Yet here I am.
I’m beginning to realize that the mutual memories shared between two human beings are not guaranteed to be universal. I look at you and I see so many different things. Picture this…
I look at you and it’s like a movie begins to play. I see the time I got that awful haircut, and you were my best friend anyway. I see us sitting alone at lunch but being unaware that we were alone because all we ever needed was each other. I see us hosting movie nights in your living room and eating so much junk food we thought we’d explode. I can picture the first time I ever saw you, sitting at your study hall desk with lyrics to Fat Lip scribbled all over your lime-green pencil bag. I remember talking to you for hours upon hours about nothing at all. All the Super Bowl parties. All the family functions and birthdays. All the school projects. All the prank calls and all the practical jokes. I envision the time I managed to turn all of our friends against me, yet you stood by me and remained loyal. I remember going to McDonalds every Friday night, ordering two vanilla cones and blasting The Bee Gees from the parking lot. I remember when Houston Calls and Queen were your favorite bands and you loved Alice in Wonderland. Your favorite movie was Fever Pitch (I don’t know, maybe it still is.) I remember sitting on your bed while you folded laundry. We ordered Chinese food and watched the entire series of The O.C. I remember the day you got your license and I remember the day you came with me to get my nose pierced. Back and forth, back and forth. I remember how often you would show me various dances on YouTube before you learned every step to them. I was never much interested by dancing, but I paid attention because it was important to you and you were important to me. I remember my video camera—the prank calls to my dad’s ex-girlfriend that were so funny we had them memorized in two days, the crazy dancing in your living room, curling each other’s hair, playing Twister with Alie and Fanny and the “Shimmy!” gasp. I remember when your style was defined by skinny jeans and flats, and Delia’s was your favorite store. I remember laughing across the room in Mrs. Owens’ class when she wasn’t paying any attention and going “limp” in Mrs. Johnson’s class. I remember going to Speedway on our bikes in the rain just to purchase sour gummy worms. I remember the first time you were allowed to legally drive people around—you drove me to Rock the Earth on May 19. I remember the first time you ever came to my house and you ran around with a hanger around your neck and put on all of my bracelets. I remember going sledding with your family on Valentine’s Day because school was cancelled. I remember you crowd surfing at Relient K and I remember Tibby and the playground and the pogo stick. I remember chasing the ice cream truck and playing in the pool. I remember riding home from Goodwill with Kacie and Katie and how ironic it was at the time. I remember walking to your house in the deepest of snow because I was so angry at my dad I couldn’t even look at him and I remember your dad yelling at us because we were having too much fun to remember to unplug the crock pot. I remember when we got into a fight and your mom called me and reminded me how rare friendships like ours were, how hard a true best friend was to find. I remember staying up late and working on English homework together and I remember driving those reckless golf carts. I remember when we thought it would be a great idea to date brothers. (How were we supposed to know any better?)
I look away. The movie stops playing.
I wonder what you see when you look at me. I wonder if you see the same things I do, or if you, instead, see all the things I’ve done to wreck this relationship. I wonder if you see all the times that I never appreciated what a gift your friendship was, or all the times I clearly took you for granted. I wonder if you see all the times I would pick fights with you for no reason in particular, and then apologize without truly feeling sorry. (If I was sorry, I would have learned from my mistakes the first time around. It’s too late now.) I wonder if you see all the fights from last summer revolving around the boys we loved. I was wrong to side with him. You were my best friend. You deserved better than that from me (every time.) (I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.)
I know better than to tango with nostalgia because it’s a dangerous, bumpy road often leading to pain, anxiety, agony and tears. Yet here I am. When I declared that I was a fan of the deafening silence and the awkward, meaningless conversations, I was lying. I focused on all the bad (judgmental) (hypocritical) thoughts I could muster about you because I was seeking any justification I could find for our failed friendship. I’m detached externally because that’s so much easier than facing the fact that you don’t love me anymore. Things have been said and actions have been done and lines have been drawn but the truth is I miss you so much and I’ve never stopped loving you.
"Every little bump in the road I tried to swerve. People are people and sometimes it doesn’t work out. Nothing we say is gonna save us from the fall out. And we know it’s never simple, never easy... never a clean break, no one here to save me."
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