Two little girls in the backseat of a car, balloons tied around their almost eight year-old wrists, one pink, one yellow. Giggles and whispers and jokes that only their certain subset of the species understands.
Pop! The pink balloon shoots shreds of itself around the car.
Tears follow. Big, big drops.
"Here, you can have my balloon," the yellow-tied girl offers. "Or..." Her eyes are questioning. Or what? Or what? Or what?
"Or...I'll pop mine, too."
"You would," the other asks, not wanting that to happen but amazed that it would.
Pop! The yellow balloon goes to meet the pink one in balloon heaven or wherever balloons go when they die.
Tears end. Laughter, much laughter, follows.
Friendship, aged almost-eight.
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