Jeremy’s Best Friend
Jeremy, a 22-year-old software engineer, was driving a rusty, red Toyota Corolla with Michelle, a 29-year-old graphic designer, sitting in his passenger seat. He held her hand, out of habit, and she held his, out of politeness from the path of least resistance. He was thinking how pretty she looked, and how she has not aged a day, but he did not say it out loud. Instead, he said,
“I’m getting a new car, a better one, in a month or two. Do you like BMWs?”
“I used to,” she said.
He couldn’t help but wonder whether she was still attracted to him after 3 years; perhaps she’s moved on, but she hasn’t told him to stop holding her hand or kissing her. He decided not to ask these questions.
Jeremy parked the car two blocks from the Dragon’s Cavern in Chinatown.
“Does your friend know I’ll be joining?” Michelle asked.
He nodded. “Tommy is a really nice, laid-back guy. I have to warn you though, he’s really tall, over 6 feet, and a little clumsy.”
Michelle smiled and suddenly forgot what her next question was going to be.
As they approached Dragon’s Cavern, there was a large plastic sign on the floor that read,
“Mai Tais $8”
As they walked through the bar and the flood of drunken tourists, Michelle removed her coat and applied her rosy cherry lip gloss.
They reached the back of the bar, where, on a black love seat, sat a gentleman of 24, dark wavy hair, cocoa eyes and feathery lashes, wearing black cargo pants and a white t-shirt that hugged his chest like it wanted to marry him. When he stood up to greet his visitors, a group of three little women in matching shorts looked at him and giggled. Michelle thanked the Lord that she had already fixed her hair and makeup in the car. She was too alarmed to look Tommy in the eyes.
“My guy! What took you so long?” shouted this shockingly handsome Chinatown bar hopper.
“Hey, I want you to meet my favorite person, Michelle. Michelle, this is my best friend, Tommy.”
Tommy scanned Michelle’s face. “Oh my God…it’s nice to meet you.”
She reciprocated his greeting and tried to look away as much as possible.
“Come sit!”
She looked at the two-person couch already occupied by the two men.
“Where am I supposed to sit?”
“On my lap,” they both said.
Tommy looked at Jeremy and laughed. “I’m just kidding, man!”
Michelle sat down gently on Jeremy’s lap, but she was careful to never give him any sign of being in love. She ignored Tommy as well, most of the time, or at least she tried.
After 30 minutes of chatter with his best guy, Tommy seemed to have slowly lost his balance and had suddenly placed the back of his hand on Michelle’s thigh. She noticed right away but pretended not to notice. What if he removes his hand?
Ten minutes later, Jeremy shouted, “Hey bro, bottoms up!”
To Michelle’s surprise, Tommy used his other hand to raise his glass and chug the rest of his Mai Tai.
“What are you drinking?” Tommy asked her.
“Oh, I’m not drinking right now. Already had a beer at dinner.”
“Well, how about another one? What’s your favorite?”
“Corona.”
“May I get you a Corona?”
She smiled. “Sure, why not.”
As Tommy walked to the door, the three little women looked at him again with sparkling eyeballs and wet lips while whispering to each other.
He handed Michelle the bottle of Corona but wouldn’t let go of it.
“Stop it,” she said.
“You stop it. Trying to hold my hand?”
The scrunch of his eyebrows was startling perfect.
Jeremy and Tommy dived into a 20-minute discussion about Adam Sandler and his choice of clothes while Michelle zoned out, slowly sipping on her beer.
“Hey! Where’s my Corona?” Tommy said to Michelle.
“You can have mine, I’m done with it,” she said.
“Wait, you’re leaving?!”
“No, I’m just done drinking.” She handed him the beer. “Take it, you can have the rest.”
He grabbed it from her and took a long swig. After another few minutes of roasting Adam Sandler, he handed the bottle back to Michelle, half-full.
“I don’t want it anymore,” she said.
He leaned in close to her ear.
“But you must put your lips back on it. That way, it’s like we just kissed.”
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The Myth
I think of you every time it snows
When once in every seven years a winter storm comes
And takes me back to that moonlight road.
I think of your footprints leading like bread crumbs
And remember my youth as a flurry of words
Caught in my chest and lodged in my throat.
How my emotions are like cattle I can’t quiet herd
And my face is a motley of thoughts on a viking funeral boat.
Burning me up from the inside out
I lamented that I never could tell you just what it is
That reeled me in and ripped me down
Only that I felt that way with every single kiss.
A shredding of my pride, a drug come alive
I thought love to be this force I could not reckon with
An entity that lived as I died
The kind of being that ages into myth.
But the stories are wrong
Nothing magical exists.
But, sure it’s better to live on in a stupid indie song
Then be forgotten as easily as this.
-The Writer
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