Tthe hangover began to feel more like a withdrawal from her.
I didnt understand what any of that was about.
Christmas lights in all colors twinkle and dizzy me.
Courtney Nuss
Or maybe its the X kicking in.
Bruce SpringteensIm On Fireis playing and suddenly Im on fucking fire too.
I close my eyes, smiling, swaying lightly.
Thats when I see it.
That shake of the hair.Thathair.
I got a bad desire, sings Springsteen.
What do you know?
Up close,fuck her, is all I can think.
This girl who Ive never met before is talking to me like shes known me her whole life.
Shes rambling a little drunk quirk of hers Ill come to adore throughout our friendship.
Our mutual didnt tell her that her cheating ex would be here and she doesnt know anyone else.
Lets just dance, I shout, dragging her to the dance floor.
Come three, she takes me home with her because girlfriends never send girlfriends off in Uber rides alone.
I think Ive found my long lost sister, or maybe just the best friend I never had.
Its a cold weekend in February and weve ditched most likely subpar dick for a sleepover party of two.
Of course, by this point were entirely too drunk, abandoning all notion of a movie night completely.
It was to be expected having poured our first glass long before the sun had set.
Wouldnt you rather save that for something special?
What could be more special than a fucking girls night…
I loved her for this.
She was appreciative of the moment while it still breathed, viewing each day as something to be cherished.
She did whatever the hell she pleased when it pleased her without second-guessing herself.
I wished I could be free like her.
Being around her made me feel like I could be.
Just dance, shes yelling over the music from the kitchen island.
We go through pretty much the whole tequila bottle and burn a days worth of calories doing just that.
She doesnt freak when I spill my whole drink on her new rug.
She doesnt let me clean up the red stain, either.
Itll be the first of many Ill collect on this one.
The thought crosses my mind that there is nothing inside her that I never hope to find.
The air feels a little heavier and I blame it on the alcohol.
I blame it on her fireplace.
I blame it on the weed.
Youre up, she shouts from the other end of the line.
Id rather not be, its my Friday off, but you know, anxiety and all.
I think they felt an air of superiority for leading a more conventional life.
So fucking what if I had finally fallen susceptible to one those?
Doesnt a girl at one point in her life crush on another?
Its perfectly natural and platonic.
Fuck them, Im cursing in my head, as Im getting into the passenger seat of her car.
A friend of hers let us borrow his house, which otherwise sits empty most of the year.
Name the city, she has a friend there, someone she knows intimately.
I have a quick look around when we drop off our things.
Its that weekend, I think, that I would choose to relive again.
And it never faded, and it never got stale.
I didnt understand what any of that was about.
That night, I thought of her with that hair of hers braided.
In my dreams, I was reciting her poetry, lines I had written for her.
I was braiding them into her hair, trying them all over her locks.
It all felt like a scene I wasnt supposed to see.
Its a nickname shes adopted for me because of my affinity for wearing the color.
I stare at my chest spilling out where hers would sit gracefully.
But, how could I not trust her?
Besides, her smile is reason enough to oblige.
It terrifies me and its something I cant understand.
To stare into one of her paintings is to walk through the wonderland that is her mind.
Its no surprise that here are all these people at what is her own solo art exhibit.
Its no wonder I feel like Alice looking at each one.
Ive never had a friend I admire this way.
There are so many things I felt, then, that I mustnt confess.
I coveted her closet.
She was the kind of human I felt blessed being able to call a friend.
I was in awe of her magnetism.
I wanted her confidence and unwavering faith in herself.
How she never doubts happiness is hers to take.
Yes, I wanted to be like her, but I also wanted her attention.
I craved her affection.
I didnt want her hair or her clothes or her body.
I didnt want any of the things I admired, and even envied, about her, no.
What I wanted was my hand on her knees.
To touch her back.
Trace circles over the wispy blue veins of her wrists.
My mouth on her pulse.
My thumb brushing the sacred crescent moon curve of her bottom lip.
But mostly, I felt a sadness.
It was the sensation of something so precious slipping out of fumbling fingertips.
Someone asked me about her not too long ago and my stomach did a dirty somersault.
Its been years, now, since Ive seen her and since weve spoken.
And like many friendships, it was also over a guy that it saw its finality.
Between her traveling, work, and now her relationship, our schedules didnt really align.
I knew this wasnt exactly true, but I also knew that hearing it would get under her skin.
I wanted to hurt her the way I felt hurt.
She said if I was mad at her for simply postponing plans to just get over it.
A couple of weeks later, we apologized to each other, but things were never the same.
Our conversations became shorter and shorter, until they ceased to exist.
Truthfully, I played the most part in that.
She made multiple efforts to hang out and include me in things, but I began shutting her out.
The reality was this: I felt a connection with her and it went well beyond friendship.
I didnt understand it and I was afraid of it.
It would also mean that Id have to be honest with her.
I dont know where she is or what shes doing now, she was never one for social media.
I do think of her often.
I hope shes loved.
I hope she has someone in her life who slices watermelons and peels her oranges for her.
I hope shes still making friends in bathroom stalls.
I hope she still feels like there is no sin she needs to apologize for.
I hope she finally learned how to trust people who smile sideways.
I hope life is giving her beautiful things to paint.
I hope she is still the only thing shes ever needed.
Whenever she is sad, I hope she just dances.
I hope that red stain is still on her rug.
I hope she still has that rug.
Even if not, I hope there are still things that make her think of me.
