Kay Sera Sera

There's a moment of silence when she stops talking. I can sense her nervousness, her need for my approval. Best of friends, even with ten years between us. Her hands are toying with the napkin on the table, as are mine. Except that, on my part, it's a delaying tactic. Playing her words over again in my head. "He's a very nice guy. Good to me. We both know it's not going anywhere but....for once, I find myself removed from all the other drama happening in my life. When it's time, we'll deal with it."
Finally I look up. Because I can't not say something. "It's not as easy as you think."
"I know," she says, as only the young can. Pushing a strand behind her ear, relief that my reaction is so low-key.
No, I think sadly, you don't. Suddenly feeling old, so old. You can't know. Until you're there. It's never easy to walk away. Or be walked away from. You think you can 'deal with it' but only with an awful lot of bruising.
I've been there. Not that long ago either. The need to experience the stuff of poems and songs. The desire for flight. The thrill of excitement, of anticipation. Taking that first step off firm ground onto thin ice. Or a deep chasm. Nothing is as blinding as the illusion of control.
I can handle it.
Breathless with a new kind of excitement. Slipping and sliding, always gaining momentum. An almost fall. Heart pounding as you catch yourself, pressing a hand against your stomach, laughing nervously because wow, that was close. But then....
If I slow my pace a bit, I can handle it.
The fall comes too fast for comprehension. A blur of motion, till you hit bottom. Struggling for breath, feeling your bruises in bewilderment. How it all hurts.
I didn't know it hurt so much.
"What?" she says sharply, breaking into my thoughts . She's getting wired up again.
"I.." I stop. How do you tell her? I have half-formed ideas of locking her in a room until she's older, keep her safe from all hurts.
"Don't invite complications. There's no sense in that." I can tell though that she's not listening. She hears what I'm saying, but she's not listening. I fall silent.
"I know what I'm doing," she says, re-assuringly.
No, I think, you don't.
But there's nothing I can do. Her wings are eager for flight.
"Well, I'm here if you ever want to talk."
A glowing smile. "I know." Flicking her hair back again, in a smooth confident move.
What will be will be.