"Shit. Shitshitshitshitshit." The blankets were kicked off haphazardly and within seconds she stood before the bathroom mirror brushing unruly waves off her face, fastening them with an oversized clip into a sloppy twist. "Presentable," she muttered, splashing cold water on her face while trying to remember what clean clothes she had in her closet. Today was laundry day. Pickings were slim.

"How scummy can I be?" She whispered to herself, looking down at her pajamas while loading up her toothbrush with Crest. Gray sweatpants and a Harvard sweatshirt. Shrugging, she decided that it would have to do, and began her search for clean socks while brushing her teeth.

"Whatefug. Noceenfocks?" she muttered angrily around her toothbrush, returning to the sink to rinse her mouth out. Just as she was replacing the purple Reach brush in the cup next to the sink, inspiration struck. What's the point of having a roommate if you can't bum clothes off of her?

She left the bathroom again, grabbing her bookbag as she walked through the tiny living room and burst into the second bedroom. "Socks, socks, socks . . ." she sang to herself in a tuneless melody while rummaging through the top drawer of the room's dresser. "Eureka," she announced, pulling out a pair of white crew socks.

"Maria?"

It took quite a bit of effort to keep from falling over at the voice; putting on socks standing up is a precarious operation to begin with, so sudden starts could be dangerous.

"Jesus," she exclaimed, hopping up and down till she had secured the left sock, then spun to see where the voice had come from. "Liz! You gave me a heart attack. What are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here?" Liz asked, confused, as if the question was a ridiculous one.

"Yeah, what are you doing here?" Maria began balancing on one foot while trying to get her right sock on, hopping towards the bed Liz rested on. "Today's Friday, you're usually long gone before I get up -- some kind of microbiology research thing if memory serves, Miss Smarty Pants who never cuts out of anything without a gaping flesh wound."

Liz continued to stare at her even more blankly, as if Maria were speaking a foreign language.

"What? Why are you looking at me like that?" She was finally standing on both feet, and focused all of her attention on her friend. "Are you okay?"

"Today, Maria," Liz responded, and then waited for a response that didn't come. "Today is the anniversary."

"What anniv-" Her question was answered before the word left her lips. She slapped a hand over her mouth as her eyes widened in shock -- the anniversary. THE anniversary. The one that could never, would never be forgotten.

And she nearly had.

She fell back onto the bed, her eyes searching Liz's out. "I would have remembered. I would have. I wouldn't forget," she said, trying to convince herself.

"I know," Liz said, reaching out to pull her friend into an embrace. "I know you wouldn't, you couldn't. It's okay, Maria. "We'll always remember."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had happened, she remembered, on a Thursday.

She had been angry, she remembered, to have to miss an all-new episode of ER because Tammy the hypochondriac had called in sick yet again. But then Liz had shown up in the middle of her shift to help out, and it had been going all right. She had been griping all night that the reason the place seemed so dead was because everyone in their right mind was home finding out what was going to happen with Dr. Carter this week.

They had laughed, she remembered, about everything and nothing, just as best friends so often do. About the 14-year-old customer who had asked Liz for her number since he had lost his. About the fact that when a Backstreet Boys song came on the radio, they both realized they knew every single word. About other things, and about nothing at all.

He had been out of breath, she remembered, when he came. She had been doubled over in laughter and gripping a broom when she heard the tinkle of the bell above the door.

She had looked up, she remembered, and his eyes had been enough to stop her breath instantly.

Liz, she remembered, spoke first. "Alex? Are you all right?"

His answer, she remembered, was long in coming, and the pause made her fear all the worse. He steadied himself on the back of one of the front booths and seemed utterly lost, as if after urgently seeking his destination he now found himself without a next step. Eventually, he spoke, in a voice that seemed utterly detached from the tale he was telling.

The Jeep, she remembered, hadn't been speeding. From what they could tell, it wasn't their fault. It was a tractor trailer, it seemed, with a driver who had swerved to avoid something, they weren't sure what. It had been carrying gasoline, they said, and had jackknifed suddenly, giving the driver of the Jeep no time to respond.

It had happened, she remembered, instantaneously. They never felt a thing. The impact was immediate, the death was kind, they had said. They were gone.