Q

those days were vacuous and fluid.

at an odd enough mid-afternoon hour my thumbs paused between apps with nowhere else to go. in reflex they found the familiar curve of your digits around my keypad.

“wanna hang?”

“yeah ok.”

in retrospect the dynamics of our friendship is weird. most of the time we’re shunted into an afterthought; we go months without a word between us. but at our lowest and neediest we were each other’s default go-to.

i was neither low nor needy then, but i knew somehow you’d pick up.

–

at your place we tuck outgrown legs around a clutter of novels and cable lines. you didn’t bother to sweep away your collection of Nature Valley wrappers – each one a thoughtless half twist. i thought of our conversations in mosaic. the ones that begun at the middle and the ones without ends; the way we left and picked up the time between us.

we didn’t do much that afternoon. you showed me on your guitar what you’ve been working on.

“this is pretty much all i’ve been doing recently. you know… taking things easy.”

i note with a jolt that your voice was not the voice that first sounded out my name years ago, and was surprised by my surprise. had i expected us to remain spindly limbed and giggly in ice-cream parlors through everything?

all the conversations grief pressed so tight against my throat i couldn’t cry but made you listen anyway, when you almost dropped off the face of the earth, hour long midnight mistaken bus rides where i ditch you for sleep, a lot of silence, all of each other’s trials we’ve taken as our own.

at that moment, though, i was contented with the uneventful quiet. just two of us, almost adults but not quite done with life.