Personal Narrative: Alana

Alana. One of the first friends that I ever made use to be a girl named Alana. When I first moved into the neighborhood where I currently live now, Alana shouted “hi” to me from across the street and I considered her to be my friend for a while. Most of the time, the friends I made did not last that long. All of my previous friendships only lasted for a few months or a year at most. Even though I, the naïve, little first grader, did not know it at the time, my friendship with Alana, like all those friendships, would end just as quickly as it began.
When I moved away from my home to an unfamiliar, almost alien place, I felt disconsolate and alone, that I would never make friends, until she came along. Alana kept her long brown, golden curls tied up in a ponytail and it always bobbed every time she walked. She looked similar to her mom with her hazel eyes, slightly plump physique, and tanned skin. She towered over me and even other children. We did not share that many similarities, whether in our favorite

Occasionally, I can tell that something felt off, but I would not apprehend what made me feel that way. Thus, I knew that my friendship with Alana did not feel right, even though everything felt normal. She would snatch stickers from my collection or make harsh remark and I would later notice how she treated me differently compared to other people or even to her friends.
One day, I met one of Alana’s friends when I went outside with her. Her companion asked me who I am and I replied,” I’m Alana’s friend!” As soon as I replied to her friend Alana quickly uttered, “No, not really. She’s just my neighbor.” At that moment I realized what vexed me, she never called me a friend.
I drifted apart from her and then stopped seeing her altogether. Eventually, she moved away. I never heard or seen her ever again, but I met better people since