Making an attempt to write short fiction things. This is sloppy writing at its best and I don’t know where I drew the courage from to post this on my blog. Groan.
“I’m being optimistic here,” you said. I looked into your eyes trying to ascertain if you meant those words. I swallowed hard and said, “The world is often ruined by your optimism.”
You didn’t listen to me then.
I remember when we had only time on our hands and endless evenings to roam the streets and pay for those cigarettes you could never get enough of. I recall with vivid clarity the names of all the songs that you liked and I told you that maybe you should try your hand at music.
The first time I decided you were going to be more than just a regular friend, I knew it was going to be a wrestling match. You were always proud of not being attached to anyone. I said to you, “You’re almost my best friend now.” There was only a half-smile and a slight nod from you.
You came to me for advice about things that I wasn’t particularly good at. How to get rid of a debt, how to not let nicotine show up on a blood test, how to hold back from calling up your old flames. I was never of much help to you and I was always confused why you came to me.
There comes a time in your life when you question if being with someone, platonically or otherwise, is more of a habit or if it’s really, truly a connection you formed over the years. Maybe you get up the next morning, you bring yourself to call them and their voice on the other end reaffirms those nagging worries. Maybe you are scared and you never call.
“I’m learning to play the piano,” you said to me, while I was seated in the front seat of your new secondhand car. After all of these years, you tried to tell me in that one sentence that I was right. You tried your hardest to elicit that I always understood you and you finally understood that.
We spent a half hour discussing what your future career in music would look like and I joked about you losing interest in it within a few weeks. Just like everything else. The expression on your face, the way your hands clenched the steering wheel when I chided you, that’s when I knew that you were going to see this through. That’s when I knew you didn’t need me anymore. I thought it best not to break it to you at the time but that’s when I knew it would be the last time I’d ever meet you.