It’s Only Temporary

By Chloe Bortnick

20 June 2025

I expected my senior year to be filled with lasts. My last school dances, the last school break, the last day of class, and eventually the last day in my hometown. What no one could have prepared me for was the development of something brand new: a friendship that, like everything else in my senior year, was fleeting. 

Amid a sweltering one-hundred-degree summer day, I found myself stumbling through a summer job. Some other miserable seventeen-year-olds collapsed around a miniature room fan as soon as the shopping traffic began to ebb. Most of the time our conversations consisted of haggard gestures towards water bottles or tired requests to redirect the fans’ weak air flow but today had been particularly grueling. After we caught our breath, each person took their turn recounting the wild interactions they had experienced during the past few hours. As it turns out there is nothing more therapeutic than commiserating with your coworkers. Those sweat-inducing days continued, and we maintained this tradition. Each shift replenished the stock of outlandish stories we could share to claim the “Most Unfortunate Employee of the Day” title. Soon our investment extended beyond work hours, so we began debriefing in the parking lot. One night, when beams of light barely shone through the distant treetops, I suggested we drive up to a park at the peak of the hill to watch the sunset. Little did I know that that would be the catalyst for a tumultuous year. 

It only took one trip past those concrete walls to begin planning various excursions. We filled our calendars with outings to the movies, the city, random hiking trails, or the coast. Anything our adolescent brains could produce. In late August this whirlwind of activities came to a screeching halt. The first school bell of the year rang out like a funeral toll. Our get-togethers were sparsely planned which caused the group to go into an adventure hibernation. 

As the months grew colder, we returned to our roots. We grumbled about the holiday rush or the demanding customers to cope with the retail stresses. Even so, there was only so much pessimism we could stomach. When our shifts got particularly bleak, we began fantasizing about the places we could go, the views we could see, and the activities we could do. By the time winter break arrived we had dreamt up enough plans to occupy the whole of two weeks. After each day spent together, we would pile into the back of the designated chauffeur’s car to decompress. Only a few days into this ritual I became tired of mindlessly scrolling on my phone. I decided to set up the device’s camera on the dashboard. The primary intention was to shame my friends into peeling their eyes off of their screens. At the same time, I wanted to try filming a video emulating the YouTube famous Sturniolo triplets. Much to my surprise the tactic worked, and we filmed over an hour and a half worth of footage. At the end of winter break, my camera roll was practically bursting at the seams. I began trimming and editing each night’s video to be uploaded onto my small channel. The following months brought about more content, even in the limited time we could dedicate to each other. 

I am only slightly reluctant to admit I have rewatched each of the posts numerous times. Having access to this kind of time capsule is bizarre to say the least. It only takes five hours to watch our friendship grow stronger. The conversations shifted from reserved to obnoxiously loud. The banter became more apparent and personal as we formed our own inside jokes. From an external point of view, I’m sure this sounds sweet, but for me it is gut-wrenching. 

The end of senior year is fast approaching. It lies before me, promising both the future and the end of my life as I know it. When I am finally forced to meet it eye to eye, my friendships will fade, and I will be ushered into the unknown. Somehow it feels like the time has already arrived. We are all preoccupied with final assignments, graduation events, arrangements for the future, and then summer vacations which hardly leaves time for spontaneous outings. So, as I sit here lamenting over video clips of us giggling together, I realize that it is time to let go. I hope that I can learn to look at our friendship through the fresh lens of an outside viewer where those clips are nothing more than precious moments. Although this is the end of our series and this segment of our lives, those memories will remain. How lucky I am to have experienced that kind of joy and to have shared it with those people, even if it was only temporary.

Chloe Bortnick is a student writer who is currently attending both high school and college in Washington state. She has spent the most recent spring quarter studying and pushing herself to create creative nonfiction writing. Her pieces are a testament to her young adult life where she must navigate constant change, regret, and sense of identity.