We're friends now. Now that we are no longer together. Now that the fire has burnt itself out. Friends who take long walks and go out for coffee, stay on the phone for hours saying nothing. That kind of friends.
"Remember when I told your mom I'd marry you?" Brown eyes crinkling at the corners, full of laughter at the memory.
I do. We were 6. I also remember when he changed his mind. Sometimes there's no stopping life.
"Remember that dinner we missed entirely because we were busy talking?"
Hours and hours of plans. Do I always want the things I can't get? I shiver.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing," I reply, "something walked over my grave."
Shaking his head at me. "You're so morbid."
Do you remember when I wasn't, I want to ask.
There are other memories. The first time he tousled my hair affectionately, a non-verbal 'hey buddy' and me blinking, wondering at the change. When had we become buddies? The first time I looked into his eyes and saw the complete absence of all the old excitement. Where had it gone? The moment of acceptance, it would never be the same again. Somewhere along the way I had been left, irrevocably, behind. And that silent moment in your living room, so innocuous and mundane, when you first spoke her name softly to yourself, as if your thoughts were far away, while I stared at the TV and held my breath so you wouldn't hear it changing.
"Give me your hand."
"Remember when I told your mom I'd marry you?" Brown eyes crinkling at the corners, full of laughter at the memory.
I do. We were 6. I also remember when he changed his mind. Sometimes there's no stopping life.
"Remember that dinner we missed entirely because we were busy talking?"
Hours and hours of plans. Do I always want the things I can't get? I shiver.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing," I reply, "something walked over my grave."
Shaking his head at me. "You're so morbid."
Do you remember when I wasn't, I want to ask.
There are other memories. The first time he tousled my hair affectionately, a non-verbal 'hey buddy' and me blinking, wondering at the change. When had we become buddies? The first time I looked into his eyes and saw the complete absence of all the old excitement. Where had it gone? The moment of acceptance, it would never be the same again. Somewhere along the way I had been left, irrevocably, behind. And that silent moment in your living room, so innocuous and mundane, when you first spoke her name softly to yourself, as if your thoughts were far away, while I stared at the TV and held my breath so you wouldn't hear it changing.
"Give me your hand."
I stiffen, abruptly called back to the present by the demand. "Why?"
"Give it to me." Laughing at me, like its all a big surprise.I extend it reluctantly.
He picks it up, makes a fist and turns it over. Then he picks a fallen eye-lash off my cheek and places it on the back of my hand, where it quivers helplessly in the wind."You always wished on them. Remember?"
And suddenly I hate him. A tidal wave of hot burning anger that has me almost shaking. I remember, I want to say, but why do you?I say nothing however.
Instead I close my eyes and pretend to be giving my wish some thought.
When I open my eyes, he's looking at me intently. "Well?"
"I can't tell you or it won't come true."He rolls his eyes, half-amused, half-annoyed.
"Well, I hope it was good."He takes my arm.
"It was." I gently disengage myself and smile vaguely. "Feel like coffee?"
Thinking we have to be the strangest friends in the world, one so heedless, the other so yielding. One whose eyes look to the future, the other constantly trapped in the past. Life is not as simple and easily planned as it is at six. Life is not only light, but sometimes a blinding dark. And very often it is many shades of grey.
Thinking we have to be the strangest friends in the world, one so heedless, the other so yielding. One whose eyes look to the future, the other constantly trapped in the past. Life is not as simple and easily planned as it is at six. Life is not only light, but sometimes a blinding dark. And very often it is many shades of grey.
