When I was twenty-four I went on a road trip with my
best friend, Matt. Matt was really cool. He was handsome and had a lot of
girlfriends. We lived in the dorms together and would smoke cigarettes by the
water. Me and Matt kissed once on New Year’s but it was gross. Like kissing
your brother. I didn’t have a brother but I understood where that saying came
from after that. It was awkward for a couple days but then we talked about it.
Well, made fun of each other about it. And everything was back to normal.
Before I moved across the country, him and I went on a road trip thru California.
We stopped in cities along the coast and visited friends. We listened to Green
Day the whole way and sang really loud to Boulevard of Broken Dreams. It was
the only song we really liked. In San Francisco we went to a bar and danced. I
was wearing a blue t-shirt and he said that I should buy more clothes in that
color. I met up with a high school friend who ended up having sex with a
college friend. But then he slept on the floor afterwards and she was mad. Me
and Matt stayed up and posed for pictures in a towel. I don’t know why. But it
was in reference to something, maybe a commercial. I remember laughing a lot. I
had Oscar the Crouch on my underwear and he said he wanted to have sex with
Oscar. I giggled nervously. I decided I didn’t know what he meant. We went to
Santa Barbara and went to the home I was a live-in caretaker for a while. I
took one of the ladies out to lunch. We went to the park and she was happy.
Later that night we went to a house party. I drank too much knowing I might not
ever see these friends again. A lot of them I didn’t. I kissed an old
boyfriend. We went to San Diego and saw a friend who seemed sad with his life.
He was a manager at Applebee’s. He had bigger dreams he said. We said there was
still time. And it was cool he made a salary and had insurance. Matt drove me
back to where my mom lived. It was a small place. She lived with a boyfriend I
didn’t like. I slept on the futon. That night he texted me and it just said “I
love you.” It made me feel happy. I loved him too. Four months later, after I’d
moved to Baltimore and he was in New York, I visited him and we kissed again. This
time it felt good. It felt like how it’s supposed to feel. We were at a restaurant
so I blew him in the bathroom. I climbed on top of him in the patio. We kissed
for a long time. After a while he pushed me off. He had a girlfriend. He wanted
to see how it played out. He would keep me posted. They broke up four years
later. By then we weren’t really friends. He’s married now. With two kids. We
talk some. His wife is nice. It’s weird to see him as a father. He makes
mistakes. I saw him yell at his kids once. His son cried. His wife jumped in
and made everything better. He says he’s happy but I know he has the same
sadness our friend had. Sometimes I think of him. And I wonder if we’ll have
our chance again. And what I’d do if we did.
