California Diaries #7: Dawn, Diary Two by Jennifer Burns Page B

visit her more than you know.”
    “I know all the times you visit her,” I replied, “because you complain about every last one.” Then Sunny said at least I had a mom, that I had two of them.
    I reminded her that she has a mother too. Maybe it’s time for her to appreciate the mother she has.
    Sunny didn’t say anything for a few seconds. I hoped she was finally seeing how terrible she’d been acting lately. I hoped we could start from there and make up. Instead, she turned and ran out of my room and the house.
    Yes, Sunny running away again.
    I couldn’t sleep that night. I wanted to talk over what was happening between Sunny and me. I still wanted to help her.
    I called her house the next day and left a message on the answering machine.
    Around dinnertime I saw her go into her house. But she didn’t call me. I kept thinking: Her mother is very sick.
    I don’t know how awful Sunny must feel.
    She needs her friends.
    I should be patient, understanding and forgiving.
    I left her another message: “Sunny, it’s Dawn, please call me.”
    She didn’t.
    I told Maggie about what happened, but she acted like it was just one of those fights friends get into. “It’ll pass,” she said.
    “Maggie, please tell her I want to talk to her,” I pleaded.
    I still can’t believe what Sunny said when Maggie told her I wanted to talk. “If Dawn wants to be friends, all it takes is an apology, a large diamond necklace, a new navel ring, and three years of personal servitude.” Like it’s a big joke. Ha-ha! Seven years of friendship ending in a lame joke.
    Meanwhile, I just heard loud punk music from a car radio outside. I can see an old yellow convertible driving up our block. I think I recognize the guy who’s driving and the couple in the backseat. They’re upperclassmen from Vista.
    Now Sunny is coming out on Rollerblades. She’s wearing tight short shorts and a halter top that shows her navel ring. She’s laughing and waving.
    The girl and two guys are shouting hi to her. They think it’s really cool that she already has on her blades.
    Sunny climbs into the car without opening the door. Then she gives the driver a big kiss and he peels away from the curb.
    This is what my former best friend is doing less than half an hour after her
    terminally ill mother went to the hospital in an ambulance.
    I hate being so angry at Sunny. I hate it.
    But really, it’s all her fault.
    Saturday noon 6/6
    Maggie phoned. I’ve known her even longer than I’ve known Sunny, but
    somehow we’re just not as close. It used to be so much fun when the four of us hung out together. Sunny, Maggie, Jill, and me.
    But Jill’s been out of the picture so long that I can barely remember what the picture used to look like. She’s so childish. I still can’t believe that she gave away the secret of Carol’s pregnancy. She just blurted it out like a little kid. I’m still mad about that. But really, it goes even deeper. I see Jill in the halls and we just don’t connect.
    She’s off in her own little word, and I’m stuck here in the real world.
    I’m going to the beach tomorrow with Maggie, Amalia (who’s really more
    Maggie’s friend than mine), and some of their friends from their band.
    I love the beach.
    I love to surf.
    It’ll be a great change of scene.
    Who knows? Maybe Maggie and I will become closer. It’s worth a try.
    There’s Carol’s bell again. I told her I’d make her a snack and give her a back rub. It must be awful to not be able to get out of bed. The baby will be her reward. I can’t help but wonder: What will Mrs. Winslow’s reward be?
    Sunday afternoon 6/7
    Here I am at the beach. I’m writing this on a big rock that juts out into the ocean.
    I love it here, even when I’m upset. As the waves crash on the sand and retreat, I try to visualize them taking away my bad thoughts and cleansing my spirit.
    Maggie and Amalia are sitting on the beach with Rico, Patti, and Bruce. Rico is strumming a guitar. Patti