It had been a long time since we last saw each other. The beach was bright and fairly empty for mid-May, but I still had difficulty recognizing him. Even through sunglasses, I thought he looked pale. His stomach bulged a little, but still young, he could eat and drink freely without much consequence. It was rather the way a child’s midriff might pudge out, not like a full-grown, working man with an after-work drinking habit at the nearest bar.
We talked, we laughed, we confided, and we insulted as we always did. At one point, I remembered he remarked about how completely incompatible we are. He: 6 feet tall; I: 5 feet short. He: recently unemployed and not in school; I: working two jobs, an internship, and planning for law school. He: single and content; I: in a long-term relationship and constantly contemplating it lately. I couldn’t wait to try some new healthy options restaurant, he commented romantically (yes, romantically) on the smell of French fries emitting from some nearby BBQ place.
Between us, it was like a magic happened where time stood still. We complain about the same things, as if nothing great changed over a year: our fathers were still assholes and our love lives were dissatisfying. Our futures were stll uncertain, and our relationship was undefined and unsure as it had been since we were sophomores in high school.
That's why in a few weeks, it’ll drive him to tears thinking about how we can’t, and won’t, ever be together again. He’ll accuse me of something or another,declare we can never be friends,and we must never talk again. Come Christmas or one of our birthdays, we’ll timidly send a greeting or well-wish. If I return back to our hometown, I’ll debate for a week or two about contacting him. He’ll always respond. We agree to hang out.
And here we are again.
This time though, I realized neither of us took off our sunglasses if we could help it. Neither of us wanted to look the other in the eyes.
We talked, we laughed, we confided, and we insulted as we always did. At one point, I remembered he remarked about how completely incompatible we are. He: 6 feet tall; I: 5 feet short. He: recently unemployed and not in school; I: working two jobs, an internship, and planning for law school. He: single and content; I: in a long-term relationship and constantly contemplating it lately. I couldn’t wait to try some new healthy options restaurant, he commented romantically (yes, romantically) on the smell of French fries emitting from some nearby BBQ place.
Between us, it was like a magic happened where time stood still. We complain about the same things, as if nothing great changed over a year: our fathers were still assholes and our love lives were dissatisfying. Our futures were stll uncertain, and our relationship was undefined and unsure as it had been since we were sophomores in high school.
That's why in a few weeks, it’ll drive him to tears thinking about how we can’t, and won’t, ever be together again. He’ll accuse me of something or another,declare we can never be friends,and we must never talk again. Come Christmas or one of our birthdays, we’ll timidly send a greeting or well-wish. If I return back to our hometown, I’ll debate for a week or two about contacting him. He’ll always respond. We agree to hang out.
And here we are again.
This time though, I realized neither of us took off our sunglasses if we could help it. Neither of us wanted to look the other in the eyes.
