouted after you, and to this day I still don't know why I bothered. "What's your name?", I asked. 
A genuine look of surprise crossed your face, as if you didn't expect me to even consider asking you yours 
Another brief moment passed as you seemed to consider this. That's one thing I got, when I relived this day in my head, I mean. It was as if you where choosing a name for yourself, and I suppose you where. 
"Poppy! My names Poppy!", you smiled to yourself, waved at me and skipped away down the street. You actually skipped, down a city street shouting back at me, "Don't forget, three o'clock tomorrow". 
I nodded weekly. What had just happened? 
That's what I'm still asking myself now, because that is where it all started. 

Of course I meet you the next day. I was lonely and bored and insanely curious. 
You where new and weird. 
You came to me. I had been sitting in that same place all morning, like every other day. Of course, you asked me for identification. I showed you my button and you pulled yours out too. 
You talked about how you ended up living on the street, and told me about all these great places you could sleep in and no one would ever notice you where there. 
We exchanged homeless people horror stories. 
You pulled me for my nest of coats and plastic bags and dragged me around the city after you.
 We ran, we skipped. I skipped. I couldn't remember the last time I skipped. You had this effect on me, you see. You made me crazy too. You lifted me from my sad depressing state of mind and made me wild and free like you. 
After that you came almost everyday.
 We meet at the same place, at all hours of the day, from as early as six am, when the morning air nipped our pasty skin, covered only by loose old clothing, to late evening. We ran the streets of the city, laughing until we where clutching our stomachs and rolling breathlessly around the pavements. 
We shoplifted and stole what we needed, something I would never have done on my own. We stole bottles on gin and liqueur, the liquid warmed our bodies and sent shivers of joy up and down our spines.
You had such an imagination. 
What went on in your head was a mystery to me. 
Like children we played games of make believe. We escaped from the harsh reality of the rest of the world as we chased spy's around department stores, hunted dragons living in abandon subway tunnels. 
I had never been happier. 
That's not to say that I had never noticed anything strange about you.  
You still called me Meg, not once did you hesitate. At first I had thought it was just some kind of joke to you but as the weeks past over those summer months I realised that to you, I was, and always would be, Meg. 
And so I became her. 
I guess I was kind of like the people in your games. People you had made up, built completely from your imagination alone. You created a girl called Meg. And you built me into who you thought Meg would be. Your friend, of course, just like you. And so that's who I became, changing myself endlessly to make you happy. And that was OK, because that made me happy too. 
Another thing was that you freaked out about cars. 
It's like you hated them. You smashed empty beer bottles over the hoods and kicked dents in the doors. At the time I hadn't thought too much about it, and guessed that maybe you where some kind of anti-car environmentalist. 
The other strange thing I had noticed about you was that you never stayed out past ten. 
You always said that you had to get back to where you slept by ten or else you wouldn't be able to stay there. 
It was during the first week that we had spent together,  one night we where having such a good time, howling with laughter as we played around the subway tunnels when you said that you had to go. 
I was having none of it.
 I begged you to stay. I told you that I would share my jackets and blankets that night and that you could stay with me, we could hang out all night. 
You politely refused the first time. And then the second time. By the third time I got the hint, or at least I had thought I did. "Fine, I'll come with you then, I'll finally see where you bunk, I'm interested!" I laughed, sure that the suggestion would go down well with you. 
I didn't . 
"NO, Ok?" you shouted angrily , "just leave me alone. Where I sleep, is my place and it's private".
 I backed off then. You had never spoken- well, shouted at me like that before. You stormed off, down the tunnels to the main gates and hitched yourself a free ride on the next train. 
I was angry with you at first, naturally. What was your problem? 

I was still angry as I waited in our spot for you the next day.
I had intended on giving you a piece of my mind. 
But you never showed up.
I waited all day. In that very spot and you never came. 
That was the first and only day that you never came. 
That day. A day only within the first week of our meeting, I knew that I was dead without you. You where what gave me that high on life. Without your presence I wasn't Meg any more, I was Lauren. 
And I hated her. Lauren, I mean. She was bored, pitiful and depressed. The complete opposite of Meg.  
I needed you. 
Some people need alcohol to feel alive, some need drugs, some people don't think they could live without music. 
You where like my drug. And already I was addicted.
I couldn't sleep that night. I was restless and tossed endlessly through the night. 
Imagine my relief, as I caught sight of you, skipping through the crowd towards me the next day. 
It was like there was a bubble surrounding you as you made your way over. No one wanted to be within five feet of the crazy, skipping, homeless girl.
You threw yourself down on the pavement next to me and began making plans for the day, as if nothing happened as if I had seen you just yesterday. You offered no explanation as the days went past and me? I didn't ask you for one. I thought about it of course, my curiosity was burning holes in me, but I was afraid. What if I asked you and you got angry again? What if you never came back? I honestly don't think I could have handled it. 
So the two of us lived on in our fantasy worlds, becoming completely engrossed in it. 
Weeks past, or at least it seemed like weeks. It could have been months, years. Actually now that I think of it I'm gonna go with months. But honestly that's just a guess. I had long since lost all sense of time. 
Time was no friend of mine, it was him after all, that made the church bells clang loudly as it reached ten o'clock, meaning that you would be gone soon. It was him that stole you away from me. And for that I resented him. 
 Occasionally I thought that I resented you for that, for leaving me. But I knew I could never really hate you.